Throne of Ash and Blood

Chapter 3 Water and Fire

The air was warm and heavy that afternoon, the kind that clung to skin and made every breath feel thick. The training yard was nearly empty except for two figures—one with the lean grace of a predator, the other with the focused stance of a mage.

Alphonse rolled his shoulders, loosening the tension from his last spell practice, and adjusted his stance. Across from him, Emiko was practically vibrating with energy, her white-tipped ears twitching in anticipation.

“You’re in a good mood,” Alphonse noted, a small smirk playing at his lips.

“Oh, I am,” she grinned, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “Maze taught me something new.”

Alphonse arched a brow. “Should I be worried?”

“Yes,” she replied simply, her grin widening.

They circled each other, the crunch of gravel underfoot the only sound. Then Emiko moved first—exploding forward in a blur, scooping small stones from the dirt and hurling them toward him with startling precision.

Alphonse’s reaction was instinctive; water shimmered into a smooth, curved shield before him, each rock bouncing harmlessly away. With a flick of his wrist, he countered—sending two quick water orbs whipping toward her.

But Emiko danced between them like she was born to avoid danger, her bare feet light on the earth. She sprinted forward, and then—dropping to all fours—closed the distance in a way no human could.

“Fast,” Alphonse murmured to himself, preparing another spell.

Then she vanished.

The air where she’d been shimmered faintly, like heat haze, and Alphonse froze mid-incantation.

“…Emi?”

No answer.

Then—out of nowhere—she reappeared at his side, arm c****d back with another stone. He barely managed to pull a water shield into place before she disappeared again, the rock bouncing harmlessly off.

Again and again she flashed into being only to vanish before he could land a hit, each appearance coming from a new, unexpected angle.

Teleportation.

The realization made his pulse quicken—not from fear, but from excitement.

He turned in slow, measured movements now, scanning the air for the telltale shimmer, anticipating the strike.

It came suddenly. One heartbeat she was nowhere, the next she was right there—legs wrapping around his waist as the momentum of her tackle drove him backward. They hit the ground with a thud, his breath catching in surprise.

Emiko grinned down at him, her hands planted on either side of his head. “Gotcha.”

Alphonse’s thoughts scattered.

He’d never noticed—really noticed—before how much she’d changed in the last year. Her frame was still slender, but there was a new softness to her shape, subtle curves that hadn’t been there when they were younger. His gaze traced her face, catching the light sheen of sweat along her temple, then slid down the smooth line of her neck where a few droplets ran slowly toward the loose collar of her tunic.

The fabric gaped slightly, revealing the faint swell of her chest, and heat surged up his neck and into his cheeks.

That was when he realized—with sudden, almost alarming awareness—that she was straddling him, her weight pressed down over his hips.

His breath hitched.

Their eyes met—just for a moment—and something shifted. The familiar warmth between them twisted into something deeper, sharper. His chest tightened, unsure if it was from the spar or something far more dangerous.

Then—

A sharp wolf whistle cut through the air.

“Oi! Prince Alli!” one of the older teenage guards-in-training called out, laughter in his voice. “If you don’t know what to do with a beast woman that fine, hand her over to us!”

His friend snickered. “Yeah, she’s wasted on you. Bet we could show her a real good time.”

Emiko’s ears flattened, her smile fading into a thin line. She cleared her throat, standing quickly and offering Alphonse her hand. He took it without a word, jaw tight.

The two boys kept going, "Yeah I heard Fox Girls have the tightest and sweetest p***y of all the beast people. Come on sweetheart let us have a taste."

The world around him tunneled. Alphonse's pulse roared in his ears. The air shimmered in front of his hands—heat, not from embarrassment this time. Without thinking, he threw it.

A searing ball of flame streaked across the yard, slamming into the ground between the two boys. The blast knocked them backward, singeing clothes and skin. Part of the grass caught instantly, flames licking upward.

Alphonse’s eyes widened—just for a heartbeat—before instinct took over again. With a sharp gesture, water roared from the ground and doused the flames, leaving behind only smoking earth and two whimpering boys clutching their burns.

Later that day, the throne room felt colder than usual despite the late sun spilling in through its high windows. Alphonse stood beside Emiko before the dais, his father seated in calm authority while his uncle paced like a caged wolf.

