The rain did not stop for three days.
It soaked the forest floor, drowned their small campfires, and turned the air heavy with the scent of wet earth and rot.
Kaelen trained through it.
He struck trees with a wooden blade until bark split and his palms bled. He ran until his lungs burned. He refused rest.
Pain gave him structure.
Alfon sat beneath a half-collapsed stone arch Maelor had chosen for shelter.
Watching flame.
Trying not to.
"Again," Maelor said quietly.
A small fire burned between them — carefully shielded from rain.
Alfon hesitated.
"I don't want to."
"That is precisely why you must."
Kaelen scoffed from the clearing. "He's scared of a campfire."
Alfon didn't respond.
Maelor leaned forward slightly.
"Do not command it," he said. "Do not reach for it."
"Listen."
Alfon closed his eyes.
The first time the Flame bent toward him, he thought it was wind.
The second time, coincidence.
But last night—
He had dreamed of Emberfall again.
Except this time, when the houses burned—
The fire did not devour him.
It moved around him.
As if waiting.
His breathing slowed.
He felt warmth against his skin.
Not from heat.
From awareness.
The fire flickered higher.
Kaelen noticed first.
"There's no wind," he said.
The flame leaned toward Alfon.
Not violently.
Curiously.
Maelor watched closely.
"Do you feel it?" he asked.
Alfon nodded slowly.
"It's not… angry."
"No."
Maelor's voice was calm.
"Because this is not the King's Flame."
Alfon opened his eyes.
The fire remained tilted toward him.
"Then what is it?"
"Creation's echo."
Silence.
"Flame existed before the fragment," Maelor continued. "Before corruption. Before war."
"The traitor spirit did not invent fire."
"He twisted it."
Alfon swallowed.
"And I'm not twisting it?"
"That depends on you."
The fire flared suddenly — rising taller than it should.
Kaelen stepped back.
"Alfon—"
Panic hit him.
The memory of the Ashen King's blue-black flames surged into his mind.
What if this was the same path?
What if the fragment reached through him?
The fire snapped outward violently.
A wave of heat burst in all directions.
Kaelen shielded his face.
Maelor raised a hand, containing the spread.
"Enough!" Maelor commanded.
The flame collapsed instantly.
Smoke curled upward.
Alfon stumbled backward, breathing hard.
"I don't want it," he said hoarsely.
Maelor studied him carefully.
"That," he said, "is why you may be able to wield it."
Kaelen walked closer, eyeing the scorched ground.
"So he's what now? Some kind of fire spirit?"
"No," Maelor replied firmly.
"He is human."
"Which makes this dangerous."
Alfon wiped rain and sweat from his face.
"The King uses a fragment," he said slowly. "It feeds on grief."
"Yes."
"And if I use fire…"
Maelor stepped closer.
"Intent shapes power."
"The fragment bends will toward domination."
"But true flame responds to balance."
Kaelen crossed his arms. "Sounds poetic."
"It is not poetry," Maelor said. "It is law."
The forest grew still.
Alfon stared at his hands.
They trembled faintly.
"Try again," Maelor said gently.
Alfon shook his head.
"I almost lost control."
"You did lose control."
The words were not cruel.
"They will push you harder than this."
A distant thunder rolled across the hills.
Maelor's gaze shifted briefly toward the east.
Another fragment pulsed faintly.
Time was shortening.
"You fear becoming the Ashen King," Maelor said quietly.
Alfon's jaw tightened.
"Yes."
"Good."
He crouched to meet Alfon at eye level.
"Power does not corrupt the unwilling."
"It reveals the undecided."
The words settled heavy.
Alfon looked back at the dying embers.
Slowly, cautiously, he reached out again.
He did not pull.
He did not command.
He breathed.
The smallest ember glowed brighter.
Then steadied.
Not leaning.
Not flaring.
Simply existing.
Balanced.
Maelor nodded faintly.
"There."
Kaelen watched silently now.
For the first time—
He didn't look amused.
He looked uncertain.
Because Alfon's strength would not be physical.
And Kaelen had always been stronger.
The ember flickered softly.
Responsive.
Alive.
Alfon exhaled slowly.
"I don't want to burn cities."
Maelor's expression darkened slightly.
"Then you must become stronger than the one who will."
The rain finally began to ease.
And somewhere far to the east—
The shadowed fragment settled into its new host.
Waiting.