THE EMBERWITCH

CHAPTER SIX

KAEL

I watched the Emberborn, dressed in the tattered uniform of a palace servant, collapse to the ground.

For a moment, everything stilled.

A fury I could not name burned low and steady in my chest, coiling tighter with every passing second.

Around me, my men moved with brutal efficiency. They stepped over bodies and dragged the dead into lines. Not a single word spoken as the blood that surrounded us broke into the hearts of the soldiers.

And yet—

My gaze remained fixed on her.

Small. Still. Like a fragile thing that had no business standing in the middle of a battlefield, crumpled up on the floor.

An Emberborn.

Inside my palace.

My jaw tightened.

My men began clearing the hall, lifting the mutilated bodies of our fallen soldiers. Their expressions were—grim, disciplined, silent. But I saw it in their movements.

Fatigue and Loss.

We had seen too many die.

Too many to the rifts. Too many to the chaos they brought. Too many while carrying out their duty under my command.

And yet today—

Today felt different.

Worse.

I had believed the rifts were weakening.

After the purging of the Emberborn, after the systematic hunts, after years of bloodshed, I had believed we were winning.

An illogical mistake.

The thought sat heavy in my mind, bitter and unwelcome.

With the scale of the attacks we had suffered, I should have known something was wrong.

I should have felt it.

And yet—

All my instincts had drawn me to her.

Not with the certainty I usually carried when facing an Emberborn. Not with the cold precision of a hunter sighting prey.

No.

Something else.

Ever since the day I saw her on my return.

Disgust twisted in my gut at the realization. Because as she lay there now, unmoving, it became painfully clear what she was.

I should’ve known. And my mistake was the reason my men lay dead in heaps across my palace floor.

My grip tightened at my side. It was my fault. And yet again, I still left her breathing.

Why?

My sword should have struck true.

It always did.

I never missed.

So why—

My gaze dropped, unbidden, to where she lay.

My blade was buried deep in her shoulder, angled just enough to avoid her heart.

A clean throw.

My men approached her cautiously, weapons still drawn, as though expecting her to rise and strike again. One of them knelt beside her, inspecting the wound, his gloved fingers hovering just above the hilt of my sword.

He hesitated.

Then he looked up at me.

I saw it immediately.

The question.

Why is she alive?

My expression did not change.

Because I did not have an answer.

“Take it to the dungeon,” I said, no room for that question to be spoken aloud at my command.

For a fraction of a second, their composure faltered. Their brows lifting to their hairline, their eyes flickering between each other.

Then they bowed their heads. “As you command, Your Highness.”

They did not question me.

They knew better.

Still, I could feel it.

Their confusion lingered in the air long after they moved, lifting her body and carrying it away.

No Emberborn had ever survived my blade. Not one.

I had built my name on that certainty. And I knew what I was called.

Emberkiller.

The title echoed across kingdoms and ruins alike. A reminder. A warning. My truth.

I did not hesitate. I did not falter. And I did not miss.

Until now.

My gaze hardened as I turned away. There was work to be done.

The damage stretched far beyond the hall.

The moment I stepped outside, the stench hit me, it was thick, suffocating, unmistakable.

Blood.

Where the wind should’ve carried it away, it remained, circulating, mocking us, mocking me… for being weak, and ignorant.

It coated the courtyard, pooled in the cracks of stone, stained the armor of the fallen and the hooves of the restless horses still being restrained by the men that had come with me.

Servants lay among them.

Unarmed.

Untrained.

Dead.

My expression remained fixed, but something cold settled deeper in my chest.

This was not an isolated breach.

This was an invasion.

I moved through the aftermath, my presence parting soldiers as they straightened and saluted despite the c*****e around them. Reports were thrown my way—numbers, losses, sightings.

Each one worse than the last.

Dozens of casualties within the inner walls.

More beyond.

Entire patrol units, gone.

Rift creatures of varying forms, some never before recorded.

Stronger, Faster, Smarter, Adapting. My mind worked through it all..

