Kael didn't move. His chest rose and fell in rapid, uneven gasps, as if the alley itself had stolen his breath. Seris emained still, as if testing him, measuring him. Then, finally, a voice came; not loud, but cutting like steel through the smoldering air. "You're more reckless than I expected," the stranger said, almost casually. Her words carried authority, a quiet command that made Kael's skin prickle.
Kael tightened his grip on the fire that had ignited in his palm. "Who… who are you?" he demanded, though his voice betrayed him—rough, uncertain, and far too aware of how fragile his defiance was.
The woman tilted her head, as if curious whether he truly wanted the answer. Her eyes gleamed under the hood, reflecting not just fire, but something colder, sharper. "I am Seris," she said again. Only, this time she added "Of the Order of White Flame."
The name hit Kael like a hammer. He'd heard whispers of them in the forgeyards, in hushed conversations of smiths and soldiers. The Order of White Flame; a matriarchal hierarchy, fanatical in their devotion to the Flame, feared even by the Ashen Dominion for the precision and ruthlessness of their methods. Kael's fist shook. The fire in his hand sputtered, then roared back to life as he forced it to obey him.
"The… Order?" he said. "What do you want with me?"
Seris stepped closer, though her movements were deliberate, almost ceremonial. "I am not here for what you want to hear," she replied, voice soft, yet unnervingly resolute. "I am here for what you are."
Kael felt the words before he understood them. What he was. The Emberborn. The Order of White Flame and the Ashen Dominion were the two most interested parties when it came to anything related to the Emberborn. And now, the short-lived secret was out.
"You know…" he said, more to himself than her, "I'm nothing special." He said this with a willed conviction in his voice, as if to reassure himself that everything was still okay. Despite that, a ghost of a smile brushed Seris's lips. "Nothing special?" Her tone was almost amused. "Kael, the Flame does not choose the ordinary. It never has. And neither do we."
Kael's mind raced. The fire flickered in his palm, his instincts screaming that this woman could destroy him if she wished. "Then what… then what are you?"
"I am a guide," she said. "And perhaps a judge. Your path is your own, but I will not allow you to stumble blindly into the Ashen Dominion's plans."
Kael's heartbeat thundered. He had seen glimpses of what the Dominion wanted—an empire of steel and order, unyielding, with Flame suppressed and controlled. But the Order… the Order was something different. Something darker, something that operated in shadows even among shadows.
A sharp wind tore through the alley, carrying with it the distant clang of metal and the acrid scent of smoke from the city. Kael's eyes narrowed. "You've been watching me?" he asked.
Seris nodded slightly. "Long enough to know your potential. Long enough to know the danger you invite upon yourself." Her gaze cut him like a blade. "And long enough to know the Dominion knows you, too."
The word "Dominion" made Kael flinch. He had sensed it before—a creeping presence at the edges of his thoughts, whispers of surveillance, patrols that appeared where they should not. Now, he understood that he was being watched, marked not just by his own mistakes but by the weight of a world that did not forgive the Flame.
Kael swallowed hard. "Then… then what do I do?"
Seris's hand rose again, this time not to her hood but to gesture toward the shadows beyond the alley. "You come with me. And you survive. There is a way through Pyraxis, though it is treacherous. I can show you. But you must trust me—and trust your Flame. You have no other choice."
Kael hesitated. Flee? Trust? The words felt alien to him, yet necessary. Behind Seris, he could see the faintest trace of movement, indistinct silhouettes that made the hairs on his neck bristle. He realized with sudden clarity that she had not come alone—not entirely.
The Order was everywhere, and every shadow carried the weight of their gaze.
"Lead the way," he said finally, seeming to have resigned to this new fate thrust so suddenly upon him.
Pyraxis rose from the ashes of the old world like a city that refused to die, a monument to order and dominance. Its towers gleamed in polished obsidian and steel, reflecting the pale light of the sun with an almost unbearable brilliance. Wide boulevards stretched in perfect geometry, lined with statues of past rulers whose eyes seemed to follow every citizen's steps. The capital's heart pulsed with the Dominion's authority, every street, every gate, every building meticulously planned to project power and control.
