Chapter 6: When Ashes Speak
1281 Words
The wind rolled off the cliffs like breath from an old god, carrying dust, embers, and a storm of memories. Kaelin stood at the edge of the rocky outcrop, staring down at the fires blooming in the valley below—torches, hundreds of them, held by warriors, exiles, and rebels who had once believed the flame of resistance had died with him.
But now, the fire had returned.
And with it, the dead walked among the living once more—not as ghosts, but as vengeance in flesh.
The Reunion
Maren was the first to step forward. She looked older, her once fiery hair streaked with silver, and a thick scar twisted the edge of her left brow. But her eyes—those sharp, piercing eyes—were the same ones Kaelin remembered: the eyes of a fighter, a lover, a survivor.
“Still brooding on the cliffs,” she said, arms crossed. “Some things never change.”
Kaelin’s face softened only slightly. “And some scars don’t fade.”
Maren shrugged. “We make do with the ones that matter.”
A beat of silence passed between them. History thickened the air like smoke.
Kaelin finally stepped down from the rocks. “How many did you bring?”
Maren gestured to the sea of rebels behind her. “Enough to matter. Not enough to win.”
“They don’t need to win.” Kaelin’s hand fell to the hilt of the Blade of Sovereigns. “They need to burn.”
The War Council
By nightfall, the monastery’s cavernous halls were filled with rebels. Maps were spread, weapons were sharpened, and every breath felt like preparation for the storm.
Kaelin stood at the head of the war table, Maren at his left, Ren at his right.
Ren leaned in. “We can’t take the Capital. Not like this.”
Maren agreed. “It’s suicide. They have skyships, blood mages, whole legions. We have a few hundred and a blade.”
Kaelin’s finger pointed at the eastern valley on the map. “Then we make them bleed somewhere else.”
Ren frowned. “Where?”
Kaelin's voice lowered. “We take back Embergate.”
Maren straightened. “The old training ground?”
“It’s not just a ruin,” Kaelin said. “It’s the cradle of the Masters. My cradle. If I’m to be more than a myth, they need to see me rise from the ash itself.”
Ren asked, “And what happens if the Dominion finds us first?”
Kaelin looked at him.
“Then we remind them who taught them fear.”
The Dominion Moves
In the Capital, High Chancellor Liora sat in a chamber of ice and mirrors, speaking to a circle of generals via arcane projection. Her expression was stone-cold.
“The Last Master gathers dogs beneath his banner. Their torches defile the sacred night.”
One general snorted. “A relic with a rusty sword.”
Another added, “He’s a symbol. We kill the symbol, we kill the hope.”
Liora stood. “Then extinguish him. Send the Blackwing Legion to Embergate. Burn it until the soil cries.”
The generals bowed. “By flame and law.”
“By flame and law,”
Liora echoed.
But behind her smile was unease.
She had seen the signs.
The ash that rose unnaturally. The birds that flew backward. The dreams of fire and eyes of gold.
The prophecy wasn’t dead.
And if Kaelin truly lived—so did the Master's curse.
The March to Embergate
Kaelin led them through the Wraithwood, a haunted forest of bone trees and fog that never lifted. Maren’s soldiers whispered of the dead, and some swore they heard voices. But none turned back.
Ren kept close to Kaelin. “Why do they follow you? Half of them don’t even know your face.”
Kaelin didn’t answer for a moment. Then:
“Because fire draws the cold.”
On the seventh day, the forest broke, revealing the scorched spires of Embergate.
Once a sanctuary. Now a tomb.
Its black towers stood like broken fangs, jagged against a blood-orange sky. The wind screamed through the hollow windows. Crows circled above.
Ren swallowed. “Does it remember you?”
Kaelin stepped forward. “I never left.”
Ashes Remember
They camped inside the crumbling courtyard. That night, as the rebels rested and strategized, Kaelin walked alone to the Heart Flame—an ancient pit where the Masters once trained by walking barefoot across burning coals.
He stood at its edge, stared into the soot-filled basin, and stepped in.
The fire bloomed.
But it did not burn him.
It whispered.
And in the flame, he saw faces: old friends, mentors, betrayers.
One voice rose above the rest.
“You cannot lead them unless you suffer with them.”
It was Master Tael—the man who’d taught Kaelin everything… and the one who had betrayed him at the end.
Kaelin knelt in the flame, teeth clenched, letting the pain in his chest burn—his anger, his loss, his loneliness. His skin blistered but did not c***k. His heart thudded like a war drum.
He screamed, but the wind swallowed it.
And then… silence.
The flames parted, revealing a circle of light.
In the ashes sat a shard of crystal.
He reached in and pulled it free.
It glowed red. A memory-stone.
The First Memory
Kaelin placed the memory-stone on a flat surface and activated it with a whisper. An illusion burst forth—a moment frozen in time.
A young Kaelin, laughing. Surrounded by other initiates, sparring in the courtyard.
Then a teacher stepped in—Master Tael, tall and regal.
“You are not just warriors,” he said. “You are firewalkers. Carriers of will. You must burn your ego to forge your truth.”
The vision flickered. Shifted.
Now Kaelin stood over a body—another student, bleeding, eyes wide in betrayal. Guards dragged him away. Chains bound his hands.
Tael’s voice echoed in the background.
“No one stands above the law.”
Kaelin clenched his fists.
He remembered now.
The lie.
The betrayal.
He had been framed. Banished. Hunted.
And now… returned.
Maren Confronts the Past
Later that night, Maren found him staring at the stars beside the memory-stone.
“You saw it again?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Do you remember everything?”
“Enough to hate them.”
She crouched beside him. “Kaelin, we followed you because you gave us purpose. Not vengeance.”
He looked at her. “What if they’re the same?”
She touched his hand gently. “They can’t be. Not again.”
He pulled away. “I don’t know how to lead without rage.”
“Then let someone teach you.” She stood. “That’s why you have us.
The First Spark of War
The next morning, scouts returned with news: the Blackwing Legion was two days out, descending fast with fire chariots and sky warships.
They had no time to prepare fully.
Kaelin stood atop the Embergate’s tallest tower.
“We hold the gate,” he told the gathered fighters. “We hold it not for ourselves—but for every child who was told to kneel. For every flame they tried to drown in chains.”
He drew the Blade of Sovereigns. Its edge caught the sun, blazing gold.
“And if we fall, we fall as fire.”
The crowd roared.
Maren lifted her axe. “Ashes to ashes!”
Ren raised his training blade. “Flame to flame!”
Kaelin smiled.
The storm was coming.
And this time, the fire would not flicker
- Writer
