The air reeked of smoke and iron as Kael dragged the anvil across the forge floor, its weight grating against the stone like a dying beast. Sweat dripped from his brow, mingling with soot to streak his cheeks. The hammer in his grip felt foreign, its head dull under the flickering light of the failing flame. Outside, the sky had turned an ashen gray, and the wind carried a metallic tang that made his teeth ache.
“You’re slow today,” said Renn, the blacksmith’s apprentice, his voice a sneer. He leaned against the wall, idly tossing a shard of broken steel into the air. The metal clattered against the floor, bouncing near Kael’s boots. “Maybe you’re finally catching up to the rest of us.”
Kael didn’t look up. He’d learned long ago that responding to Renn’s jabs only fed the man’s cruelty. Instead, he focused on the task at hand: shaping a blade from ore that had grown brittle in recent weeks. The metal hissed when it hit the water, steam rising in jagged tendrils. It was a poor substitute for the old iron, the kind that sang when heated and bent without complaint. But it was all they had left.
The flame in the center of the forge shuddered, its light dimming to a sickly yellow. Kael’s hands stilled. He’d seen it before—the way the fire wavered, as if struggling to remember how to burn. It had been happening more often lately, since the council’s last decree. The elders called it a ‘temporary adjustment,’ but the people whispered of something darker. Kael didn’t believe in whispers. He believed in the weight of a hammer and the sting of sweat.
“It’s the storm,” Renn said, as if reading his thoughts. “The sky’s been wrong for weeks. Maybe the flame’s just… tired.”
Kael didn’t answer. He turned back to the anvil, his fingers curling around the hot iron. The fire’s light flickered again, and for a heartbeat, he thought he saw a shadow move within it—something tall, something watching. He blinked, and it was gone.
—
The library smelled of dust and decay. Kael ran his fingers over the spines of the ancient tomes, their leather cracked with age. The air was thick with the scent of old paper and something else—something sharp, like burnt hair. He’d found the journal in the back corner, hidden beneath a pile of broken scrolls. Its cover was plain, unmarked, but the moment he touched it, a chill crawled up his spine.
“You shouldn’t be here,” said a voice from the shadows.
Kael spun, his pulse hammering. A figure emerged from the dimness—a woman with silver-streaked hair and eyes like polished obsidian. She wore a scholar’s robe, its once-vivid blue now faded to gray.
“Who are you?” Kael asked, his voice steady despite the fear curling in his gut.
The woman tilted her head. “I was the one who kept this place alive when the flame died last time. But that was before the council took the archives and called it a ‘necessary sacrifice.’” Her lips curved into a bitter smile. “And before you started asking questions you weren’t meant to ask.”
Kael’s fingers tightened around the journal. “What happened to the flame?”
“It wasn’t taken,” she said, stepping closer. “It was stolen. And the man who did it is still in this city, hiding behind a mask of loyalty.” Her gaze locked onto his. “You need to leave, Kael. Before they realize you’re not as dull as you pretend to be.”
Before he could respond, a bell tolled somewhere in the distance—deep, resonant, and wrong. The woman’s expression darkened. “They’ve found you. Go.” She shoved the journal into his hands and vanished into the shadows.
—
The streets of Virell were empty, the usual clamor of merchants and travelers replaced by an eerie silence. Kael clutched the journal to his chest as he ran, his boots slapping against the cobbled path. The air was colder now, and the sky had deepened to a bruised purple. He didn’t know where he was going, only that he couldn’t stop.
A shadow moved in the alley ahead. Kael froze. “Who’s there?” he called, his voice hoarse.
A figure stepped into the light—Renn, but different. His clothes were cleaner, his stance more confident. “You shouldn’t have gone to the library,” he said, his tone almost sad. “I tried to warn you, but you never listened.” He raised a hand, and the journal flew from Kael’s grip, landing with a thud in the dirt.
“What have you done?” Kael demanded.
Renn sighed. “I did what was necessary. The flame was never meant to burn forever. It was a prison, a cage for something that should have been left alone. And you… you were never supposed to find the journal.” He took a step closer. “But now that you have, I’ll have to make sure you don’t spread the truth.” His hand moved, and Kael felt a sharp pain in his side. He staggered, blood seeping through his tunic.
“You’re the traitor,” Kael whispered, pain lancing through him. “You stole the flame.”
Renn’s expression hardened. “I protected this city from a greater danger. And you… you’re just a boy who didn’t know when to stop digging.” He raised his hand again, and Kael felt the world tilt as he fell to his knees.
—
Kael woke to the sound of dripping water. His body ached, and the air was damp with the scent of mildew. He was in a cell—stone walls, a single barred window high above. The journal lay beside him, its pages open to a sketch of a flame, surrounded by symbols he didn’t recognize.
Footsteps echoed in the corridor. Kael sat up, his hand brushing against the cold stone. “Who’s there?” he called.
A woman’s voice answered, soft but firm. “You’re safe, for now. But you need to understand what’s happening. The flame wasn’t stolen—it was bound. And Renn… he’s not the only one who knows the truth.”
Kael’s heart pounded. “Who are you?”
“A friend,” she said. “But time is running out. The flame is fading, and if it dies completely, the prison will break. You have to find the key before it’s too late.”
The door creaked open, and Kael braced himself. Whatever came next, he would face it. The flame was more than a fire—it was a promise, a warning, and a choice. And he would not let it die.
—
The key was hidden in the heart of the city, where the old tunnels twisted beneath the streets. Kael moved carefully, his wounds still raw, his mind racing. The journal’s symbols had led him here, to a chamber filled with ancient machinery—gears, levers, and a central pedestal that held a single, glowing shard.
“You found it,” said a voice from the shadows.
Kael turned. Renn stood there, but this time, there was no cruelty in his eyes—only exhaustion. “I didn’t want to do it,” he said. “But the flame… it wasn’t just a source of power. It was a prison. And if it dies, the thing inside will be free.”
Kael’s voice was steady. “Then help me stop it.” He stepped forward, the shard gleaming in the dim light. “We can fix this. Together.”
Renn hesitated, then nodded. “Let’s end this.”
The two men worked in silence, their hands moving with purpose. The shard fit into the pedestal, and as Kael turned it, a deep hum filled the chamber. The air shimmered, and the flame roared back to life, brighter than ever before.
As the light spread, Kael felt a weight lift from his chest. The prison was secure again, the danger averted. He looked at Renn, who met his gaze with a nod of understanding.
The flame burned on, a symbol of hope, resilience, and the choices that defined them.