Yet, Pyraxis was not untouched by the scars of Burnouts past. The outskirts bore blackened ruins where entire districts had succumbed to uncontrolled instances, their skeletal remains a stark reminder that even the Dominion's might could not erase history. Cracked spires jutted from abandoned plazas, and fissures ran like veins across the central avenues, sometimes still smoking from underground fires. Ash drifted in the wind, and certain old districts were marked by scorched mosaics, charred walls, and streets that smelled faintly of smoldering wood.
Despite this, Pyraxis radiated life and ambition. During the daytime, airships glided gracefully between its upper spires, carrying emissaries and merchants, while patrols in polished armor moved with mechanical precision at night. Markets flourished in reconstructed districts, their colorful banners snapping in the wind. Magisters of the Dominion strode along elevated walkways, their robes flowing like rivers of authority, issuing decrees that rippled through the city like well-aimed flames.
The contrast between ruin and splendor was striking. Burnout-marked districts gave Pyraxis a haunting beauty, jagged and raw, while the Dominion's monuments gleamed with calculated perfection. It was a city of paradox—one that whispered the fragility of life, yet screamed of order imposed over chaos.
On nights like these, Pyraxis became almost otherworldly. The glow of enchanted lamplights bathed the streets in a soft golden haze, reflected off metal and glass, while the shadows of ruined towers loomed as silent witnesses to centuries of fire and survival. The roar of distant engines, the hum of magical wards, and the faint crackle of old Flame that lingered in the ruins reminded any visitor that Pyraxis was not merely a city. It was a living testament to the Dominion's endurance and ambition.
To a newcomer, the city could seem intimidating, even oppressive. But to those who understood its rhythms, it was also a place of opportunity and a labyrinth where power, knowledge, and survival intertwined.
The wind carried ash that stung Kael's eyes. Seris moved ahead with measured steps, her hood pulled low, blending with the shadows like a wraith. He followed, keeping his own fire low, careful not to draw attention to the Emberborn within. Each alley they passed seemed alive, whispering threats, hinting at eyes that could see more than flesh could bear.
"Pyraxis is not safe," Seris said, almost conversationally, though her voice carried the weight of forewarning. "Not for the Flame, or you."
Kael clenched his jaw. "And yet you came for me," he said. "Why? I'm not going to be of any help to your order. I barely awakened to this power a few hours ago!"
She did not answer immediately. Instead, she paused at a bridge overlooking the central square, where a wide arrangement of market stalls stood like silent sentinels. "Because," she said finally, "the Order of White Flame watches you not just as a potential weapon, but as a catalyst. Your choices; your control over the Flame, will shape whether this world survives its next Burnout."
Kael swallowed. Burnouts. The word was no longer something he heard stories about. He was now a part of the world he had only been told nighttime tales of. He had seen their aftermath: cities reduced to rubble, lives incinerated by flames they could not hope to command. And now, he looked at his hands, acknowledging that he carried the potential to ignite another.
Seris studied him carefully, her eyes narrowing. "The Dominion would see the Flame extinguished—or controlled. They will hunt you across cities, across broken lands, until either the Flame dies or you do. Do you understand?"
Kael nodded slowly. "I understand," he whispered. And yet, in the pit of his stomach, a cold dread had taken root. Understanding did not lessen the weight of what was coming, and he was barely a man. Granted he was nearing his eighteenth birthday, but that did nothing to prepare his mind for this kind of responsibility.
From the shadows, Kael caught movement—quick, deliberate and unnatural. He froze, hand instinctively raising his small blaze. "Someone's here," he murmured.
Seris did not flinch. "Not yet," she said. "But they are coming. The Dominion is patient. It does not make mistakes lightly."
As if to confirm her words, a stray dog burst out of the darkness in a mad burst of speed, chasing a cat that streaked right before it.
