The air in Kael’s workshop reeked of iron and burnt oak, the scent clinging to his skin like a second layer. His hammer struck the anvil with a rhythm that had not faltered in twenty years, each blow shaping molten silver into filigree patterns no one else could replicate. The forge’s glow painted his face in amber, casting shadows that danced across the walls lined with half-finished blades and rusted tools. He did not look up when the door creaked open, but the scent of rain and old leather told him who stood there.
“You’re late,” Kael said, wiping soot from his hands onto his apron. His voice was a gravelly murmur, the kind that carried weight without needing to shout.
The man in the doorway tilted his head, revealing a face etched with scars that looked more like runes than wounds. “You always say that. Yet here I am.” He stepped inside, the door swinging shut behind him. The scent of rain thickened, mingling with the metallic tang of the forge. “The storm’s coming. You know what that means.”
Kael set down his hammer. The room felt smaller all of a sudden, as though the walls had closed in. “I know.” He turned to face the stranger, his eyes narrowing. “You’re not here to talk about the weather.”
The man’s smile was a blade. “Correct. The Ember’s been seen near the Blackroot Marsh. Someone’s trying to drag it back into the light.”
Kael’s breath hitched. The Ember was a myth, a story told to children to keep them from wandering too far into the wilds. But the man’s tone left no room for doubt. “Who?”
“Does it matter?” The stranger’s voice dropped, low and dangerous. “They’ll burn everything if they get their hands on it. Including you.”
Kael’s fingers curled into his palms. The forge’s heat felt oppressive now, the air thick with the weight of unsaid things. He had spent a lifetime avoiding the past, but the past had a way of finding him. “I’m not that man anymore.”
“You never were,” the stranger said, stepping closer. His boots left no mark on the dirt floor. “But you’re the only one who can stop them. The only one who knows where the Ember lies.”
The words hung between them, sharp as shattered glass. Kael looked down at his hands, calloused and scarred, and wondered if they were still capable of shaping anything other than metal.
—
The Blackroot Marsh was a wound in the earth, its mire bubbling with greenish steam that stung the eyes and tasted of sulfur. Kael’s boots sank into the mud with each step, the ground swallowing his footprints as though it wanted to erase him. The air was damp and cold, carrying the low croak of unseen creatures and the distant howl of a wind that never stopped. He moved carefully, his hand resting on the hilt of the dagger he had not used in years.
A flicker of movement in the fog. Kael froze, his breath shallow. The mist thickened, swirling around him like a living thing. Then, a voice—soft, almost musical. “You’re late, Kael.”
He turned slowly. A woman stood at the edge of the mire, her dark hair tangled with moss, her cloak stitched from leaves and shadow. Her eyes were the color of storm clouds, unreadable and deep. “I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she said, stepping closer. The mud around her feet did not sink.
“You’re the one who sent the message,” Kael said, his voice tight. “Why?”
She tilted her head, studying him. “Because you’re the only one who remembers. The only one who knows what it means.”
Kael’s jaw clenched. “I don’t want to remember.”
“You don’t have a choice,” she said, her tone shifting, something colder beneath it. “They’re here. The ones who took the Ember. They’ll come for you next.”
A sound behind him—a crunch of twigs, too loud for the still air. Kael spun, hand on his dagger, but the fog had already swallowed the intruder. The woman’s expression did not change. “They’re already here,” she whispered.
—
The first arrow struck Kael in the shoulder, the second in the ribs. He staggered, blood seeping through his tunic as he dropped to one knee. The attackers emerged from the mist like ghosts, their armor gleaming with an unnatural sheen, faces hidden behind masks of black stone. They moved without sound, their steps silent, their weapons sharp as whispers.
Kael dragged himself to his feet, ignoring the pain. The woman was gone, vanished into the fog. He had no time to wonder why. One of the attackers lunged, a curved blade flashing in the dim light. Kael ducked, the edge of the weapon slicing through his hair. He swung his dagger, but the attacker blocked it with a forearm of polished obsidian.
“You’re not what you were,” the attacker said, their voice a hollow echo. “But you’re still useful.”
Kael’s breath came in ragged bursts. The fight was over before it began. He had spent too long avoiding this moment, letting the past rot in his mind. Now it was here, clawing at him, demanding answers.
He reached into his coat, fingers closing around the small vial he had taken from his workshop. The liquid inside shimmered with an eerie light. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with,” he said, hurling the vial at their feet.
The explosion was silent, but the force sent all of them flying. Kael rolled to his feet, coughing, the air thick with smoke and the scent of burning ozone. The attackers were disoriented, their masks cracked. He didn’t wait for them to recover. He ran, his legs pumping as he disappeared into the mist.
—
The Ember was not where Kael expected. It lay in a cavern beneath the Blackroot Marsh, its light pulsing like a heartbeat. The air was thick with magic, the walls shimmering with veins of silver and gold. Kael stepped inside, his boots crunching on the brittle floor. The light grew brighter as he moved, casting shifting patterns on the stone.
A figure stood at the center of the cavern, their back to him. The figure turned, and Kael’s breath caught in his throat. It was himself—older, worn, but unmistakable. “You’re late,” the other Kael said, his voice a mirror of his own.
“What is this place?” Kael asked, his hand resting on the hilt of his dagger.
The other Kael smiled. “This is where you left it. The Ember. The truth. You tried to bury it, but it never died.”
Kael’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t want this.”
“You never do,” the other Kael said, stepping closer. “But you’re the only one who can decide what happens next.”
The cavern trembled, the Ember’s light flaring as if in response. Kael knew what he had to do. He reached out, fingers brushing the surface of the Ember, and the world exploded into fire.
—
When Kael awoke, the cavern was gone. He stood in a field under a sky of endless twilight, the air heavy with the scent of rain and something older, something unnameable. The Ember was gone, its light extinguished. But he felt it still, a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the cold.
The woman from the marsh stood nearby, her cloak now a patchwork of stars and shadow. “It’s over,” she said, her voice soft.
Kael looked down at his hands, still trembling. “I don’t know if I can live with what I did.”
“You don’t have to,” she said, stepping closer. “But you’ll have to live without it. And that’s a kind of peace, isn’t it?”
He didn’t answer. The field stretched out before him, vast and empty, and for the first time in years, Kael felt something close to hope.
