The walls of the Ashborn gates loomed above the caravan like jagged mountains of iron and fire. Blackstone, streaked with veins of glowing magma, rose higher than any fortress Ryan had ever seen. Towers speared the sky, crowned with wards that hummed faintly like a living heartbeat.
It wasn't just a city. It was a weapon.
The caravan creaked and rolled toward the drawbridge, wagons scarred from battles on the road. Ashborn sentries watched from the battlements, crossbows leveled, faces hidden behind helms etched with flame sigils. Ryan felt their eyes lock on him more than anyone else. The torque of his shard pulsed hot against his chest, almost as if it bristled at being studied.
"Keep your head down," Kaelin murmured at his side. "They smell weakness like blood."
Ryan almost laughed. "Guess I'll give them fire instead."
Her lips twitched — the faintest ghost of a smile. "Just don't burn the gate down."
---
Inside the Black Fortress
The gates opened with the groan of chains. Inside, Sector Seven stretched in ordered grids — barracks, forges, drill yards, all built with the same harsh precision. Everything smelled of steel and ash.
Ashborn soldiers moved in perfect formations, their armor black and gold. Even the people in the streets walked like they were under command. This wasn't a place of freedom. It was discipline forged into stone.
Commander Hale, the same man who had barked orders at the caravan, stepped forward to meet Lyra. His eyes slid to Ryan.
"The stray," Hale said flatly. "He reports for resonance assessment. At once."
Ryan bristled, but Lyra raised a calming hand. "We'll cooperate."
Kaelin shifted closer, her hand brushing Ryan's wrist for the briefest second — grounding him. He didn't move, but the heat of her touch steadied the shard's restless pulse.
---
The House of Coals
They led Ryan into a bastion known as the House of Coals, its walls carved with endless ward lines. Inside, Magister Vaska waited — a tall woman draped in robes inked with runes. Her eyes were sharp as blades.
Without a word, she fastened a cold silver torque around his neck. The metal clicked, locking in place.
Ryan froze as copper filaments rose from the floor, touching the shard's resonance. The heat inside him surged. The world flickered. For an instant, he saw a vision:
A vault of ash. Pillars of bone. A crown of fire and moonlight suspended above a gate of ribs. And footprints — his — leading toward it.
Kaelin's hand squeezed his arm. "Stay here. With me."
The crown dimmed. The vision snapped away.
Magister Vaska's assistants muttered and scratched notes. Vaska herself tilted her head. "He is volatile. Not yet corrupted. But tethered to something… old." Her black eyes turned on Ryan. "Whatever walks through you, boy, has not finished walking."
Ryan clenched his fists. "It's me. I decide who I am."
The torque hummed, as if testing his claim.
Vaska only smiled faintly. "For now."
---
Whispers in the Barracks
That night, they lodged in the Ashborn barracks. Soldiers whispered about the "stray" tethered to a shard, about firestorms and serpents in the Wilds. Ryan ignored them, but the weight of stares pressed heavy.
Kaelin sat across from him at the long table, pretending to clean her blade. Every so often, her eyes flicked to him. Once, she caught him looking. She didn't look away.
Later, when the others drifted to sleep, Ryan found himself outside under the fortress wall. The shard pulsed steady in his chest, the torque tight against his skin. He exhaled, staring at the fractured sky.
Bootsteps crunched softly behind him. Kaelin.
"You should be resting," she said.
"So should you."
She smirked faintly, then leaned against the wall beside him. For a long moment, neither spoke.
Finally, Kaelin's voice dropped. "Back at the serpent… I thought you were gone. And I hated how much that thought hurt."
Ryan's chest tightened. "Kaelin—"
She cut him off with a look, sharp and vulnerable all at once. "Don't make me say it again."
For a heartbeat, the silence was louder than battle. Then, without warning, she leaned in, her lips brushing his. It wasn't soft this time — it was fire, fierce and claiming.
When she pulled back, her breath was unsteady. "Don't get used to it," she muttered, but her hand lingered against his chest, right over the shard.
Ryan caught her wrist gently. "Too late."
Kaelin rolled her eyes, but she didn't pull away.
Above them, the fortress bells tolled — three sharp strikes, followed by two. Lyra's voice carried from the courtyard. "Signal from Scoria Point! The Beacon is failing!"
The moment shattered. Duty roared back in.
Kaelin was already strapping her blade. "Romance later. Survival first."
Ryan's lips curved. "Promise?"
She shot him a look that could cut steel. "Survive, and maybe."
Then they were running toward the gates, fire and steel pulling them into the next storm.