The Council chamber doors swung open under Kaelen's hands.
Elders shouted over tactical maps. Guards stood at every pillar. Candles burned bright. The pendant pulsed—hot, then hotter—matching the weakening wardlight overhead.
She crossed to the windows. Orange light glowed against the glass.
Below, flames consumed Nareth Hollow. The settlement where she had bought honeycakes yesterday. Where Anya had waved with flour-dusted hands.
Behind her, the Emergency Council argued.
"We need to evacuate the townsfolk quarters before—"
"We cannot abandon the Archive, not with the scrolls—"
"Where are the relief forces from Kelmore?"
A messenger stumbled through the doors Kaelen had left open, nearly collapsing against the frame. Ash streaked his torn uniform. Smoke rose from his hair.
"Nareth Hollow has fallen."
Silence fell—shocked, brief—then voices erupted.
"This is your fault!" Elder Morvain pointed at General Kress. "You said the outer walls would hold!"
"My fault?" Kress's face reddened. "You refused to evacuate when I warned you weeks ago!"
"We should have sent reinforcements to—"
"There were no reinforcements to send! You allocated them all to—"
"Enough!" Elder Graves slammed his staff against the floor. The strike cracked a stone slab that had survived four hundred years intact.
Silence held for a moment.
Elder Graves lowered his staff. "Panic will not save us."
"Nor will sitting here." Thorne moved toward the battle maps. "While we debate, Verrian's warriors get closer."
Elder Morvain did not look up. "What would you have us do? March our remaining guards into that fire?"
"Better than waiting to burn alive."
Kaelen turned from the window. The window glass beneath her palm cracked. Thin lines spread outward.
"Verrian's forces are not just burning the settlement. Look—they are herding the survivors."
Small faces pressed against wagon bars, eyes wide with terror—children captured and caged.
Kaelen's hand flattened against the glass. She recognised some of them. The baker's daughter. The blacksmith's twin sons.
"Where?" Halden joined her at the window, grey robes swirling dust from the floor. He squinted at the distant wagons.
"Northeast. Towards the old quarry road."
General Kress moved closer. "That makes no sense. The quarry road is a dead end."
"Unless you are not planning to let them go," Kaelen said.
The messenger gripped the doorframe. "The survivors ran. Verrian's forces took the children—twenty wagons full." Ash streaked his face where tears had fallen. "Their faces pressed against the bars. Some were still calling for their mothers."
"How many children?" Elder Graves lowered his staff.
"Hundreds. Maybe—" The messenger stopped, unable to continue. "He did not just attack. He collected them."
Thorne slammed his fist on the table. Maps jumped. Wine cups toppled, red liquid spreading across territorial boundaries.
"Same method. Every settlement. Kelmore's children. Westmarch's children. Now Nareth Hollow's."
"That is how he remains so confident," General Kress said. "He knows his weapons work."
The pendant burned. "Why children?"
"Young magic," Sebastian said from the doorway.
Everyone turned towards him.
Sebastian Voss stood there—grey hair unkempt, face gaunt. Oath-marks covering his arms pulsed with dark light. He had not been there a moment ago. The door had not opened.
"When did you—" Elder Graves drew back. "The doors were sealed!"
"Were they?" Sebastian walked forward, footsteps silent on stone. Candles guttered as he passed. "Young magic is easier to bind. Easier to twist." He stopped at the table's edge. "Children have not learned to resist yet."
"Bind to what?" Kaelen stepped forward. Halden reached for her arm, but she moved past him.
Sebastian's oath-marks shifted darker. "Whatever creature Verrian woke in the Blightlands."
Candle flames shrank as everyone stopped moving.
"You know what creature Verrian found," Sebastian said. "You have always known."
Halden's hand went to his sword hilt. "Do not."
"Sixteen years ago, your wife went into the Blightlands seeking answers." Sebastian's marks pulsed darker. "She found them. Just not the ones she expected."
"Do not dare speak her name."
"Elena was—"
"A scholar!" Halden's blade scraped halfway from its sheath. "Nothing more."
Sebastian's mouth curved. "Is that what you tell yourself? That she died researching dusty scrolls?"
He turned to the Council. "The Wardweavers knew what sleeps in the Blightlands. They built the first wards to contain it. But wards decay, and those who knew how to maintain them... disappeared."
"Wardweavers are myths," Elder Morvain said.
"Are they? Or did someone want you to believe that?" Sebastian's marks pulsed brighter.
