As they continued down the winding forest path, the air grew heavier with the scent of moss and damp earth. Emberroad was aptly named, not because of fire, but for the way the light filtered through the high canopy like glowing embers drifting lazily from above. Shafts of golden light danced over their path, broken by the rustling leaves overhead. The deeper they rode, the quieter the world became. Birdsong gave way to silence, broken only by the soft clop of hooves and the occasional whisper of wind through the trees.
Kieran rode at the front beside Maera, his senses tuned as sharply as they had ever been. His eyes scanned the underbrush, noting each shift in shadow and the faintest unnatural movement. The ember inside him still burned softly, reacting to the air as if the road itself breathed with hidden purpose. He didn't know if the ember stirred in anticipation or warning—but either way, it kept him alert.
Behind them, Ysolde kept close, occasionally glancing toward the dense woods flanking the road. Her usually warm demeanor was subdued, her gaze sharp.
"This place gives me chills," she muttered at one point. "Like we're being watched."
"We might be," Maera said flatly. "But that's not reason enough to panic. Not yet."
Kieran glanced back, offering Ysolde a faint smile. "If someone's watching, let's make sure they don't see fear."
They shared a look, and a small nod passed between them.
Maera shifted in her saddle, her gaze flicking to the trees ahead. "This part of Emberroad is where most disappearances have been reported. Narrow bends, high rocks—perfect for ambushes. Keep your mounts calm, and your hands near your weapons."
Kieran nodded, his fingers brushing the hilt of the sword now slung across his back. Since retrieving it from the ruins of his home, it had become an extension of himself. It hadn't seen battle yet, but it would, and soon.
As they crested a low ridge, the road narrowed and twisted sharply, forcing them to ride single file. Tall cliffs loomed on their left, and a steep drop into dense thickets lined their right. It was a perfect place for an attack, and Maera clearly knew it.
She raised a hand, halting the group.
"From here, no idle talk," she said, voice low but firm. "Kieran, take the rear. Ysolde, stay between us."
They re-ordered quickly, and the group moved ahead in tense silence. Every step of the horses echoed louder than it should have. Even the wind seemed to hush.
Kieran's heartbeat quickened as he focused inward. He had been practicing mana control constantly since leaving Greystead, and though his control was still rough, it had improved. He reached inward again, drawing on the ember.
It responded to his will more quickly now, a coil of fire in his chest that sparked with readiness. He kept his breathing measured, steady. But it was like holding a wild horse just short of a gallop—manageable, but only barely.
His senses sharpened unnaturally. He could hear the minute rustle of leaves, the creak of strained leather, even the faint buzzing of insects. And something else.
A breath.
From above.
Without thinking, Kieran shouted, "Above us!"
In the same instant, something whistled through the air—a crossbow bolt, striking the ground just feet from Maera's horse. She reacted instantly, drawing a throwing knife and hurling it toward a shadow on the cliff. A sharp cry followed, and a figure toppled from the rocks, crashing through underbrush.
Bandits poured from both sides of the road—grimy, desperate men with rusted blades and wild eyes. The trio dismounted as arrows rained from the cliffs, and their horses scattered, whinnying in terror.
Maera stood firm, dual knives drawn, spinning through the first attacker with lethal precision.
Kieran stood over Ysolde protectively as she fumbled for a defensive sigil. He moved fast, too fast—his sword intercepted a descending axe, sparks flying as steel met steel. His flame surged at the contact, his arms surging with strength.
With a shout, he braced himself and pushed the attacker back, his boots scraping against the dirt as he held his ground. Though strengthened by the mana coursing through his body, Kieran was still only nine, and it showed—he managed to avoid being overpowered, but only just. His muscles strained, and the sword felt heavier than ever. As he slashed upward, flames licked the edge of his blade—not from a conscious spell, but a raw, instinctive flare of his awakened blood, as if the fire refused to let him fall.
Ysolde cried out, casting a barrier just in time to block an incoming spear. She gritted her teeth and began drawing another rune, her fingers tracing glowing lines through the air.
The battle was a blur. Two more foes lunged toward Kieran, and he met them with steel and fire, his blade cutting an arc that left a faint trail of embers in its wake. Maera fought like a shadow, dancing between opponents with deadly grace.
Then, silence.
The last bandit fled into the woods, leaving behind groans and the smell of scorched leaves. The group stood panting, bruised but alive.
Kieran's chest heaved, flames still smoldering beneath his skin. He looked at his hands—shaking not with fear, but from the sheer force that had coursed through them.
Ysolde stood beside him, face pale, hair wind-whipped. "That... was a lot," she said breathlessly.
Maera wiped blood from her cheek. "They underestimated us. We won't get that lucky again."
Ysolde turned to Kieran, her eyes wide with a mix of awe and concern. "That thing you did—with the fire. Was that a spell? I've never seen anything like it."
Kieran hesitated, brushing soot from his sleeve. "I'm... not sure. It just happened. I wasn't thinking, I just reacted."
Maera arched a brow but said nothing for a beat, then gave a dry chuckle. "Well, whatever it was, remind me to stay on your good side."
Ysolde smirked faintly, her shoulders relaxing. "Seriously though—it was impressive."
Kieran gave a modest nod, though his mind still reeled from the sensation. The fire hadn't felt foreign. It had felt like him.
Kieran nodded slowly, the ember still pulsing like a second heartbeat. "We should keep moving. Fast."
With grim efficiency, they retrieved their horses, gathered their scattered supplies, and returned to the road. But the peace had been broken, and the shadows of Emberroad felt closer than ever.
As they pressed on, none of them spoke. The forest listened.
And somewhere, deeper in the trees, something else did too.