"Ashes and Oaths"

Smoke swallowed the glade.

The door to the Watcher’s hut hung by a single hinge. Inside, magic and blood collided—blinding bursts of silver light, the sound of steel against bone, the scream of a man igniting from the inside.

Caelan didn’t remember reaching for the flame.

He just remembered feeling cornered, and then...

> The light chose violence.

When the smoke cleared, only three things remained:

A scorched circle on the wooden floor, humming with fading energy

The body of a Syndicate warrior—half-melted, blade fused to his hand

Caelan, on his knees, shaking with cold and guilt

...----------------...

Liora crouched beside him.

“You did that?” she whispered.

Caelan nodded slowly, but his voice was hollow. “I didn’t want to. He would’ve killed us.”

“You melted his ribcage through his armor,” she said. “I’m not judging. I’m saying you might want to do that again.”

He stared at his hands. “No. I won’t become that.”

“Good,” said a weak voice behind them. “Then let me.”

...----------------...

Watcher Myrren leaned against the wall, her blindfold bloodied.

“I’ll survive,” she rasped. “But you must leave. More will come.”

“But—” Caelan moved toward her. “I need answers. The flame—what am I supposed to do with it?”

She grabbed his wrist with surprising strength. Her touch was freezing cold.

“Seek the star-born in the ruins of Khal Veyra,” she said. “Before the Veil opens, find the other marked ones. The blood of the gods burns in more than just you.”

She shoved something into his palm—a piece of broken stone etched with runes.

“A key?” he asked.

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she slumped to the floor, eyes rolling back.

...----------------...

They rode hard before dawn.

The air grew thinner as they crossed into the low hills of the Velani borderlands, wind whispering warnings through the skeletal trees.

Caelan finally broke the silence. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Liora asked without turning.

“For dragging you into this. For… existing, I guess.”

She laughed, bitter and sharp. “You think this is your fault? You didn’t ask to be born the key to a forgotten pantheon.”

“Still,” he muttered, “people die around me. Even when I try to help.”

Liora slowed her horse. Looked at him, really looked.

“Then learn to survive. Or people will keep dying. And you’ll die with them.”

Caelan met her eyes. “Why are you helping me?”

She hesitated. “Because I thought I was just a blade.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m not sure who’s holding it—me, or you.”

...----------------...

🌌 Nightfall. The ruins of Khal Veyra.

The once-great temple lay scattered across a crescent ridge, stones carved with constellations, vines choking the bones of forgotten architecture.

They made camp in a shattered hall under a collapsed dome.

Caelan lit a fire.

Liora sharpened her blades.

They were quiet, until he said softly, “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

Liora didn’t look at him.

“Believed them,” she said.

He didn’t press.

She stood suddenly. “Stay here. I’m scouting ahead.”

“Alone?”

“I’ve traveled half the continent with a bounty on my back. I’ll be fine.”

Before she turned, he said, “Liora.”

She paused.

“Thank you. For not killing me.”

Her mouth twitched into a smirk.

“Don’t thank me yet.”

...----------------...

She vanished into the ruins.

Caelan leaned back, gazing at the stars overhead—faint pinpricks through crumbling stone. One of them shimmered brighter than the rest, pulsing like a heartbeat.

He didn’t know how he knew.

He just did.

> That star was watching him.

...----------------...

Suddenly—

> Crunch.

A sound behind him.

He drew his dagger, whirled—

And found himself staring at a boy.

No older than sixteen. Pale hair, mismatched eyes—one gold, one pitch black. Barefoot. Smiling.

“Hi,” the boy said.

“Who—?”