Cracks in the Flame
509 Words
The Hollow Watch wasn’t what Caelen expected.
There were no banners, no speeches, no rows of soldiers training for war. Just people, tired, sharp eyed, always listening. Campfires in side tunnels. Rusted weapons beside soup bowls. Quiet greetings that ended with longer stares.
And all of them looked at him the same way:
Like he was already on fire.
“Commander Vale’s been holding this place together since Emberhold fell,” Brynn explained as they passed through the lower tunnels. “She doesn’t talk much.”
Caelen glanced at the scarred stone, the flickering torchlight.
“Does anyone down here?”
Brynn gave him a crooked smile. “Talking gets you noticed.”
Commander Vale summoned them that evening to the war chamber, a circular hollow lit by low flame lanterns and a central map etched into the stone floor.
Three other rebels stood nearby: a heavyset man with burn scarred arms, a woman missing an eye, and a lean, quiet figure who didn’t give a name.
All eyes turned to Caelen.
“So,” Vale said, her voice flat, “this is the Emberborn.”
Caelen tensed. “I’m not even sure what that means.”
“Then you’re the only one who doesn’t,” muttered the woman with the eyepatch.
Brynn stepped forward. “He’s not ready. He’s still learning.”
Vale raised a hand. “That’s not up to you, Brynn.”
Caelen’s gaze darted between them. “Up to who, then?”
The scarred man chuckled, dry and humorless. “To the cause. To the fire. Same as the rest of us.”
Later, as the meeting dissolved and the rebels filtered out, Caelen lingered by the map. Strange marks carved into the edges caught his eye, symbols like the ones in Elowen’s journal.
“Old flame paths,” came a voice.
He turned. It was the quiet rebel. The one who hadn’t spoken until now.
“They’re still buried under the capital,” the man said softly. “Your kind used them to travel unseen. You could wake them, if you tried.”
Caelen took a step back. “I’m not trying to wake anything.”
The man smiled faintly. “Doesn’t matter. The ember wakes when it’s ready.”
That night, Caelen couldn’t sleep.
He rose, wandered the tunnels alone. The flickering lanterns seemed dimmer somehow, as if the rock itself was holding its breath.
Voices echoed ahead.
He stopped near a side chamber. Brynn’s voice. Quiet. Angry.
“…You said he wouldn’t be pushed. He’s not a weapon.”
Commander Vale: “He’s what we need him to be. You brought him here.”
“He’s not ready.”
“No one ever is.”
Caelen didn’t listen to the rest.
He turned away, heart pounding.
Back in the sleeping chamber, he stared at the stone ceiling until his eyes burned.
Not from fire. From something colder.
The ember inside him flickered low, but didn’t go out.
And in that silence, a thought whispered:
What if I’m not here to save anything?
- Writer
