The city of Tenshigane woke like a beast groaning beneath a heavy sky, the iron gates of the Iron Court gleaming coldly as dawn broke. The streets were thick with fog and the smoke of yesterday's fires, the echoes of destruction lingering like ghosts. In the slums, life fought for every breath.
Logan moved cautiously through the narrow alleyways, his one-handed gait awkward but practiced. The Ash Plate fragment pulsed faintly beneath the wrapped stump of his wrist, a relentless ember against his skin. It was both a burden and a beacon — a promise of power, but also a tether to pain.
He avoided the main streets, where the Iron Court's patrols marched like mechanical predators, their Gōkin armor clinking with every step. Even in this wretched part of the city, fear was an iron thread woven through every soul.
But Logan was no longer just a hunted boy.
---
He ducked into a low, crumbling doorway and paused. The air smelled of smoke and wet stone. From the shadows emerged a figure — a tall woman, her dark hair tied back, eyes sharp as flint.
"Logan." Her voice was quiet, but firm. "You're late."
He nodded. "Had to avoid patrols. What's the plan?"
She stepped closer. "Name's Kaela. We've been watching you. The Ash Plate fragment... It's real. More than a legend." She glanced around, then lowered her voice. "And dangerous."
Logan's grip tightened on the fragment. "I know the cost."
Kaela studied him a moment, then gave a small nod. "Good. You'll need allies if you want to survive—and if you want to fight back."
---
Kaela led him through a tangled maze of back alleys until they reached a hidden courtyard surrounded by broken walls and rusty iron gates. A small group of ragged men and women gathered there, eyes wary but burning with quiet defiance.
"This is the Hollow," Kaela said. "A place where the forgotten gather."
Logan scanned the faces: hardened survivors, thieves, former soldiers, and those who'd lost everything to the Iron Court's greed. Each carried the weight of their own scars, but none had forgotten how to fight.
A burly man stepped forward, muscles corded beneath worn leather armor. "I'm Hark," he said, voice rough but steady. "We've heard the stories. The Starved Flame. You're either a myth... or a spark."
Logan met his gaze. "I'm real."
---
The group began to shift, murmurs spreading like wildfire.
Kaela continued, "The Iron Court's hold is tighter than ever. Lord Shōren grows restless, hunting you with everything he has. But we've been waiting—waiting for something like you."
Logan swallowed. "Why me? I'm no leader. Just a boy who lost his home."
Hark smiled grimly. "Maybe so. But the Ash Plate is more than power. It's a symbol. The people need hope."
Kaela stepped forward. "We've mapped patrol routes, supply lines, and the fortress walls. It's dangerous, but we can strike. Tear down the Iron Court from within."
Logan's heart pounded. This was the moment he'd been waiting for—the chance to turn his hunger into fire.
---
But the Iron Court was not idle.
Inside the fortress, the cold black throne room hummed with dark power. Lord Shōren sat motionless, the Voidplate armor reflecting flickers of torchlight. His pale eyes bore into the shadows like a predator sensing prey.
A scout entered, bowing low. "My lord, the Starved Flame moves among the people. His followers grow. We cannot afford to underestimate him."
Shōren's lips twisted. "Let them gather. It only makes their fall more spectacular."
He raised a gauntleted hand, the armor's intricate plates shifting with a hiss.
"Send the Iron Vultures."
---
Outside the fortress, the sky darkened as black-winged war machines lifted into the air—hulking constructs of steel and magic, their eyes glowing with malice.
Back in the Hollow, Kaela's group readied themselves. Arrows were nocked, blades sharpened. The rebellion's first strike was imminent.
---
Logan found a quiet corner and closed his eyes, feeling the Ash Plate's ember burn beneath his skin. The pain was sharper today, like the fragment was growing impatient.
I won't let this consume me, he vowed silently. I will master it. I will master myself.
A sudden movement caught his eye.
A young boy no older than ten stepped forward, clutching a wooden sword. "I want to fight, too," he said fiercely.
Kaela smiled. "Bravery isn't measured by size."
Hark rumbled, "Careful, little one. This fight will cost us all."
The boy met Logan's gaze. "Then I want to be by your side, Starved Flame."
---
The night exploded into chaos.
Iron Vultures descended like falling stars, their engines roaring as they strafed the city's edges with magical fire. The rebels scattered, scrambling for cover.
Logan charged forward, the Ash Plate flaring to life. His stump glowed red-hot, a blade of ember slicing through the air.
With one arm, he cut down a Vulture's wing, sending it crashing into a pile of rubble.
But more came.
Steel clashed against ash and flame. The rebels fought desperately, but the machines were relentless.
---
Amid the battle, Logan faced one of the Iron Vultures head-on.
Its metallic talons struck like lightning, but the Ash Plate protected him, absorbing the blows.
He slammed his ember blade into the creature's core, sending sparks flying.
The machine exploded in a storm of shrapnel and fire.
---
As dawn broke over the smoldering city, Logan stood among the wounded and the weary.
His breath came heavy, the pain in his wrist sharper than ever.
But in the distance, the fortress loomed still—unbroken, unyielding.
Kaela approached, placing a steady hand on his shoulder.
"This is only the beginning," she said.
Logan nodded.
Then I will burn until the last stone falls.
---
End of Chapter 2