The Council Chamber of Emberhold was no place for the weak-hearted.
Walls of blackglass soared upward, engraved with ancient runes that shimmered like dying stars. Fires hung in suspended orbs, burning with neither fuel nor smoke. But the most oppressive force in the chamber wasn't heat it was silence. The kind of silence that held judgment in its breath.
Kael stood in its center, unbound yet heavily chained in presence. His wrists bore no cuffs, but the mark of the Ember Pact still left faint ghost-lines around his veins faint scars where fire had once dictated his every movement. Beside him, Elira stood straighter than expected. The scribe was no longer merely a scholar. There was fire in her eyes now clear, brilliant, and deliberate.
Councilor Yvalen Marr stepped forward, his robes trailing heatless flame. "Kael Ashryn. Elira Veyne. You are accused of pact-breaking, of theft of bonded flame, and of assault on the sanctity of the Archbonded Order. How do you answer?"
Kael raised his chin. "With truth. We're guilty of none of those."
"You severed the Pact," Yvalen said, voice as smooth as polished obsidian. "You burned a mark that binds all Flamebearers to their vows. That is treason."
"I severed a shackle," Kael replied evenly. "And I did it because it never belonged on us in the first place."
A murmur ran through the assembled elders—twelve in total, seated in crescents of flame-forged stone. Some looked curious. Others, horrified. And still, one Thora Velgrave, matriarch of the Velgrave line watched with quiet interest, her fingers tapping the edge of her armrest like counting each breath Kael took.
Elira stepped forward.
"You fear what we've done," she said, her voice calm but sharp. "Because it proves your control isn't eternal."
Councilor Marr's smile didn't reach his eyes. "No, child. We fear what comes next. When magic meant for unity begins to unravel at the whim of rebels."
Kael felt a pull in the air an atmospheric shift, like the mountain itself held its breath. Something below them stirred. Something deep.
Later, they were led down into the stone cells beneath the chamber not with violence, but ceremony. The guards didn't speak. The chains they bore were symbolic, yet Kael could feel the magic coiling around his ankles and wrists, not cold burning.
Elira sat across from him in the darkness, her back against the wall, knees pulled close. Torchlight flickered between them.
"You saw it too," she said. "When he spoke of what comes next."
Kael nodded. "It's not fear of rebellion. It's fear of prophecy."
Elira's voice lowered. "Mount Estrael."
He blinked. "How do you know?"
"I heard it… last night. In the flames. A whisper."
Kael didn't ask how. Ever since she read from the Ashscroll the forbidden codex buried under the ruins of Aldreth's Library she'd heard things, seen pieces of flame that didn't belong to any spell. Living fire.
They sat in silence for a long while.
Then, in the dead of that silence, the floor shivered. Not an earthquake. Not movement. A pulse.
The air grew warm.
And then Kael heard it—deep in the stone. A voice. Not male, not female. Ancient and awake.
> "You seek to unbind… yet do not know the root. Estrael calls."
The flame in the torch leaned toward them.
Elira's eyes widened.
"It's the Archbound," she whispered. "It's watching."
Chaos erupted just past dawn.
An explosion rocked the east wing of Emberhold, and distant screams followed. A smoke-colored shape darted down the hall—Ryn Hollan, rebel blade-dancer, streaked in ash and fury. She kicked open their cell with the butt of her curved blade.
"Sleeping beauties," she muttered. "Time to move."
Kael sprang to his feet. Elira followed without hesitation.
They ran through firelit halls, ducking under fallen beams and past broken sigils that sparked as they passed. Downed guards littered the marble. Flames licked symbols of power from long-dead kings.
"Mount Estrael is the only place they fear," Elira said, breathless beside him. "The source. The fire's root. If we want to break the Pact—truly break it we have to go there."
Ryn grunted. "Tall, ominous, cursed mountain. Sounds about right."
They reached the upper courtyard just as a Council air barge careened from the sky, crashing into the pyre-tower. The explosion turned dusk into daylight, and smoke into sunset.
Beneath the chaos, Kael grabbed Elira's hand.
Her fingers squeezed once. Firm. Certain.
Together, they ran
Far below, in the Council chamber, Chancellor Yvalen stood before a smoking window, hands clasped.
Thora Velgrave approached slowly. "You let them escape."
He didn't turn. "I did."
"Why?" Yvalen's lips curved.
"Because Estrael will test them. And when it does… the Pact won't die. It will evolve."
Thora's eyes narrowed. "You think they'll return bound to it again?"
"No," he whispered. "Worse. I think they'll become its new flame."