TITLE:ASHES OF THE BLACKAN:

Episode 7:Title:UNVEILING THE SPARK

Episode 7** of **"Ashes of the Blackan"**:

# Episode 7: **Unveiling the Spark**

Kalen moved through the manor's lower halls like a storm contained in human form, Dren’s battered body slung across his shoulders.

The servants scattered at the sight of him. The guards turned their faces away, too wise — or too afraid — to ask questions.

It didn’t matter.

Kalen wasn’t doing this for them. He wasn’t even doing it for Dren. Not really.

He was doing it for the part of himself he thought had died long ago — and now refused to stay buried.

Kalen brought Dren to a small, forgotten chamber near the old servant quarters — a place even the Maevryn nobles rarely visited.

There, he set his old friend down gently on a narrow bed, wincing at the deep bruises and half-healed wounds covering Dren’s body.

The healer would come later. Kalen had already slipped a silent threat into her quarters — a reminder of what would happen if she spoke a word about this.

For now, he needed answers.

But Dren, weak and fevered, slipped into unconsciousness before he could say more than Kalen’s name.

Kalen sat by the bedside, watching, waiting, and hating how helpless he felt.

Elsewhere in the manor, **Silas Ventor**, **Cassian Vale**, **Mira Lorne**, and **Saphira Vynn** — the young transgender girl whose bright spirit refused to be dimmed by the darkness around them — gathered in secret.

Cassian, ever the strategist, spoke first.

"Kalen Dravik... he’s not what we thought."

Silas crossed his arms. "You saw him. He’s dangerous."

"But he saved Mira," Saphira said softly, her eyes wide. "He didn't have to, but he did."

Mira sat silently, arms wrapped around her knees, her mind a storm of confusion.

She *felt* it — whatever darkness haunted Kalen, it wasn’t complete. There was still light there, buried deep.

And somehow, she was sure: if they didn’t reach him soon, that light would either die — or explode into something unstoppable.

The next day, the four teens found themselves drawn together again during the enforced "training" sessions the Maevryn lords demanded.

It was meant to be a way to weed out the weak.

It only succeeded in showing who could *survive*.

Cassian and Silas sparred with bored brutality, drawing a small crowd of snickering nobles.

Mira stood off to the side, staring down at her hands.

Since the night of the feast, strange things had been happening around her. Lights flickering. Objects moving when she grew angry or scared.

Magic.

Wild. Untamed. Dangerous.

She had heard whispers of people like her — people whose gifts bloomed late, often violently.

If the Maevryn learned what she was becoming...

She would be dead by sunrise.

Saphira nudged her gently. "Hey. You're shaking."

"I’m fine," Mira lied.

Saphira frowned but didn’t press. She just stayed close — a silent shield between Mira and the cruel eyes of the court.

Mira was grateful.

More grateful than she could say.

High above the training yard, hidden behind a carved stone balcony, Kalen watched.

He wasn’t supposed to care. Mavora’s voice echoed in his memory: *"They are pawns. Tools. Nothing more."*

But when he saw Mira struggling against something unseen, saw Saphira standing beside her like a tiny, defiant flame... He felt something twist inside him.

Something dangerous.

Something human.

Suddenly, Mira stumbled.

Pain flashed across her face — not from any blow, but from within.

Cassian rushed to her side, catching her before she could fall.

"Mira?" he said sharply. "What's wrong?"

Before she could answer, the ground beneath her cracked — hairline fractures spidering through the marble.

Gasps rippled through the watching crowd.

One of the Maevryn stewards — a thin, vulture-like man — pointed a bony finger at her.

"Magic!" he hissed. "Witchcraft!"

The word fell like a death sentence.

In an instant, armed guards closed in.

Mira backed away, terror blooming across her face.

"I didn't mean to—" she started.

They didn’t care.

The Maevryn didn’t forgive accidents.

Kalen moved before he knew he had decided.

He dropped from the balcony, landing in a crouch between Mira and the oncoming guards.

The force of his landing cracked the stone beneath his boots.

Gasps and shouts rose around them.

The guards hesitated.

They knew Kalen Dravik’s reputation. They knew what he could do.

Silas and Cassian drew closer to Mira instinctively, flanking her without hesitation.

Saphira stepped up too, trembling but unyielding.

Together, they formed a wall — fragile, desperate, but burning with stubborn life.

Kalen straightened slowly, black cloak swirling around him.

His voice was a growl of warning:

"Touch her, and die."

The steward sputtered, furious.

"This is treason! She’s a danger! She must be restrained—"

Kalen’s eyes locked on his, cold and lethal.

The steward faltered... then, wisely, stepped back.

The guards lowered their weapons — but Kalen knew this was only a pause.

Not a victory.

Not yet.

He turned to Mira, who stared up at him with wide, terrified eyes.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Kalen said, low enough that only she could hear:

"You're stronger than you know. But if you don't learn to control it... They'll kill you."

Mira swallowed hard and nodded.

She didn’t know if she could trust him.

But for now, trust was the only thing standing between her and death.

**Far above**, watching through hidden spy-glass, **Vera Moonfall** tapped her long nails thoughtfully against her chair.

Kalen was breaking the rules. Forming bonds. Protecting the weak.

It was beautiful, in a way.

And tragic.

Because when she struck — and she would — those bonds would become his greatest weakness.

And his ruin.

**[End of Episode 7]**