When Fire Remembers

Chapter Eight - Ember Unleashed

The morning in the forge camp began with ash and noise. Runi cursed as she shuffled through a crate of mismatched iron scraps. "No salt, no onions, and barely enough steel to fix a spoon. We need supplies."

Aksanaa leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching the older dwarf rummage. "Then let’s go."

"We?" Runi’s head popped up. "You’re not going anywhere. You’re still healing. You think the council’s spies give a damn about a limp?"

Aksanaa shrugged. "I blend better than you. Besides, I need to move."

Runi studied her for a long moment — the stiffness in Aksanaa’s posture, the fire just beneath her words.

"It’s not a good idea. And Saelwyn will kill me if he finds out I took you to the market while the lizard prince is searching for you everywhere."

"Pleaseee… I swear I will be careful. I lived there for a year without being caught by clayguards. I can manage a market trip."

Runi looked at Aksanaa, eyes narrowing, then she sighed. "Fine," the dwarf muttered. "But if I get stabbed in a fruit market, I’m haunting you."

They left just after dawn break, cloaks pulled tight and hoods lowered. The forest gave way to dusty roads, then scattered homesteads, then Veyrun’s crumbling edge.

Aksanaa inhaled deeply as they stepped into the city's outer ring. Smoke, spice, rot, and sweat. It was disgusting. It was familiar. It was real.

They moved in silence at first. Runi mentally counted coins. Aksanaa watched faces — memorizing patrol patterns, noting which vendors carried blades beneath fruit crates.

'You miss it?' Runi asked suddenly.

'Miss what?'

'Noise. Streets. Being part of something… louder.'

Aksanaa didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes had fixed on a small boy tossing pebbles into a broken fountain.

'I miss knowing who I was in the noise,' she said finally.

Runi didn’t press further. She didn’t need to. That answer was enough.

They ducked into the market. The usual chaos unfolded — haggling, shouting, someone singing too early in the day.

And just as Runi started arguing over the price of onions, a laugh cracked the air — bold, sharp, completely unmissable.

That was when everything began to turn.

...

Daghan no longer moved with banners behind him. The streets of Veyrun swallowed cloaks better than commands. Grön walked beside him in silence, a walking wall of bone and quiet menace. But it was Daghan who blended into the noise.

He wore no sigil, no armor. Just a hood. A plain shirt. Dust on his boots. And for the first time, no one bowed.

He passed butchers sharpening knives, mothers trading buttons for bruised apples, and boys hurling stones at rats too bold to hide. The city pulsed with the kind of life that royalty never touched — until now.

He didn’t expect to feel anything. But he did.

He had forgotten this city once breathed beneath him. And now… it choked on ash.

Daghan’s jaw tightened.

They passed under a collapsed arch where someone had scrawled prayers in chalk. Not to the gods — but to the old dragons. For warmth. For protection. For mercy.

Daghan didn’t reply, but something shifted in his step. Less purpose. More pause.

Grön noticed his slowing pace and leaned in. 'You see now,' he murmured, as if the words had more weight this time.

A girl, no older than ten, offered wilted herbs to a butcher in exchange for meat scraps. The butcher laughed. She didn’t cry — just bowed her head and walked away.

At a corner, he saw a boy coughing blood into a torn cloth, ignored by passersby. The smell of rot and vinegar stung Daghan’s nose. Still, he didn’t look away.

His gaze lingered. Something in the boy’s stance reminded him of someone, once. Before titles. Before scales.

Daghan passed a tailor mending clothes with threadbare fingers, her mouth whispering a song she no longer remembered the words to. He slowed, watching the way her hands trembled over the fabric. A child peeked out from behind the stall, wide-eyed and dirt-smeared, clinging to a wooden sword.

He moved like a ghost stitched into the seams of the city — not hiding, but not seen. It wasn't just the hood that cloaked him. It was silence. The stillness.

Grön repeated, 'You see now,'his voice low. As if he was expecting to get some words out of Daghan.

Daghan didn’t answer. He shifted his attention to the task again. His eyes tracked movement — not just guards, but every alley shadow. Every flick of cloth.

He was searching for her. But every shadow might be hers.

Then came the laugh — loud, reckless, like someone had just insulted the price of a potato and meant it. Daghan’s head snapped toward the sound.

He saw her. A dwarf woman with copper braids and a voice like a tavern brawl. And beside her — rust-colored cloth. A blade at the hip.

Aksanaa.

Alive.

'There she is,' Daghan murmured.

'The loud one?' Grön asked, squinting.

'No,' Daghan said through clenched teeth. 'The thief.'

Grön tilted his head. 'They both look alike to me.'

Daghan’s jaw tensed. 'Only one’s mine.'

Grön grinned. 'We are always getting into trouble when something is yours.'

Daghan moved. No horns. No guards. Only the hunt.

...

The market emptied like a breath held too long. Not from a warning. From instinct.

Aksanaa’s shoulders stiffened before she even turned. 'Run,' she said.

Runi didn’t ask why. She just ran. They moved like dancers who’d practiced this panic before.

Aksanaa felt the heat before she saw the shadow. Daghan was gaining.

Past a musician who paused mid-flute. Past a tavern where a fight had just broken out, chairs flew across the street. None of it stopped them.

She yanked Runi behind a crate of fish barrels. 'Left!' she hissed, and they darted through a clothesline, silk and wool slapping their faces.

Grön, on the other hand, was a thundering oaf. But even that noise was closing fast.

She could hear his footsteps. Clean. Measured. Deadly. The kind of pursuit that didn't shout, didn't stumble. It stalked.

Of all the people to find her — it had to be him.

She cursed under her breath. Not just the chase. But the recognition.

Aksanaa’s boots slipped on loose stones as they dashed through the alleys. The smell of fried fat and stale wine clung to the market walls. Each breath burned her lungs.

Behind them, footsteps struck stone. Daghan. Close.

Grön thundered after, huffing. 'Sorry! Prince business!' he called, scattering crates and curses.

They sprinted through winding alleys, bootfalls echoing. Over bridges slick with moss. Past a shrine where children once prayed.

Runi stumbled. 'Leave me if I fall!'

'Then don’t,' Aksanaa snapped, hooking her arm beneath the dwarf’s and dragging her forward.

The forest met them like a cloak — branches swallowing breath. Shadows long. Light flickering like doubt.

Behind them, no words. Just pursuit.

Then — the mossy rock. Aksanaa dropped to her knees, fingers searching. Click. Stone shifted.

'Now!' she barked. Runi vanished into the dark.

Aksanaa turned — and froze.

A hand wrapped around her arm. Not rough. Just final.

Daghan.

Their eyes locked — flame and steel. Her breath hitched.

'Let go,' she growled.

'Come back,' he whispered — unsure if it was a command or a plea.

She kicked. Hard. He stumbled. She slipped through the gate. Stone sealed shut.

A moment of silence.

Then — fire.

It burst from Daghan like betrayal. Flame licked bark. Birds shrieked. Trees blackened.

'PRINCE!' Grön roared, shielding his eyes.

But Daghan was already shifting. Scales. Wings. Rage.

The forest burned.

...