The Seeker’s Path
369 Words
(POV: Seeker Deylan)
They told him to bring the boy in alive.
That was the part that kept echoing in Deylan’s mind, long after the fire had eaten through the trees and the Ashvale trail had gone cold.
Not punish. Not silence.
Bring him in alive.
That was unusual.
He stood now on the ridge overlooking the scorched edge of the valley, smoke curling from the blackened trunks. The boy’s magic had flared here, wild, untrained, and far stronger than expected.
The scent still lingered: char, ash, and a faint metallic trace that shouldn’t have been there.
Emberblood.
Deylan narrowed his eyes and pressed his palm to the earth. The sigil burned faintly beneath his glove, a Crown marked brand, tied to every spark of forbidden flame within a league.
It pulsed once.
Then again.
He was close.
A soldier climbed the ridge behind him, out of breath. “Seeker. New orders from the capital.”
Deylan didn’t turn. “The Queen?”
“Her steward.”
“Cowards send messengers when truth gets too sharp.”
The soldier hesitated. “They said… we’re not to kill the Emberborn.”
Deylan slowly rose, brushing ash from his cloak. “I gathered that already.”
“They said he might be… necessary.”
That made him pause.
“Necessary?” Deylan said, his voice quiet. “The boy who burned half a street by accident?”
The soldier swallowed. “There’s more. They’ve spotted movement in the Hollow. Rebel tunnels. They think he’s with them now.”
Deylan stared at the blackened horizon.
Of course the rebels would want him.
Everyone wanted to claim the fire. But none of them knew what it cost.
He turned to the soldier. “Tell the Queen’s men to stay clear of the ravine.”
“You’re not going in alone, are you?”
Deylan didn’t answer. He simply unbuckled the clasp of his cloak and tossed it aside.
The brand on his palm glowed brighter.
“I don’t need to catch him,” he said. “I just need to remind him what the fire really is.”
And with that, he stepped off the ridge, disappearing into the trees silent as smoke.
- Writer
