The Primordial Flame

Getting ready for a night out.

Collette doesn't flinch. She casually rests one hand on the pommel of her new viper dagger, leaning back against the bench with a smirk that practically dares either of them to speak first.

"Amelisse," Bram’s voice cuts through the silence, deep, rasping, and stripped of all its polished diplomatic cadence. He takes an authoritative stride forward, stopping just short of reaching out to touch me.

"Where the hell were you?"

Before I can even open my mouth, Vane steps up, cutting into Bram’s space with a snarl, his voice shaking with feral intensity. "You vanished for seven days into the dead of winter. No escort, no vanguard, nothing. Do you have any idea."

"Any idea what?" I ask smoothly, tilting my head, my voice sickeningly sweet and entirely undisturbed. I pluck an apple from the wooden bowl on the table, tossing it casually from one hand to the other.

"What it's like to ride through a valley without being barked at? Or what it's like to spend an entire week without the scent of cheap tavern perfume and bad excuses clinging to the air?"

Vane flinches as if I’d driven the viper blade straight through his throat. The colour drains from his face, his silver eyes flashing with a sickening, helpless agony.

Bram’s dark brows draw tight, his gaze flicking sharply between Vane’s shattered reaction and my icy, effortless composure, sensing the venom beneath the words even if he doesn't know the root of it.

"You are an active operative under contract to this guild," Bram says, his tone lowering into a dark, desperate attempt to reclaim control. "You don't get to simply ride off into the dark without leaving a post, Amelisse. My couriers scoured the southern trail for three days."

"And yet you found nothing," I interrupt, leaning forward and resting my chin in my hand, looking him dead in his bloodshot eyes. "Because when I don't want to be found by you, Bram, you couldn't track me if your life depended on it."

I take a crisp, loud bite of the apple, chewing deliberately while the two towering men stand there, completely stripped of their leverage, looking hollowed out and utterly undone by the casual, untouchable peace I brought back with me.

I finish chewing the bite of apple, swallow, and set the fruit casually on the edge of the trestle. I let my gaze sweep over them, Bram standing rigid as an iron spike, Vane trembling with barely banked panic, and offer them an easy, careless smile.

"Look," I say, my voice light, calm, and utterly devoid of fear. "If it displeases you so much, I’m happy to leave my armour and weapons here and leave permanently."

The silence that drops over the dining hall is instantaneous and suffocating.

"The sais I’ll keep, of course," I continue smoothly, tapping the leather sheath at my hip with one fingertip. "I bought them with my own coin. But the rest? I can leave folded on my bed, and you won’t have to ever worry about my insolence again."

Bram’s breath hitches. A sudden, violent fracture splits through his icy Guild master facade, his hands twitch at his sides as if he’s fighting every instinct in his body not to throw himself forward and physically bar the door. The hollow terror carved into his dark eyes is absolute.

"Don't," Bram rasps, the word tearing out of him before he can temper it with

authority. "Don't say that."

I don't give him the satisfaction of a reaction. I casually swing my boots off the table and look straight past him, fixing my gaze on Vane. The scout looks like a ghost, haunted, drained, his knuckles white against his sword belt, his grey eyes locked onto mine as if he’s drowning and watching his only lifeline drift away.

"But," I say, tilting my head with a razor-thin, professional smirk, "if you don’t want me to leave, I’m ready for a contract."

I hold Vane's tortured, desperate gaze, letting the icy distance settle between us like a wall of solid stone.

"Vane," I ask, sweet and completely devoid of warmth, "are you healed enough for a contract?"

"Hello? Vane?"

I wave a hand right in front of his face, my fingers cutting through the thick, frozen air between us. His dilated, pupils track the motion with a slow, agonising delay, like a man slowly coming awake from a nightmare only to find the daylight far worse.

I let out a soft, theatrical sigh, dropping my hand back to my lap with a shake of my head.

"Well, if he’s broken, I can go alone," I say casually, glancing over at Bram with a raised brow. "I should be fine with a solo contract, although partners are preferable. Less mess when hauling bounties."

"No," Vane rasps, the word tearing out of his chest like a cough through broken glass.

He lunges half a step forward, catching himself on the edge of the heavy oak table right beside my boots. His fingers curl into the grain until his knuckles gleam bloodless and white. The dazed, haunted glaze in his eyes fractures, replaced by a desperate, frantic intensity that makes the air crackle.

"I’m not broken," he says, his voice low, gravelly, and shaking with suppressed adrenaline. He rolls his left shoulder deliberately, ignoring the sharp, violent wince that flickers over his jaw as the stitched muscle pulls tight beneath his leathers, just to prove he can take it. "I'm ready. You don't ride out solo, Amelisse. Not while I’m drawing breath."

Beside him, Bram’s jaw sets into a rigid, dangerous line. The Guildmaster's dark eyes burn, flicking sharply between Vane’s feverish, possessive desperation and the icy, untouchable smirk playing on my lips.

