The Spine never truly slept.
Kaelen had learned this in his first nights: the silver lanterns never dimmed, the marble halls echoed always with whispers, and the fae themselves seemed to glide through corridors like ghosts, tireless, ageless, watching.
Yet tonight, something was different. The silence felt heavier. The shadows longer.
Kaelen sat awake on his narrow cot, the dream still burning behind his eyes—fire, chains, Lyra's scream. He rubbed his temples, trying to shake it off, when he heard it: the faint scrape of metal against stone.
Someone was at his door.
His sword was in his hand before he thought. He moved to the far wall, silent, breath tight in his chest. The latch turned. Slowly. Carefully.
Then the door swung inward.
A figure slipped through, blade glinting in the lantern light.
Kaelen struck. His sword clashed against the intruder's dagger, sparks hissing. The assassin hissed, lunging with inhuman speed. Kaelen barely parried, the impact rattling through his arms.
The figure wore a mask of obsidian, their movements sharp and practiced. Fae—one of the Spine's own.
Kaelen ducked, swung, pressed forward. But the assassin was faster, striking in flurries meant to overwhelm. Kaelen's defense faltered—until the fire stirred.
It surged through him, a rush of heat to his limbs. His blade blazed, forcing the assassin back with a flash of searing light. For an instant, Kaelen saw fear in the narrow eyes behind the mask.
Then the assassin vanished. Not fled—vanished. The air shimmered where they'd stood, leaving only silence.
Kaelen stood panting, the fire guttering from his sword. His room stank of scorched stone.
The door burst open again—this time it was Lyra. Her silver hair spilled loose over her cloak, eyes wide with fury.
"What happened?" she demanded, her voice low and sharp.
Kaelen's knuckles whitened on his sword. "Someone tried to kill me."
Lyra's gaze darted to the scorched walls, then to him. For a heartbeat, relief flickered across her face—he was alive. Then her expression hardened. "You shouldn't have survived that."
Kaelen's chest burned. "You sound disappointed."
"No." Her voice softened, though her eyes remained wary. "I'm terrified. Because this means the prophecy is moving faster than we thought."
By dawn, the Spine was alive with rumor. Whispers slithered through the halls: The human is marked. The fire is awake. The shadows are moving.
Tharos wasted no time. He summoned Kaelen and Lyra to the council chamber, where fae nobles sat in a half-circle of carved thrones. Their eyes glittered like polished gems, hungry and cruel.
"The human claims he was attacked," Tharos announced, his voice calm but carrying to every corner. "By one of us."
"It wasn't a claim," Kaelen snapped. "It happened."
A ripple of disdain passed through the council. One fae leaned forward, sneering. "Convenient. Perhaps he burned his own chamber to win sympathy."
"Or," another drawled, "perhaps the fire inside him is finally breaking loose."
The nobles murmured, suspicion curling in their words.
Tharos raised a hand, silencing them. His gaze locked on Kaelen, cold and calculating. "If what you say is true, then someone here seeks your death. Someone who fears what you might become."
He let the silence stretch before adding, "Or fears what you already are."
That night, Kaelen could not rest. He paced his chamber, sword always at his side, every flicker of shadow a threat. Lyra came to him near midnight, her cloak drawn, her face weary.
"You shouldn't stay here alone," she whispered. "Not after tonight."
Kaelen searched her eyes. "Then stay."
The word hung between them, heavy.
Lyra's lips parted as though to refuse—but then she stepped inside, closing the door behind her.
For a long moment, they simply stood there, the silence filled with the rhythm of their breathing. The fire in Kaelen's chest burned differently now—less like a weapon, more like a tether pulling him toward her.
But before either could speak, a voice drifted from the shadows.
"Touching."
They spun. Tharos leaned against the far wall, half-hidden by the lantern's glow, his violet eyes glinting with cruel amusement.
Kaelen's hand flew to his sword. "You—"
"Relax." Tharos stepped forward, unhurried. "If I wanted you dead, you would not be standing."
Lyra's eyes narrowed. "What do you want, Tharos?"
He smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Only to remind you both of something. The Spine is not your ally. Every noble here would slit his throat to keep prophecy from walking among us." His gaze lingered on Kaelen. "You are a spark in a hall of dry kindling. One touch too hot, and everything burns."
He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper meant for Kaelen alone. "But tell me, human… when the fire consumes all, will she still reach for you? Or will she let you burn?"
Kaelen's chest tightened, words caught in his throat.
Tharos's smile sharpened. "Think on it."
Then he vanished into shadow, leaving only silence behind.
Lyra's hands trembled as she pulled her cloak tighter. "Do you see now?" she whispered. "The blade in the dark isn't just steel—it's doubt. And Tharos will wield it until one of us breaks."
Kaelen stared at the door long after she left, the fire inside him restless and unquiet.
For the first time, he wondered not if he could survive the Spine—but if he could survive himself.