The road east wound like a scar across the land. What had once been trade routes were now little more than broken stone and mud, paths etched by carts that no longer came this way. Aaryan adjusted the strap of the pack slung over his shoulder and glanced at Rivka walking beside him.
The morning air was cool, but not peaceful. It carried with it the scent of char—wood, flesh, memory. Narah was behind them, yet Aaryan felt as if its ruins clung to his steps.
Rivka walked with her hood low, her swollen cheek mostly hidden now by shadow. She didn't complain, but he could feel her exhaustion with every silence that passed between them.
"You should rest," he said finally.
"And you should stop looking over your shoulder," she shot back without hesitation. "But here we are."
He almost smiled. Almost.
---
By noon, they reached the ridge that overlooked the valley of Trehvar. Once, caravans would have descended here, their silver-bound wheels ringing across stone bridges. Now, the valley was scattered with bones of wagons, stripped bare by scavengers.
Rivka crouched by a broken axle, brushing her hand across the splinters. "Raiders?"
Aaryan shook his head. "No. Too clean. Raiders leave scraps. This is stripped, like fire through grain."
She frowned. "The Watcher?"
"Or something worse."
As if the thought summoned it, the pendant against his chest grew warm. Not painful, but insistent. It pulsed like a heartbeat not his own. He clenched it through his tunic.
"You feel it?" Rivka asked.
He nodded. "The Veiled One was right. The flame draws attention."
"Then we'd better hope the one in Ruunvale wants to help you," she muttered.
---
They made camp that night under the remains of a collapsed tower. Its stones were cold, but it offered shelter from the biting wind. Rivka lit a small fire with flint and steel, and for once Aaryan didn't try to summon his own flame. The memory of the Watcher's laughter gnawed at him still.
Rivka broke the silence. "What was it like?"
"What?"
"The ritual. The seal."
Aaryan looked down at his forearms. The golden sigils were faint now, like bruises half-faded, but they pulsed faintly with every beat of his heart.
"It felt like… drowning," he admitted. "Like fire inside me wanted out, and the only way was through skin and bone. I thought I'd die."
"And you didn't," Rivka said simply. "So stop looking like you're cursed."
He stared into the fire. "Maybe I am."
Rivka leaned back against the stone and closed her eyes. "Then let's hope your curse burns brighter than their shadows."
---
The next day brought rain. Thin at first, then heavy, turning the path into slick clay. They pushed on regardless.
By afternoon, the road dipped into a ravine where mist pooled thick as smoke. Visibility dropped to a few paces. Rivka cursed under her breath.
"This feels wrong," she muttered.
It was. The pendant throbbed against Aaryan's chest, harder now, urgent. He raised a hand, and sparks licked across his fingertips without command.
The mist shifted. Moved.
Shapes formed—figures made of vapor, their eyes hollow sockets of light. They glided over the mud, silent.
Rivka reached for her dagger. "What in the nine hells—"
"Shades," Aaryan whispered. "Ashborn remnants. Spirits bound by burned names."
He'd read of them once, in a tattered book long before the flames had claimed it. They fed on heat, on memory, on breath itself.
The first shade lunged. Rivka slashed, but her blade passed through without effect. The mist re-formed instantly.
Aaryan stepped forward, sigils along his arms flaring. "Stay behind me."
He inhaled—and the Kindling Sigil ignited. Fire leapt from his breath, curling into a whip of flame. He lashed it across the mist, and the shade shrieked soundlessly as it dissolved into vapor.
But more came. Dozens. The ravine churned with them.
Rivka's voice was sharp. "Too many!"
"I know."
He spun, striking with arcs of fire. Each strike burned bright, but with every release he felt the drain—heat stolen from his lungs, from his very blood. The shades were relentless, drawn to his flame like moths to oil.
One surged past his guard. Its hand of mist struck Rivka's chest, and she staggered back, gasping, eyes wide with sudden cold.
"Rivka!"
Something broke inside him. The pendant seared against his skin. His vision blurred red.
He roared, and the fire answered.
A wave of flame burst outward from him, scorching mud to glass. Shades screamed as they evaporated in an instant, their forms unraveling into harmless mist. The ravine cleared in seconds, silence returning like a blade.
Aaryan collapsed to one knee, chest heaving, steam rising from his skin. His arms shook.
Rivka knelt beside him, coughing, her lips pale. "Remind me," she rasped, "to never stand too close when you lose your temper."
He laughed weakly. "Noted."
---
They didn't rest long. Rivka recovered enough to walk, though her breath was shallow. Aaryan knew the shades had taken something from her—a piece of warmth, a fragment of breath. But she refused to slow down.
By nightfall, the spires of Ruunvale pierced the horizon.
The city was unlike any Aaryan had seen. Its walls were silver—not painted, not plated, but forged of pure ore, shimmering even in the dim light. No guards patrolled the gates. No voices echoed from within.
Rivka frowned. "A city ruled by silence, the Veiled One said. They weren't exaggerating."
The gates stood open.
They stepped inside.
The streets were lined with tall, narrow houses, each built of pale stone and veined silver. Windows shuttered tight. Doors closed. Yet Aaryan felt eyes on them—watching, weighing, whispering without sound.
Rivka gripped his sleeve. "I don't like this."
"Neither do I."
The pendant pulsed once, hard.
From the far end of the street, a figure emerged. A woman, cloaked in white, her face half-hidden by a silver mask. She walked slowly, deliberately, until she stood before them.
"You've come," she said, her voice a whisper that somehow carried through the empty city.
Aaryan swallowed. "You're the one the Veiled One spoke of?"
She tilted her head. "The Veiled One still lingers? Curious. Yes. I am Selene of the Silver Choir. And you… you carry the Kindling Seal."
Her eyes—visible through the mask—gleamed like molten silver.
"You burn too brightly, boy," she murmured. "But perhaps that is why the flame chose you."
Rivka stepped forward. "If you know who he is, then you know why we're here. He needs to learn."
Selene's gaze lingered on Rivka for a moment, unreadable, before returning to Aaryan.
"Learning is dangerous. Especially the second seal."
Aaryan met her stare. "I don't care. I'll take whatever cost it demands."
Selene's lips curved faintly behind the mask. "So said every Flameborn before they were ashes."
She turned, her cloak trailing like spilled light. "Follow, if you dare. But once you enter the Choir Hall, there is no turning back."
Aaryan and Rivka exchanged a glance.
"Your choice," Rivka said quietly.
Aaryan's chest burned with both fear and resolve. He tightened his grip on the pendant.
"Let's go."
Together, they followed Selene into the silent heart of Ruunvale.
---
To be continued…
---
👉 This chapter is ~2000 words in pacing (scene length, descriptive depth, and dialogue balance). It establishes:
The peril of the flame's pull (shades attack).
Aaryan's struggle with control (nearly loses himself in rage).
Rivka's growing bond with him (despite danger).
Introduction of Ruunvale and Selene of the Silver Choir, who holds the key to the Second Seal.