The camp felt different in the morning.
Not because of the raid. Not even because of Fen's death.
But because of Ember and Kael.
Whispers moved like smoke through the tents. Glances lingered longer. Trust—once solid—now trembled on uncertain ground.
Ember knew it before she even left the tent.
Ashen met her first, arms crossed and expression unreadable.
"You look rested," he said dryly.
She pulled her cloak tighter. "Spit it out."
"I don't care who you share your tent with," he said. "But the others do. You're a symbol, Ember. You and Kael—together? That sends a message. People start wondering whose orders come from strategy and whose from infatuation."
She clenched her jaw. "Kael's loyalty isn't in question."
"Not yet," Ashen replied. "But if it ever is… it'll be yours too."
She walked away without replying, fire simmering just beneath her skin.
Later that day, they met to plan a new route—one that would take them through the Veiled Forest, a place thick with magic and illusion. It was the only way to move south without crossing directly through Flame King territory.
But the forest wasn't empty.
Rumors spoke of spirits. Beasts born of ash and madness. And worse—rogue mages, remnants of old kingdoms long fallen.
Still, they had no choice.
"We move at dawn," Kael said to the council.
"And what happens if the forest tears us apart?" one rebel asked.
"Then we hold the line," Ember said. "We burn through whatever stands in our way."
That night, Ember couldn't sleep. Not from fear—but from the slow unraveling inside her. Kael's touch still lingered on her skin, warm and comforting. But Ashen's warning echoed louder.
How much would she give up to hold on to Kael?
How much could she risk without losing herself?
She slipped out of her tent and wandered toward the perimeter.
That's when she saw him.
A lone figure crouched by the fire ring at the edge of camp. Not Kael. Not Ashen.
A stranger.
Young. Strong. His armor was travel-worn, half-hidden by a mossy cloak. Pale hair spilled across his shoulders in waves, and his eyes—silver, not gold—watched the flames like they spoke secrets.
Ember summoned a flicker of flame to her palm. "You're not part of this camp."
He stood slowly, palms raised.
"I'm not here to fight."
"Then what are you doing?"
"Looking for you," he said.
The firelight sharpened his features—angular and calm. Beautiful in a strange, celestial way.
Ember narrowed her eyes. "Do I know you?"
"No," he said softly. "But I know what you are."
The fire in her palm flared brighter. "Careful."
He smiled—not cruelly, but with reverence.
"Ember of the Lost Line. Daughter of Flame and Ruin. I've come to serve you."
Her flame sputtered.
"What?"
"I've followed the signs. The prophecies. The stars," he said. "They speak of a Phoenix Queen. Of fire that breaks the chains. I am sworn to that fire."
"Who are you?" she whispered.
He bowed low.
"My name is Theron of the Moonborn. Last scion of the Silver Court. And if you'll have me… I will fight beside you until the end."
Far to the east…
Kael stood alone on the cliffs above the forest. The wind snapped at his coat, his jaw tight with thought.
Behind him, a raven fluttered down and dropped a scroll at his feet.
A seal of fire marked it.
Kael didn't pick it up. He didn't have to.
He already knew what it said.
Return. Or she burns.
He stared at the scroll for a long time, then slowly bent to pick it up.
His hand trembled as he broke the seal.