Kaelen's pendant burned—scorching hot now. Every candle in the room flared higher.
Not now. Not here.
The glass beneath her palm cracked further. "What is happening to me?"
"You are remembering," Sebastian said. "Your bloodline remembers."
"My bloodline?" Kaelen retreated. "What are you talking about?"
"Ask your guardian about who you truly are." Sebastian gestured at Halden. "Ask him about—"
A scout crashed through the doors. Blood ran down his cheek from a wound that still steamed in the cold air. His armour cracked down the centre.
The scout left bloody footprints across the ancient stone. The scent of burned flesh followed him.
"Verrian's forces are through!" He doubled over, gasping. "Cavalry in the middle districts! They are slaughtering everyone who runs."
Through the windows, riders cut through fleeing crowds. Verrian's cavalry is moving with terrible swiftness. Screams carried on the wind.
"How long do we have?" Thorne grabbed the scout by the shoulders.
"Long enough to pray. No more."
Kaelen stepped forward. "Then we use everything we have. Free Riven Drae."
The room erupted.
"Absolutely not!" Elder Morvain slammed both hands on the table. "That traitor's actions killed half our cavalry—"
"He betrayed our positions to the enemy fifteen years ago!" General Kress stepped forward. "My brother died in that ambush. My brother and two hundred good men."
Elder Graves raised his staff for silence. "The law is clear. Treason carries a blood debt. We cannot simply—"
"The law?" Kaelen moved forward. "What law will matter when we are all dead?"
"There are principles—" Elder Morvain startled.
"Your principles died with Nareth Hollow!" She pointed toward the window. "Those children don't care about your principles!"
"Even if we wanted to free him, the guards will not follow a traitor." Thorne crossed his arms. "Half of them lost family in that ambush."
"Then I will lead them myself." Kaelen met his eyes.
"You?" General Kress laughed. "A girl who's never held a sword?"
The pendant flared. Every candle in the room blazed higher.
Kress took a step back.
"He crossed the Blightlands alone!" Kaelen's voice rose above the distant screams. "Does that sound like a man seeking reward?"
"Could be a trap."
"We are already trapped!" She raised her hand. Shadows lurched across the walls. "The outer ring is gone. Middle districts are burning. What exactly are we protecting any more?"
Elder Morvain stepped toward her. "Our honour—"
"Our honour will not save those children!"
The window glass groaned, split down the middle. Ice formed along the cracks—impossible ice in fire-heated glass.
"Will not save anyone if we are all dead!"
Sebastian's marks blazed brighter. "Listen to her. She is the only one making sense."
"Who asked you?" Elder Graves lifted his staff. "You are a watcher, not a—"
"Free the ice prince," Sebastian continued. "Let him fight beside the fire bearer."
"On whose authority?" Elder Morvain withdrew. "The laws clearly state that prisoners of war—"
"On the authority of the last Firekeeper's daughter." Sebastian looked directly at Kaelen. "On the authority of power, this city needs to survive."
Kaelen's pendant burned. Flame magic stirred in her mind—ancient power that had slept for generations.
Everyone felt the shift. Teeth ached. Elder Morvain's grey hair rose from his scalp.
Elder Morvain looked around the room. "May the old gods help us."
"Fine. Free him."
"Wait, the council has not decided—" Elder Graves raised one hand.
The doors burst open again. Captain Morvek stumbled in, armour cracked in three places. Blood ran down his face. His sword was broken—only half the blade remained.
"Middle districts fallen. Verrian's at the inner ring." He fell against Thorne. "All his forces. Moments left."
Through the windows, enemy torches descended like rain.
"Elder Graves." Halden looked at the elder. "Give the order."
Elder Graves closed his eyes. "This is madness."
"Yes." Kaelen met his eyes. "The madness is ours to choose."
No one in the chamber spoke.
"Very well." Elder Graves looked at the guards by the door. "Bring the ice prince."
The guards saluted and left. Their footsteps echoed down empty corridors.
War horns echoed off the Archive walls. Closer now. The floor vibrated.
Verrian's warriors had arrived.
. . .
End of Chapter 12
. . .
Next Chapter Preview: The Ice Prince
Riven Drae stands in chains before the Council, but the actual danger may not be the prisoner. Verrian's demands arrive with the dawn: Kaelen's surrender in exchange for three hundred children's lives. And in the enemy camp, something ancient stirs beneath the hills—something that should have remained buried.