The Ember Within: A Tale of Fire, Fall, and Finding Purpose
Chapter 8 – Fire and Shadow
By Victor Simdrix
The bells of Emberfall screamed through the night.
Smoke coiled above the rooftops, thick as storm clouds, glowing faintly orange where flames licked the sky. Screams pierced the cobblestone streets as villagers ran, clutching children, clutching scraps of their lives, fleeing from the shadows that slithered through the fire.
The Wraithkin had come.
Nyra pressed her back against the half-collapsed wall of an inn, her breath ragged. Around her, Aric Dawnshield gripped his longsword with grim determination, while Selwyn Emberhart muttered a prayer over the small wooden talisman he wore.
The first wraithkin emerged from the smoke—a beast shaped like a man, but hollow-eyed, its body a husk of ash and embers. Its mouth opened, and a soundless scream tore across the square. The fire bent toward it, feeding it.
Aric stepped forward, his shield raised. "Stay behind me!"
"No," Nyra snapped, though fear choked her throat. "If I run every time fire comes, I'll never stop running."
Her hands trembled as she lifted them. She felt the ember within her stir—a warmth like molten metal coursing through her veins. The heat swelled, and with a cry she hurled it outward.
A burst of flame erupted, slamming into the wraithkin's chest. For an instant, the creature's hollow form cracked and burned—but then it drew the fire into itself, laughing without sound.
"Nyra!" Selwyn shouted. "They feed on flame!"
The beast lunged.
Aric met it head-on, shield splintering under the impact. He slashed upward, severing its head with a roar. The creature collapsed into ash.
But more came. Ten. Twenty. A river of shadows pouring through Emberfall's streets.
Selwyn gripped Nyra's arm. "We need to get you out. They're not here for the city—they're here for you."
Nyra's blood ran cold.
And he was right. She saw them—moving with more purpose than the rest—three cloaked figures leading the horde, their eyes glowing red as burning coals. Wraithbinders. Hunters. Searching.
Searching for her.
Across the city walls, the horns of Emberfall blared. Soldiers rushed into formation, their spears glowing faintly with runes as mages blessed their ranks. Above the chaos, a banner unfurled—the crest of Prince Kaelith Stormspire. His riders thundered down the causeway, blades flashing.
Relief flickered in Nyra's chest—until another sound split the air.
A different horn. Darker. Heavier.
From the east gate, clad in black steel, marched the army of Prince Malakar. Shadows writhed in their wake, feeding the wraithkin rather than fighting them.
Two brothers. Two legions.
And Nyra, caught in the center, realized the truth: Emberfall wasn't just under siege by monsters.
It was about to become the battlefield of princes.