The flames divide
1422 Words
No one spoke for a long time after Severin’s warning.
The city of Kinmoor—so vast in ruins—now felt as small as a cell.
Ronan stood with arms crossed beside the fire pit. Rowan watched him from across the camp, jaw set.
And Liora? She sat between them. Not in body, but in choice.
“I want to know what the Flameborne Voice is,” she said quietly. “Before they come.”
Seray had told her it was a weapon. A memory. A throne.
But none of that told her how to use it.
Ronan stepped forward. “Let me show you.”
Rowan stood. “No. If anyone teaches her, it’s us. Her pack.”
“She needs fire,” Ronan said. “Not loyalty.”
The air thickened.
Liora stood. “Enough. We train. All of us. Now.”
---
They cleared a circle in the courtyard. Broken stone. Fire glyphs half-lit.
Ronan drew lines in the ash. “The Voice isn’t about control. It’s about surrender.”
He knelt. Whispered something old. The glyphs ignited.
Liora blinked. “That was Old Kinmoor.”
“I remember it,” Ronan said. “In dreams. In heat.”
Rowan narrowed his eyes. “Funny how convenient your memories are.”
Mira clapped her hands. “Shut up and focus.”
Kaen stepped beside Liora. “We’re with you. No matter whose flame is brighter.”
Liora stepped into the circle.
She closed her eyes. Called the fire.
And this time—it answered.
Her voice came in two tones. Hers. And something older.
"The fire does not kneel. But it listens."
The glyphs flared. Every flame in the courtyard bent toward her.
Then—some bent to Ronan.
She gasped. “It’s… splitting.”
Ronan said nothing.
But his eyes were burning.
---
That night, Rowan watched them from the shadows.
Liora and Ronan training. Laughing, even.
He turned to Mira. “He’s taking her. Slowly.”
“She’s choosing fire. Not him.”
“She won’t see it until it’s too late.”
Mira placed a hand on his shoulder. “Then give her a reason to look back.”
Rowan left camp.
He traveled alone to the southern ruins. There, hidden in Averie’s broken archive, he found what he was looking for:
An artifact. A sigil etched with blood.
It pulsed.
“Bind the fire,” it whispered.
He hesitated.
Then pressed it to his palm.
The pain was instant.
But so was the power.
He would not lose her.
---
In the old catacombs, Mira and Kaen found sealed texts. Protected by scent-locks, now broken thanks to Liora’s awakening.
Kaen cracked the seal. “Operation Gemini.”
Inside:
If the twins awaken, contain them. If separation fails, pit them against each other. The surviving twin shall be weaponized.
Mira’s hands shook. “They want them to kill each other.”
Kaen growled. “We need to tell Liora.”
Mira’s eyes narrowed. “No. Not yet. She’ll walk right into it.”
---
At dawn, Liora stood between Rowan and Ronan.
“You’ve both been in my dreams,” she said. “You both carry pieces of this fire.”
Rowan stepped forward, hand bandaged. “Then bind it. Together. Let’s anchor it before it consumes you.”
Ronan shook his head. “The fire can’t be leashed. It must choose. And it’s choosing me.”
Liora looked between them.
And chose silence.
---
In a dream, Seray stood with Averie in a burning hall.
“We cannot raise both,” Seray said. “The Council will see it as threat.”
Averie held two infants. One glowing with flame. One cloaked in dark.
“I will hide the boy,” she said. “But you must protect the girl.”
Seray’s voice trembled. “If they meet—”
“They will burn or save us all.”
---
Back in Kinmoor, the sky cracked with thunder.
Council ships approached.
Liora stood at the edge of the city.
Rowan on one side.
Ronan on the other.
And the fire—
Split down the center.
Rowan whispered, “Choose.”
Ronan said, “Lead.”
Liora stepped forward.
“Follow me,” she said.
And fire rose behind her.
But so did shadow.
The first ship tore the sky like paper.
Liora stood on the watchtower with Ronan and Kaen beside her. A Council vessel—sleek, silver, scent-coded—hovered low over the ruined stone, stirring up ash with each pulse of its descent.
Rowan stood apart from them, hand twitching under the bandages.
“They’re early,” Kaen muttered.
“No,” Ronan said. “They waited until the fire split.”
Liora’s eyes narrowed. “They think we’ll fight each other. They’re betting on it.”
And maybe… they were right.
---
The delegation marched like it was a funeral. Five enforcers in black armor, scent seals flaring. At the center: High Inquisitor Therion, his robes as dark as the void, his eyes a dim bronze like dull coals.
He stopped in front of Liora, raised a gloved hand.
"Lady Flameborn. On behalf of the Kinmoor Restoration Council, I request your immediate detainment—for assessment and recalibration."
Rowan stepped forward. “She’s not going anywhere.”
Therion didn’t look at him.
“You must be the scentless boy. The Council is aware of your… attachment.”
Rowan’s hand sparked.
Liora stepped between them. “I will speak. Not him.”
Therion’s smile was cold. “Then speak quickly, child of fire. We have a prison that waits.”
---
“Kinmoor doesn’t kneel,” Liora said.
“Kinmoor fell,” Therion answered. “By fire. The same fire you now hold.”
Ronan approached slowly from behind.
“You claim to restore,” he said. “But all you bring are chains.”
Therion turned to him. “You must be the forgotten twin. We were told you didn’t survive.”
“I did. And I remember everything now.”
Therion’s smile faltered.
“You were never meant to survive,” he whispered.
“I noticed,” Ronan replied.
---
That night, Rowan’s power surged. He stood alone in the stone courtyard, hands burning too bright, breath sharp.
Liora came to him, brow furrowed.
“Rowan—what’s happening to you?”
“I did it for you.”
She stepped back. “Did what?”
He held up his hand.
The sigil from the artifact glowed deep red.
“I bound my flame. To yours. To protect you from him.”
Her voice dropped. “You didn’t ask. You chose for me.”
“I couldn’t lose you!”
She looked at him—fire in her eyes.
“I’m not something you protect, Rowan. I’m the flame. Let me burn.”
He fell silent.
And something between them broke.
---
Mira sat in the shadows of the central hall, watching the Council’s machines begin rebuilding the eastern tower. They were planning to stay.
“They won’t just take her,” she told Kaen. “They’ll take everything.”
Kaen nodded. “Then we make another way.”
They gathered the scentless students. The half-bloods. The misfits.
“New pack,” Mira whispered. “No Council. No throne. Just flame.”
They called it: Ashborn.
---
Therion returned the next day.
“You must choose,” he said. “Come willingly, and your brother may live.”
Liora laughed. “You think I’d trade one chain for another?”
Therion’s eyes darkened. “We will burn this place down again.”
Liora stepped forward. “You already did. And from those ashes, we rose.”
She drew her blade.
“We do not follow you. We do not fear you.”
Therion turned.
“So be it.”
---
That night, Liora found it in the old heart chamber—an ancient glyph newly exposed by Rowan’s earlier flames.
"When fire forgets its name, the void shall feast. But if flame divides, the world may burn—or begin again."
She traced the words.
Then whispered: “I choose the beginning.”
---
In a memory carved in flame, Averie stood before the old Council.
“You made me choose one child,” she said. “Now that mistake will return.”
One councilor sneered. “They were dangerous.”
She stepped forward. “So am I.”
She raised her hands. Flame split the room.
Then she vanished.
- Writer
