The mist still clung to the marsh, heavy with the stink of blood and burned flesh. Torches hissed as the riders of the Luminous Order drove their spears into the earth, forming a ring of light around the ridge.
Elira's breath came shallow and ragged. The heat inside her had retreated at last, leaving her hollow, trembling. She clutched the stone beneath her as though it could anchor her to something steady. The flames she had unleashed still haunted her vision—the screams of men, the scorch of uncontrolled power.
Kaelen stood over her, sword lowered but not sheathed. His face was pale, jaw clenched tight. He looked less like a fugitive now and more like the prince she had never known him to be, a man bred for command, his defiance burning hotter than his wounds.
The rider who had spoken stepped forward. His armor gleamed despite the mud, polished steel etched with the falcon crest of the Order. His eyes were sharp, unyielding.
"Prince Kaelen," he repeated, voice carrying over the mist. "By command of the Luminous Council, you are summoned. You will come with us."
---
### Elira's POV
Prince.
The word echoed inside her, louder than the screams had been. She turned to Kaelen, searching his face. His silence was confirmation enough.
The man she had saved from the woods, the man she had bled for and hidden—he was no ordinary traveler. He was heir to a kingdom she barely understood.
Anger and betrayal twisted inside her, but stronger still was fear. The Council's gaze was upon her now. She saw it in the way the knights' eyes lingered on her scorched hands, in the way the torches seemed to lean closer, as though drawn by her fire.
"She is not summoned," Kaelen said sharply, his voice breaking her thoughts. "She is under my protection."
The Order's commander did not flinch. "She carries a power that belongs to the Council as much as it belongs to her. You both will come. The Council decides what is protection, and what is peril."
---
### Kaelen's POV
He had dreaded this moment.
The Order's arrival was no blessing. They were not rescuers—they were wardens. Their creed was loyalty to the Council above all else, not to justice, not to mercy.
Kaelen's grip tightened on his sword. His body screamed at him to yield—his wound throbbed, his strength drained. But yielding meant chains, for both him and Elira.
He caught her gaze. She looked lost, fragile in the torchlight, her fire smothered for now. She did not yet understand what it meant to fall into the Order's hands.
He turned back to the commander. "If the Council wants me, they can summon me in their hall. Not in the mud, not with blades drawn."
A murmur rippled through the soldiers. Defiance was rare, even for princes.
The commander's expression did not shift. "You are in no place to dictate, Highness. The Council's word is not an invitation—it is law."
---
### POV: Sir Deylan, Knight of the Order
Sir Deylan had ridden with the Order for twenty years. He had seen kings kneel and witches burn. He had sworn the oath: *Truth is light. Light is obedience. Obedience is life.*
Yet as he watched the girl on the ridge, trembling but unbroken, he felt something stir uncomfortably inside him. Her power had burst forth uncontrolled, yes, but not with malice. He had seen witches who reveled in their flames. She had looked terrified of her own hands.
And the prince—Kaelen. He stood defiant, sword raised despite his wound. Most men would have fallen by now. Deylan respected that kind of stubbornness, even if it led only to the pyre.
The commander, Sir Alrik, would drag them both in chains if he could. That was the Council's way. But Deylan could not shake the feeling that tonight, something larger than law was unfolding.
---
### The stand-off
"Bind your blade," Sir Alrik commanded. "Do not make this harder."
Kaelen did not move. His stance shifted slightly, weight balanced, eyes calculating. He knew he could not win against twelve armed knights, yet his body spoke the language of refusal.
Elira's voice broke the silence. "Stop," she whispered, rising shakily to her feet. "Please… no more fighting."
Her eyes darted between Kaelen and the commander. Fear pressed against her ribs, but she forced herself to speak. "If the Council demands answers, then let them hear us. But no chains."
Alrik's gaze narrowed. He saw the fire in her, the risk of letting her walk free. But the prince's presence complicated everything. To chain a royal was to risk war.
"Very well," he said at last. "No chains. For now. You will ride with us. Resist, and I swear, your flames will be quenched in blood."
---
### The march begins
Torches lit their path through the marsh as the Order's riders surrounded them. Kaelen stayed close to Elira, his hand brushing hers once as if to reassure her, though his face betrayed nothing.
Elira felt every gaze on her back. Her fire simmered uneasily inside, like coals refusing to die. The Order's presence made her skin crawl; their discipline was suffocating, every hoofbeat echoing like a drum of judgment.
Behind them, the boy Corin trailed unseen, lantern dimmed. He had watched everything, heart pounding, and now he followed at a distance. The strangers were more than travelers—the prince, the fire-girl, the knights. His father's fate might be tangled in theirs, and he would not turn back now.
---
### Night camp
By midnight, they reached higher ground where the mist thinned. The Order made camp with mechanical efficiency: tents raised, fires lit, sentries posted.
Kaelen and Elira were given a small space near the commander's tent, watched on all sides. Not chains, but no freedom either.
Elira sat by the fire, staring into the flames. They seemed to mock her, dancing with a freedom she could not claim.
Kaelen lowered himself beside her, wincing as his wound pulled. "You shouldn't have spoken for me back there," he murmured.
She turned, startled. "I was trying to keep you alive."
"And in doing so, you handed us to them."
Her eyes flashed with hurt. "What else was I supposed to do? Fight them all? Burn them?"
The silence that followed was heavy, thick with unspoken truths.
Finally, Kaelen's shoulders slumped. "No. You did what you thought was right. And perhaps it was the only choice we had."
---
### A shadowed warning
Later, as the camp settled, Sir Deylan approached quietly. His armor clinked softly, and in his hand he carried a small flask.
"For your wound, Highness," he said, offering it to Kaelen.
Kaelen accepted warily. "Why help me?"
Deylan's eyes flicked toward Alrik's tent. "Not all of us serve blindly. The Council is not mercy. When dawn comes, remember that."
His gaze shifted to Elira, lingering on her scorched hands. "And you, girl—guard your fire well. If they cannot cage it, they will try to extinguish it."
With that, he turned away, vanishing into the shadows.
Elira's chest tightened. She looked at Kaelen, who stared after the knight with a grim expression.
The Order was not their savior. It was another prison.
And dawn was only hours away.