“He’s a water mage,” the uncle spat. “Yet he just conjured fire. Who knows what else is in him? This isn’t normal—it’s dangerous. He must go to the Spheres.”

Alphonse’s chest was tight, his hands clasped behind his back. He could still smell the smoke if he thought about it.

Beside him, Emiko shifted closer—subtle enough that no one else noticed—and let her fingers brush against his. The smallest touch, but it sent a quiet calm through him, easing the tension in his shoulders.

His uncle’s voice rose again. “The boy’s power is unpredictable. If you keep him here, you risk the kingdom. At the Spheres, they can test him, find the limits of his magic—if there are any.”

Alphonse stared ahead, but his mind kept returning to the warmth of Emiko’s hand, steady and sure, as if to remind him: you’re not alone in this.

Alphonse’s father sat quietly in the great chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin. The only sound in the room was the crackle of the fire and the faint ticking of the ornate clock on the wall. His gaze drifted between the boy and the embers, his expression unreadable.

He had been thinking—long and hard—ever since the incident in the courtyard. Magic like that was not just rare; it was dangerous, both to the wielder and those around him. His son… his only son… had the potential to be great, but only if he could control it.

Finally, he drew a deep breath, as though the decision had weighed on his chest for hours.

"You’ll go to the Spheres," he said at last. His voice was low, final. "I want to see just how far your magic goes… and I want you to learn to control it before it controls you."

Alphonse’s eyes widened. For a moment, excitement and apprehension tangled inside him.

"Pack your things, son," his father continued, his tone softening slightly. "It’s a very… very long journey."

The boy turned immediately toward Emiko, already planning in his mind how they’d make the trip together. "Come on, Emi—start packing too," he said with a small smile, his voice carrying the certainty that she was coming.

Before Emiko could move, his uncle’s voice cut in—blunt, sharp, and without a shred of warmth.

"The animal stays here."

Alphonse froze mid-step. His brow furrowed, the muscles in his jaw tightening. Without thinking, he reached back, firmly taking Emiko’s arm and pulling her behind him, as if his body could shield her from the insult. His voice was low but edged with fire. "What?"

His uncle opened his mouth, but before the man could speak, Alphonse’s father rose from his chair and stepped down toward his son.

"Alphonse…" His father’s tone was gentler now, but there was still the weight of inevitability in it. "The Spheres are for mages only. No servants. No companions. No beast people. It’s… the law."

Alphonse’s breath quickened. He could feel the heat of his temper building in his chest, ready to spill over into words he might regret. His hands tightened into fists.

Then—soft and steady—Emiko’s hand came to rest on his shoulder.

"It’s ok," she said quietly. "I’ll help you pack."

The fight drained out of him instantly, replaced by something heavier—something that made his throat ache.

In his room, the two of them sat on his bed, the open travel bag at his feet lying mostly forgotten. Alphonse stared at the floor, trying to blink the sting from his eyes, but the tears broke free anyway. His voice cracked when he finally spoke. "I don’t want to leave you."

Emiko turned to him, her big golden eyes glistening. Even now, she tried to smile for him—soft, with the faintest flash of her sharp fangs.

"We don’t have a choice, Alli," she whispered. "You have to learn to control your magic… and the only way to do that is to go to the Spheres. I’ll be right here, waiting until you get back."

He couldn’t hold it back anymore. The tears slid freely down his face as he reached for her, pulling her into him. They lay down on his bed, tangled in each other’s arms, holding on as if letting go might make the moment real.

Emiko never cried—not when she was hurt, not when she was sad, not even when she was alone. But he felt it now. Her ears were pinned back so far they nearly disappeared into her white hair, and her quiet tears soaked through the fabric of his shirt.

He pressed his lips to the top of her head, breathing in the faint scent of snowberries and pine that always clung to her. "I promise," he murmured into her hair, "I’ll work my ass off. I’ll train as fast as I can." His voice broke again, but he didn’t stop. "I promise… I’ll come back to you."

And though the fire in the hearth downstairs had long burned low, the warmth between them stayed, fragile and desperate, until the night finally claimed them both.