"Neither of you is riding anywhere until I review the manifest," Bram cuts in, his baritone dark, strained, and vibrating with an authority that feels hollowed out by fear. "And you, Amelisse, are not taking a solitary step outside those gates."

"Fine," I say, my tone cool, clipped, and razor-sharp. "When a contract arises, I’ll go with a partner. But make no mistake, Bram, if I want to leave these gates alone, I will do it. I won’t be a prisoner in this safe house."

I slide smoothly off the edge of the trestle table, my boots hitting the stone floor with a quiet, decisive thud. Standing before them, untamed and entirely unbowed, I look Bram dead in his dark, hollowed eyes.

"If the guild won’t permit me to leave, then I’ll leave the guild."

The declaration drops like a heavy blade, cutting through the remaining air in the hall. Bram’s throat works on a choked, strangled silence, his fingers curling into tight, powerless fists. Vane takes a half step back as if struck by a physical blow, his knuckles trembling at his sides, terrified to push me an inch further and shatter the thin thread tethering me to the compound.

I don't spare either of them a second glance as I turn on my heel and begin walking toward the corridor archway, my canvas pack slung easily over my shoulder.

"Collette, drinks later?" I shoot over my shoulder, my voice bright and laced with honeyed defiance. "Just you and me at the tavern."

Behind me, Collette lets out a low, wicked laugh that echoes through the tense quiet of the hall. "Count me in, Ame. First round's on me."

The heavy oak door to my quarters swings open with a sharp, familiar thud, and Collette breezes in, kicking the door shut behind her with the heel of her boot.

"Right, Ame," she says, dusting dried mud off her forearms and tossing her throwing knives onto my small writing desk. "Make me pretty again. If I have to spend one more hour smelling like wet wool, horse liniment, and the Guild masters brooding misery, I might actually set fire to the keep."

I let out a genuine, ringing laugh, the first real sound of joy that room has heard in over a week. Reaching into the small wooden chest at the foot of my cot, I pull out a rich, jewel toned gown and toss it straight into her chest.

"My vanity is yours, my viper," I reply, grinning as she catches the fabric with an appreciative smirk. "Have at it."

The deep burgundy wool looks striking against her strikingly pale skin and sleek, midnight raven hair, bringing a lethal contrast to her sharp golden eyes and softening her vanguard edges into something dangerous and breathtaking.

While she claims the small cracked mirror, lining those bright golden irises with kohl and humming a sharp mountain tune, I turn to my own wardrobe.

Tonight, I have no desire to play the soft, pastel wanderer from the valley, nor the armoured, obedient soldier of the fortress. I want something entirely my own sleek, sharp, and untouchable.

I pull on high waisted trousers made of rich, ink-black velvet, tailored so tightly they hug every line of my hips and thighs like a second skin while leaving me entirely free to move or fight. Tucked into the velvet band is a deep navy blue silk blouse, the neckline gathered low to drape off my shoulders, exposing the delicate line of my collarbones and the pale arch of my throat, while the sheer, airy sleeves billow with every movement before gathering tight at my wrists with tiny silver clasps.

I sit at the edge of the bed to lace up my favourite boots, supple black leather rising all the way to my knees, laced tight up the calves with a slight, confident heel that adds an inch to my posture and clicks with lethal elegance against the stone.

Standing before the small vanity next to Collette, I dab a rich, dark blackberry stain onto my lips, the deep wine colour making my skin glow against the candle flame. I shake out my hair, refusing ribbons, combs, or braids, letting the dark waves tumble wild, thick, and untamed over the bare skin of my shoulders.

Finally, I clasp a delicate weapons belt of dark, silver-linked leather low around my waist, letting it rest slanted against my hips. I slide my twin silver sais into the custom holsters at either side? the polished prongs catching the warm candlelight, a clear, shimmering warning that beneath the silk and velvet, the blade remains fully drawn.

Collette pauses with a brush in hand, turning to look me up and down. A slow, wicked whistle curls past her lips.

"Gods above, Ame," she murmurs, her golden eyes dancing with absolute delight against her pale features. "You look like a midnight shadow that decided to ruin every man within a five mile radius. If Vane and Bram see you walk through that courtyard looking like that, they might actually combust where they stand."

I just chuckle, catching Collette’s arm with a conspiratorial grin, and the two of us head out into the stone corridor.

The rhythmic, decisive click of my heeled boots and the rustle of Collette’s burgundy skirts echo against the damp masonry. As we emerge into the cold evening courtyard, torches flicker in the iron sconces, casting long, wavering amber shadows across the packed snow.

The stable yard goes completely, utterly still.

Near the hitching posts, Arden is inspecting a bridle with a couple of junior scouts. When he glances up, the leather strap slips through his fingers. He blinks, a low, appreciative grin twitching across his face, shaking his head at Collette’s transformation before his gaze hits me, and he lets out a quiet, knowing whistle under his breath, stepping smartly out of our path.