Fire in the Tower
830 Words
The Academy bells rang just past midnight.
Not the steady chime of timekeeping—
—but the frantic, uneven toll of alarm.
Elara woke to the smell of smoke.
For one disoriented second, she thought she was back in Briar Hollow during harvest burnings. Then she saw the orange glow flickering beneath her chamber door.
Fire.
She was on her feet instantly.
Shouts echoed down the stone corridor. Somewhere below, glass shattered. The Academy tower—old, narrow, and lined with centuries of parchment—had become a chimney.
Elara grabbed the queen’s letter from beneath her pillow and tucked it inside her dress. She opened the door carefully.
Smoke rolled in.
Students stumbled past in panic. One tripped, coughing violently.
“The stairs!” someone shouted. “They’ve collapsed!”
Elara’s mind snapped into clarity.
Fire climbs.
Stone holds heat.
Air feeds flame.
She ran not downward—but upward.
“Where are you going?” a student cried.
“The roof!” she shouted back. “Higher ground means open air!”
Three followed her.
At the top of the tower, they burst onto the exposed rooftop terrace. Wind whipped smoke sideways, granting precious breaths of clean air. Below, flames licked hungrily at wooden beams.
Elara scanned the courtyard.
Guards were present—but too few. Water lines were poorly organized. Buckets passed without rhythm. It was chaos.
And then she saw something else.
At the far edge of the courtyard, standing beneath an archway untouched by flame—
The Regent’s advisor.
Watching.
Not commanding help.
Watching.
This was no accident.
“Elara!” Professor Rowen’s voice rose from below, strained but alive.
She moved to the roof’s edge and looked down.
“The western support beam!” she shouted. “If it fails, the tower will collapse inward! Reinforce it with a wet cloth and sand—smother, don’t douse!”
Rowen relayed the orders instantly.
Below, a few soldiers hesitated—then obeyed.
The fire had been set strategically—lower levels, near archives and structural joints. Whoever planned it understood the building.
Understood its weaknesses.
Understood hers.
The rooftop stones grew hot beneath her boots. Smoke thickened again.
“We need a signal,” Elara muttered.
Her eyes landed on the Academy’s massive brass telescope mounted near the edge—its lens large, polished.
She adjusted it quickly, angling the glass toward the rising moonlight and redirecting the beam downward—toward the courtyard’s shadowed archway.
Light struck the advisor directly in the face.
He flinched instinctively.
Several guards turned at once, noticing him clearly for the first time amid the chaos.
Suspicion flickered.
Elara met his gaze from above.
She didn’t look afraid.
She looked aware.
Moments later, a section of the lower flames died under sand and soaked cloth. The western beam held.
Slowly, painstakingly, the fire was forced back.
By dawn, the tower still stood—scarred, blackened, but standing.
Elara descended hours later, soot streaking her face, eyes burning but steady.
The Regent arrived shortly after sunrise, expression grave.
“A tragedy,” he declared. “A terrible accident.”
“Accidents do not begin at load-bearing joints,” Elara replied quietly.
A dangerous hush fell between them.
The Regent studied her carefully.
“You are fortunate,” he said softly. “Fire is unpredictable.”
“No,” she answered. “People are.”
Around them, Academy scholars whispered. Guards exchanged uncertain glances.
The attempt had failed.
Worse—
It had made her stronger.
Professor Rowen stepped beside her.
“The nobles are requesting a formal inquiry,” he murmured.
The Regent’s smile did not reach his eyes.
“Of course they are.”
As he turned to leave, his advisor avoided Elara’s gaze.
She watched them go, mind already racing.
If they would burn a tower to silence her, they would not hesitate to do worse.
This was no longer about proving who she was.
It was about surviving long enough to make it matter.
Elara looked up at the smoke-stained sky.
“They tried to make me afraid,” she said softly.
Rowen studied her.
“Are you?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
Her eyes hardened—not with anger, but with resolve.
“They’ve shown me how far they’re willing to go.”
The wind shifted, carrying the last of the smoke away from the city.
“And now,” she said quietly, “I’ll show them how far I am.”
Far above, in the palace tower, the Regent stood alone, staring at the Academy through a spyglass.
“She survives everything,” he muttered.
Behind him, the advisor spoke carefully.
“What is your next move, Your Grace?”
The Regent lowered the glass.
“If fire cannot remove her,” he said coldly, “then we will give her something far more dangerous.”
He turned toward the throne room.
“We will give her the people.”
To be continued…
- Writer
