The Ember Within: A Tale of Fire, Fall, and Finding Purpose
Chapter 10 – The Flames of Decision
By Victor Simdrix
The cries of the trapped children cut sharper than any sword. Smoke clawed at the sky, thick and choking, as the inn's roof sagged under the weight of fire.
Nyra's heart hammered. Around her, the armies clashed like thunder. Kaelith barked orders, his men struggling to hold Malakar's shadow warriors at bay. Malakar himself sat astride his nightmare steed, watching her, a serpent's smile on his lips.
Selwyn pulled at her arm. "We have to move—choose!"
Aric planted his shield in the ground before her, his voice steady but fierce. "Nyra, you can't save everyone. If you rush into that fire, you might not come back out."
But the ember inside her flared, hot, insistent. It wasn't just a spark now—it was a storm begging to be unleashed.
She closed her eyes for a heartbeat, and in that heartbeat, three visions burned through her mind:
Running to Kaelith's side, standing with him as a protector of the realm. The path of loyalty.
Yielding to Malakar, stepping into his shadow to seek the truth of what he called her. The path of darkness.
Defying them both, diving into the flames, risking herself not for kings or wars, but for the helpless. The path of sacrifice.
When her eyes opened, they burned gold.
"Then I'll choose for myself," she whispered.
Before Aric or Selwyn could stop her, Nyra sprinted toward the inn. Her cloak caught sparks as she ran, ash stinging her eyes, but she didn't waver. The roar of the fire greeted her like an old enemy, daring her to enter.
Inside, the smoke was suffocating. The children—a boy no older than eight, a girl clutching his hand—were trapped behind a fallen beam. Flames licked closer, snarling like wild beasts.
Nyra gritted her teeth. "Not today."
She thrust out her hands. The ember within surged, spilling outward. Fire bent around her—not consuming, but yielding, as if it knew her name. With a scream that shook the rafters, she tore the burning beam aside, flames swirling harmlessly around her like ribbons of light.
The children stumbled free, coughing and crying. She pushed them toward the door, shielding them with her body. When she emerged, the battlefield had fallen still—Kaelith's soldiers, Malakar's warriors, even the princes themselves—watching in stunned silence.
In that moment, the choice was made. Not of sides, but of who she was.
Malakar's smile widened, sharp and terrible.
"Ah… my little sister of flame shows her true gift."
Kaelith's sword lowered, his eyes blazing with something like awe.
"By the gods… she bends fire itself."
And Nyra, chest heaving, ash-streaked and defiant, finally spoke—not to them, but to herself.
"I don't need a throne. I don't need your chains. My fire is mine."
The war had paused for a breath, but Nyra knew: her choice had only ignited a greater firestorm to come.