But one thought refused to leave.

Her.

I stopped, my gaze lifting toward the palace towers.

All this…

For one girl?

It made no sense.

It was known that rift creatures were drawn to Emberborn. That much had been established long ago. Their presence brought on the creatures—hungered them.

But this—

This level of response?

This scale of destruction?

It was beyond anything we had ever documented.

My eyes narrowed slightly.

Blue flames. I had seen them upon entry into the hall, I had watched as the rift creatures it touched seemed to magically disappear.

Blue.

Not the usual red-orange blaze associated with their kind.

A quiet unease settled beneath my ribs. Could it be because she was the last? The final remnant of a dying breed?

Or—

Something else entirely?

My jaw tightened.

Another thought followed. The rift creatures, what would become of our realm when we finally wiped them out?

The logic I had relied on for years had shifted, just slightly, but it was enough to leave room for doubt of what we believed we knew. I exhaled slowly, steadying the storm beneath my thoughts.

Speculation was useless without answers.

And I now had a source, I intended to find answers.

As I turned, ready to descend the dungeon, I watched the palace messenger walk briskly toward me, terrified yet diligent.

As he approached me, before he bent his knee to address me, I admonished him.

“You need not take the knee. Just speak.” Too many had suffered and the families of the dead would know more suffering. Giving nightmares to the civilians of the Iron Kingdom was a task I would rather not assign myself.

The relief on his face was palpable.

“My liege, please accept my sincerest gratitude.” He bowed instead.

“Yes, on what accord have you found me?” I asked, the answer already taking shape in my mind.

“May it please my Liege, the Kings court requests your presence forthwith.”

Just as I suspected, word had quickly gotten to them. My little visit, it seemed, would be with delay.

“Very well.” I responded. The messenger bowed deeper before raising his head to usher me back into the palace.

There would be reckoning awaiting me, best i attended to it with haste.

It went without saying that I was never opposed in the King’s court.

Disagreement was not a front I was used to.

Not because I demanded blind obedience—but because I did not err.

I led as my father had taught me to lead.

With precision, discipline and the unyielding interest of the kingdom at the center of every decision.

And yet—

It seemed that would change.

My decision—no, my hesitation—to keep the Emberborn alive had already begun to ripple through the court like a fracture.

A fracture I intended to seal before it spread.

It was one of the earliest teachings drilled into me as a boy, long before I ever held a sword with purpose.

Rule number twenty-seven of being the King’s heir:

For actions heed suffrage of consequences; pray thee to act accordingly, and wisdom is profitable to direct.

I had memorized all one hundred.

Recited them until they became instinct.

Lived by them until they shaped the very foundation of who I was.

And now—

For the first time—

I stood on the edge of a consequence.

I stopped before the towering steel doors of the King’s court.

They loomed high above me, cold and unyielding, etched with the sigil of the Iron Kingdom.

Protection, dominion and finality.

The guards stationed at either side struck their spears against the ground in unison as I approached, their heads bowing low.

“Your Highness.”

Without a word, I stepped forward. The doors groaned open and I entered.

Silence greeted me first.

The twelve men of the King’s court sat around the great circular table, their postures rigid, their expressions carved into something between outrage and disbelief.

At the far end above them all, sat the King.

My father.

Unlike the others, he did not wear his judgment openly. He simply watched. But I knew that look, it was curiosity. His gaze met mine and in it, I saw the question he did not voice.

Why?

I stepped forward into the center of the chamber and bowed, as was customary.

The elders rose as one, returning the gesture in practiced unison before taking their seats again at my signal.

“We are most honored by your presence, Prince Kael,” Elder Gage Arbus began. “May Your Highness be exalted.”

I said nothing and he continued.

“It has come to the notice of the court that there was a… grievous incident within the palace walls, resulting in a notable number of soldiers who have passed.”

My jaw tightened.

‘Passed.’

As though death could be softened by language. As though the men who had been torn apart—limb from limb, flesh from bone—had simply drifted away.

