The next morning, the world outside the Ember Archives was cloaked in fog.
Thick, unnatural mist clung to the trees like silk wrappings on a corpse. No birds sang. No breeze stirred. Even the horses refused to move forward, snorting and stamping nervously as Kael tried to guide them from the ridge.
Lenara stood near the cliff's edge, overlooking the valley. Her cloak fluttered in the stillness, her breath visible despite the summer air.
"There's something wrong," she murmured.
Kael joined her, eyes scanning the forest. "Fog's not natural. Could be a spell. A veil enchantment."
"Think it's the Ash Guard?"
"No," he said slowly. "They wouldn't need fog. They'd send more hunters. This… this is older magic. Wilder."
Lenara's hand hovered near the hilt of her dagger. "We need to get moving."
He nodded. "North, through the old passes. I know a place—hidden, safe. My contact can give us shelter and information."
"A contact?"
"An old ally. We used to fight on opposite sides. Until we didn't."
Lenara's brow rose, but she said nothing. She was still learning how much Kael held back—and how often.
They moved cautiously, keeping to the ridgeline. The fog only thickened, curling around trees like ghost fingers. The silence stretched too long, too deep. Even the wind felt like it was watching.
Lenara paused, her skin prickling.
Something shifted.
Not in the trees—beneath them.
The ground rumbled faintly, like a growl buried in stone.
Kael reached for her, but it was too late.
A snarl split the air, followed by a blur of motion—low, fast, silver-eyed. A beast lunged from the mist, twice the size of a wolf, its fur rippling like smoke. Lenara dropped to one knee, flame bursting from her palm just as it collided with Kael's blade.
The creature yelped, rolled, and vanished into the mist again.
Lenara rose. "What in the hells was that?"
"Fog stalker," Kael said grimly. "Used by old warlocks to hunt traitors. But they haven't been seen in decades."
She turned. "Which means someone's raised them again."
Another growl—closer this time.
Kael grabbed her arm. "Run."
They bolted through the woods, ducking fallen trees and tangled roots, the sound of heavy paws thudding behind them. Lenara cast fire blindly behind her, lighting the fog like a sunrise. Screeches echoed from the blaze—at least two of the beasts had been caught.
But more came.
From ahead.
From the sides.
Kael stopped suddenly and whistled—a short, sharp note that cracked like lightning.
From the trees, a woman dropped down—lithe, cloaked in green, bow in hand. She loosed an arrow in one fluid motion. A stalker fell mid-leap, pinned to a tree.
"You always bring trouble with you, Kael," she said with a grin.
Kael smirked. "And you never disappoint."
Lenara narrowed her eyes. "Friend of yours?"
"This is Veyra," Kael said. "Scout, smuggler, thief—sometimes even a hero."
Veyra winked. "Depends on who's paying. You must be the Flameborn."
"I must be," Lenara said cautiously.
Veyra fired again, felling another stalker.
"Right," she said. "Time to go."
---
They followed Veyra through a hidden trail behind the ridge, one Lenara wouldn't have spotted even if she'd stepped on it. The fog thinned slightly as they moved deeper, until they reached a concealed cavern mouth covered in hanging roots and moss. Inside, the air was warm and dry, lit by softly glowing stones embedded in the rock.
The safehouse.
Lenara collapsed onto a smooth stone bench, chest heaving.
Kael and Veyra shared a brief nod as he handed her a waterskin.
"Since when do fog stalkers roam the southern pass?" he asked.
Veyra's grin faded. "Since last week. Two patrols never came back. I thought it was rogue beasts. But this?" She shook her head. "This is a hunt."
Kael's eyes darkened. "They're not just chasing us. They're trying to corner the resistance."
Lenara sat up. "Resistance?"
Veyra gave her a curious look. "He didn't tell you?"
Kael crossed his arms.
"Tell me now," Lenara said, her voice sharp.
Kael exhaled. "There are still pockets of rebellion across the kingdoms. Scattered, leaderless. But a few of us have tried to pull them together—quietly. We were waiting for a symbol. A reason to rise again."
Veyra grinned. "And you just happened to fall out of legend, Flameborn. You're a living rally cry."
Lenara frowned. "That's dangerous. If people follow me blindly—"
"They won't," Kael said. "They'll follow you because of what you are. But also what you choose to be."
Veyra knelt and unrolled a faded map across the stone floor. Red ink marked cities, ruins, and troop movements.
"We have spies in every major court," she said. "The Hollow Crown thinks it's tightening its grip. But if we strike first—take back a seat of power—we send a message."
Lenara studied the map. "What about Emberhold?"
Veyra looked at Kael.
He hesitated. "It's dangerous."
"It was my mother's stronghold, wasn't it?"
Kael nodded. "It's also crawling with Ash Guard and war priests. If we go there, it won't be a skirmish. It'll be war."
Lenara looked back down.
Then she pointed. "We go to Emberhold."
---
That night, Lenara stood at the mouth of the cavern, staring at the stars.
She heard Kael's footsteps before he spoke.
"You're quiet."
"I'm thinking."
"About?"
She turned to him. "I don't want to lead a rebellion because of my bloodline. I want to earn it. I want to be worthy of it."
Kael stepped closer. "You already are."
She didn't flinch when his hand brushed hers.
"I'm afraid," she whispered. "Not of dying. But of not being enough."
He looked at her like she was already something impossible. "You lit a flame in a world that thought it had forgotten light."
Their hands stayed clasped.
And for the first time in a long while, Lenara let herself believe it.
Even if only for the night.