Kaelen woke choking on dust. His mouth tasted of ash and blood, sharp on his tongue. The world above him groaned like an old beast. Stone pressed on his ribs, heavy, cruel. He couldn't move at first. Couldn't even breathe right.
For a moment he thought he was dead. Maybe he was burning still, trapped inside his own fire. But no—pain meant life. His shoulder screamed where the spear had struck. His hands shook around something hot.
The scale. Still there. Still burning.
He coughed, dragging one arm free of the rubble. The other stayed pinned. Panic thudded through him. He kicked, shoved with what strength he had left, rocks tumbling off in a slow slide. It wasn't enough.
"Help," he croaked. His voice was weak, too small for the ruins that covered him. "Anyone…"
Silence answered. The fire was gone now. Only smoke drifted. He turned his head, coughing again, and through a crack in the stone he saw light flicker. The crystals hadn't all gone dark.
Then a groan. Human. Close.
The woman.
Kaelen's chest tightened. He pushed harder, blood slick on his fingers as he clawed at stone. "Hey! Are you alive? Answer me!"
Another groan. She was there. Hurt, but alive. Relief almost drowned him, but then the ceiling shifted again with a low rumble. More rock dropped, dust choking him.
If he stayed, they'd both die buried.
The fire inside him stirred, faint but stubborn, like it knew. His body was weak, but the flame whispered anyway. Burn it. Burn your way out.
Kaelen squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't want to. Not again. He had hurt her already, burned her with his own hands. What if he finished the job this time?
But the stone above pressed harder, the air thinner. His lungs begged.
"Damn it," he hissed, and let the fire slip free.
It crawled out of his skin, not a wild storm this time but a low heat. Enough to crack stone, enough to push it back. Bit by bit, he forced himself free, dragging his body out with a scream that tore his throat. He collapsed on the floor, chest heaving, skin burning with sweat.
The chamber was wrecked. Half the roof had caved, shelves crushed under rock. The woman lay against one wall, half-buried, blood streaked on her face.
Kaelen crawled to her, heart pounding. "Hey. Stay with me. Don't die now."
Her eyes fluttered open, silver dulled by pain. "You fool," she whispered. "You nearly killed us both."
Kaelen wanted to argue, to say it wasn't his fault, but the words stuck. She was right. He had lost control. And maybe he liked it too much when the fire came. That was the worst part.
Before he could answer, voices echoed down the stairwell above. Not guards this time—too many, too organized. The empire hadn't given up.
"We found the hideout. Clear the rubble."
Kaelen's stomach dropped. They were still hunting. Still coming. He glanced at the woman, but she was barely conscious. Her strength was spent.
He clenched the scale to his chest. If they found him here, if they dragged him out… he would see the pyres with his own eyes.
Far above, in the golden halls of the palace, the emperor's council gathered.
High ceilings arched over them, banners heavy with dust from wars long past. A circle of nobles sat at the council table, their rings heavy, their robes lined with fur. At the head, upon the iron seat, the emperor leaned with one hand against his jaw, eyes half-lidded but sharp. His crown glimmered with black stones.
The general of the guard slammed a gauntlet on the table. "We cannot deny it anymore. The boy lit half the Outskirts in flame. My men saw wings. Not rumor—truth."
Murmurs rose. One noble spat into a goblet. "Dragon blood. Cursed blood. I warned this council it would return."
Another waved him off. "Old tales. You fools let panic blind you. A half-breed rat lights a fire and suddenly he's the end of the empire?"
The general snarled. "A rat doesn't summon wings. He doesn't tear stone apart with his breath. This is no street child. This is prophecy."
At that word, silence fell.
The emperor's eyes opened fully now, cold and black as iron. His voice was low, but it carried. "Prophecy."
The oldest of the council, a scholar with hands that shook, spoke then. "The scrolls spoke true. When dragon blood wakes in mortal veins… the Crown of Scales shall rise. This boy is not curse, not pest. He is weapon. A weapon born for fire."
"And weapons," the emperor said slowly, "belong to the throne."
The general bowed his head. "He must be captured alive. If the people believe the prophecy favors him, rebellion will grow. Better to chain him, to make his fire serve Elyndor."
Another noble hissed. "And if he will not serve?"
The emperor's lips curved, but it wasn't a smile. "Then he will burn at the pyres. Better ashes than a crown."
The council nodded, voices low, some afraid, some eager.
Far below the palace, Kaelen's ears rang with the sound of stone breaking. The guards were close now, clearing the way into the chamber. His hands shook. His breath hitched. The woman tried to sit but failed, falling back with a curse.
"Kaelen," she whispered, her voice raw. "They won't stop now. Not till you're dead… or theirs."
His blood throbbed, the scale burning hotter in his grip. He didn't know if he could control it again. He didn't know if he wanted to.
Boots thudded closer. Torches lit the dark.
The fire inside him growled, hungry.
Kaelen shut his eyes, whispering to himself like a prayer, though no gods had ever answered him before. "Don't let me burn her again. Don't let me…"
Then the stone wall split wide, and the first guard shoved through, spear raised.
The fire leapt to answer.