I had seen their bodies. I had stepped through their blood.

“They did not pass,” I said coldly, interrupting his little dialogue. “They died.”

“But yes,” I continued, my voice even. “Your information is otherwise accurate.”

Elder Gage’s eyes hardened, but he inclined his head regardless.

“Rift creatures breached the palace in numbers far exceeding prior encounters,” I said, my gaze sweeping across the court. “They mutilated and dismembered soldiers, footmen, and servants alike. Civilian casualties are still being accounted for.”

I paused before continuing, searching for the words I needed, for we had never recorded that many dead at once.

“I estimate the loss of two hundred lives.” The silence that followed was heavier this time.

“If I may be allowed to ask, Your Highness…” another voice spoke. Elder Tatamn Règanè. He was old and frail, yet one of the few whose words were not entirely without regard. “Why was the Emberborn not killed?”

There it was.

The true purpose of this gathering.

Not the dead.

Not the breach.

Her.

My gaze did not waver.

“The flames she wielded were not of the usual kind,” I said. “The orange-red fire associated with Emberborn is known for destruction,” I continued. “Hers was blue.”

Gasps broke through the chamber. Murmurs followed.

“Blue?”

“Impossible.”

“Unheard of.”

“There was no heat in the hall,” I said. “Her flames did not burn the fallen. They did not spread indiscriminately.”

I leaned forward slightly.

“But the rift creatures…” My voice lowered. “They disappeared upon contact.”

Silence. Like I had felt when i first saw it.

“What is she?” My father’s voice filled the chamber.

All attention snapped to him. Then to me.

“She is an Emberborn, my King,” I answered. “But not like the others.”

I held his gaze.

“I suspect there may be… variations of their kind. Or perhaps a mutation caused by possible extinction.”

“That changes nothing,” Elder Gage cut in sharply, rising slightly from his seat. “If anything, it confirms the danger. A stronger Emberborn is a greater threat. We cannot allow such power to grow unchecked.”

Murmurs of agreement followed.

Predictable.

Cowardice often wore the mask of caution.

“Then the only logical course is immediate execution,” he finished.

“I disagree.” The words left me before his had fully died.

Elder Gage’s gaze snapped to mine, his eyes raging in ways he would never dare to show and speak.

“Then the court must decide,” he said, voice tightening. “All in favor of the execution of the Emberborn—raise your hands.”

One by one, they did. Until all twelve hands were raised. Unanimous.

Of course.

Men who had never stood on a battlefield always chose the simplest solution. Destroy what they did not understand.

I exhaled slowly, then stepped forward.

“Tell me,” I said, my voice quieter now. “Have any of you taken a life?”

No answer.

“Have you felt steel meet bone beneath your hands?”

Silence.

“Have you stood in the blood of your own men as they died around you?”

“You speak of execution as though it is strategy,” I continued. “As though it is wisdom.”

My gaze hardened.

“It is not.”

I straightened fully.

“Every day, soldiers under my command risk their lives to protect this kingdom. To protect you.”

“You sit behind walls and call for death as though it costs nothing.”

My voice dropped.

“But I have paid that cost. And I say—we keep her alive.”

“We study her,” I continued. “We understand her.”

I looked directly at my father.

“And we use that knowledge to end the rifts.”

Not contain them, not survive them.

End them, for good.

No one argued, because for all their titles, they knew I spoke from an experience they did not have. From a battlefield they had never seen and more importantly, I was right.

The silence stretched.

And just like that, It was done.

I did not wait for dismissal, or approval. With a single turn, I walked from the chamber. The doors shut behind me with a resounding echo.

The decision had been made and now I would see it through. My steps carried me without hesitation toward the lower levels of the palace, toward the girl who I should’ve killed.

My jaw tightened slightly.

Because one truth remained, no matter what the court believed. No matter what I had argued. No matter what I intended to discover—

My sword had not missed.

And that—

Was a problem.