Kael's fire wavered, the jumpscare sending adrenaline through his body. Of course he was scared. His life had twisted a whole 180° in a matter of hours. Seris looked at him, and for the first time that night, he could swear he saw her lips curl into a slight smile. "Don't worry much. You're not alone right now."
Together, they sprinted across the paved streets. As they avoided night patrol groups, Kael's mind raced, jumping from memory to strategy, from fear to determination. He had learned from Rugert, from the forge, and from every day of labor and sweat about how to bend heat, channel energy, and survive. But was a different crucible entirely.
The heart of Pyraxis opened before them: a glorious plaza, the Grand Hall managing to stand tall and imposing, defiant of the state of the world around it. It's spires stretched like fingers reaching skyward. Kael's senses flared. He believed they shouldn't be here. Every echo, movement, and shadow could hide the Dominion's agents or worse, and the Grand Hall was definitely a high profile structure they should avoid.
Seris slowed, glancing back at him. "Keep your senses sharp," she warned. "From here, every step is a test. Be ready." Seris's boots struck the stone of the Grand Hall's shattered steps with a deliberate rhythm, each echo swallowed by the vastness of the plaza. Kael followed close, his eyes darting to every shadow. Lanterns swung on high posts, their soft golden glow painting the polished cobblestones in shifting pools of light. Surprisingly, some citizens still moved through these streets; merchants closing late-night stalls, patrols moving in pairs, and couriers hurrying with sealed orders. A few hours ago,Kael would've moved through here with nothing but a carefree attitude, but now the city thrummed with a sort of ominous intent.
The Grand Hall itself loomed above them now, a towering structure of black stone and steel. The main gates were partially closed, and the remnants of Dominion banners still flapped, emblazoned with the Dominion crest: a crown encircled by geometric sunrays, a symbol of order and vigilance. Kael's gaze caught the intricate latticework of walkways suspended between spires, each one carefully maintained, patrolled at intervals by guards in polished armor. He made a mental note to act calm regardless of his inner turmoil.
Seris ducked through an archway along the side of the plaza, and Kael followed, the sound of their footsteps muffled by the worn stones. Around them, the city's nighttime rhythm continued—hushed arguments between street vendors, the distant clatter of carriage wheels over stone, and the occasional shout of a patrolling sentinel. Yet beneath it all, Kael sensed the city's hidden layers: narrow alleyways leading to observation posts, hidden balconies where the Dominion's eyes could slip unnoticed, and corridors between buildings that connected the plaza like veins.
They moved quickly, even for Kael who was a native. He realized she navigated by instinct, slipping through spaces the casual observer would overlook. At one junction, she paused and pressed her hand against his shoulder.
"Look and listen," she whispered.
Kael obeyed. From the corner of the plaza, two figures emerged, their armor catching the lantern light. They were Dominion Scouts, methodical and precise, moving as if rehearsed, their gazes sweeping the plaza with the cold attention of trained predators. Kael's pulse quickened. If they were seen, the chase would escalate beyond anything he could handle alone.
Seris guided him into a narrow passageway beside a merchant's warehouse. The shadows were dense, and the scent of night air mixed with the faint tang of stone and metal. Kael followed silently, wondering if she was even more familiar with the city than he was. Above them, the city's spires glimmered against the moonlit sky, a reminder of the Dominion's reach. The patrols passed the entrance without pause, unaware of their presence.
They emerged into a quieter street on the far side of the plaza. The hum of the city persisted, but here it was muted into an echo of life beyond their immediate danger. Kael felt a sudden mixture of relief and tension. They had finally passed the plaza, but what next?
Seris glanced back, her expression unreadable under the hood. "We've bought time," she said. "But the Dominion is patient. And not all of their eyes are on the ground."
Kael's mind reeled. He understood, finally, that Pyraxis was not just a city; they were moving through a labyrinth designed to observe, control, and entrap. And now, he had to navigate it with Seris's guidance or risk becoming another lost shadow swallowed by the capital.