đź“–
By Victor Simdrix
Chapter 16 – Whispers of Fear
The courtyard of Valebridge still smoked with the scent of charred stone and scorched steel. Where once there had been siege engines and ranks of soldiers, now there was only ash drifting on the night wind.
The fortress had survived—but at a price.
Nyra stood at the center, her skin glowing faintly as though embers still clung beneath it. Her clothes were torn, her breath ragged. She felt drained, hollowed out… yet every gaze upon her pressed heavier than the fire she had unleashed.
At first, there was silence.
Then the whispers began.
"She burned them alive."
"Did you see her eyes?"
"Not even Malakar could stand before her…"
"…but what if she turns on us?"
The words pricked her skin like daggers. She clenched her fists, trying to breathe, but the air seemed poisoned with doubt.
King Aldric of the Crimson Crown descended from the battlements, his golden cloak torn from battle. He stopped before Nyra, his expression unreadable.
"You saved us," he said slowly, his voice carrying across the courtyard. "But you burned a path of ruin to do it."
Nyra's chest tightened. "I—I had to. If I didn't, he would have—"
Aldric raised a hand, silencing her. His eyes were sharp, but beneath them, there was fear. Not of Malakar. Of her.
Behind him, Queen Isolde of the Azure Court stepped forward, her silver circlet gleaming in the firelight. "We cannot deny her courage," she said softly. "Without her, we would be nothing but corpses."
"But courage," another royal murmured, "is not the same as control."
The words spread like smoke. Soldiers shifted uneasily. Some bowed their heads in reverence. Others crossed themselves as though warding off a curse.
Kaelith stepped between Nyra and the murmuring crowd, his blade sheathed but his stance protective. "She is no monster," he growled. "She fought for us—bled for us. Do not repay her with fear."
Yet even his voice could not silence the unease.
Nyra lowered her eyes, her throat tight. For a moment, she thought of her mother—her mother's warnings about fire that destroys more than it saves.
Was that what she had become?
Later, as the fortress quieted, she sat alone upon the scorched stones. The flames had died, but inside her, the ember still burned, whispering with a hunger she could not tame.
Darius Ember approached quietly, his spear slung across his back. He sat beside her, his usual grin dimmed to something softer.
"You scared them," he admitted. "You even scared me."
Nyra flinched, the words cutting deeper than she expected.
"But you also gave us a chance to breathe," he added. "And if fear is the price of hope… maybe it's worth paying."
She turned to him, her voice breaking. "What if Malakar is right? What if this fire isn't mine at all—what if it belongs to him?"
Darius looked at her for a long time. Then he shook his head.
"Then take it back. Make it yours. That's what being a hero means—not the power, but the choice."
The words settled in her chest like cooling coals. Not extinguishing the fire—but shaping it.
Yet still, as the night deepened, the whispers of fear lingered.
And in the shadows beyond the fortress walls, Malakar's laughter carried on the wind.