The second day began with Audrey Hall.
She arrived at dawn, not in silk or lace, but in plain gray wool. Her hair was bound tightly, expression calm and severe. In her hands rested a small wooden box—and a single white candle.
"Today," she said softly, "you will learn the heaviest burden of carrying fire."
Elaric looked at the candle.
"Deciding," Audrey continued, "what not to save."
The chamber she led him to was unlike the others.
Small. Circular.
Its walls were draped in black velvet that drank in light and sound alike. Even his breathing seemed muted, swallowed whole. At the center stood a lone chair. Beside it, a low table.
And the candle.
Audrey shut the door.
—THUD—
She struck a match and lit the wick—no mysticism, no power. Just fire.
The flame stood straight and golden. Ordinary. Innocent.
"Sit," she said.
Elaric obeyed.
"Your pathway demands preservation," Audrey began, her voice steady behind him. "But preservation without discernment becomes cruelty wearing a gentle face."
Her hands rested lightly on his shoulders.
"Close your eyes. Use Ember Sense."
The candle glowed within his perception—healthy, stable. No pull. No hunger.
"I will allow it to burn low," Audrey said. "When it begins to die, you will want to save it. Your task is not to act."
Time stretched.
Wax pooled.
The wick shortened.
The flame trembled.
Then—
The hunger stirred.
A whisper in his chest.
A familiar ache blooming outward.
Preserve it. Feed it. Do not let it die.
His fingers dug into his knees.
The flame shrank to a fragile spark.
He could save it.
One breath.
One flicker of power.
"No," Audrey murmured, sensing his struggle. "Acknowledge the demand. Then choose."
The candle flickered—
—FWIP—
Gone.
Smoke curled upward, thin and gray.
The backlash struck like a blade.
The ember in his chest dimmed violently, the hollow yawning wide. Pain—deep, existential—ripped through him. Loss. Failure. Betrayal of the fire that defined him.
Elaric gasped and folded forward.
Audrey did not move her hands.
"Breathe," she said gently. "It hurts. But it will not kill you."
Slowly, the pain receded.
The ember stabilized—burning lower than before.
"Why?" Elaric whispered hoarsely. "Why teach me this?"
Audrey's answer was immediate.
"Because mercy is not synonymous with preservation. Some flames suffer when kept alive. Your pathway will tempt you toward endless prolongation—hopes stretched thin, lives trapped between breaths. That way leads to madness."
She opened the wooden box.
Inside lay three objects.
A dried flower pressed between glass.
A child's wooden toy horse.
A yellowed letter, sealed and brittle.
"Each carries a dying ember," Audrey said. "You may preserve two. One, you must release."
The flower came first.
Sunlight.
A garden.
A promise pressed into petals.
A man who never returned.
A woman who waited until death.
Hope, long dead—but still flickering.
Elaric fed it gently.
The ember softened, no longer aching to be fulfilled—only remembered.
Audrey nodded.
The toy horse whispered next.
Laughter.
Small hands.
Fever.
A grave too small.
The ember burned with grief and injustice.
Elaric poured warmth into it.
The laughter lingered—grief still present, but no longer sharp enough to wound.
Finally, the letter.
Rage bled through the paper.
Accusation.
Betrayal.
Poison.
A woman's final words.
A man who found them too late.
This ember burned to harm.
His instinct screamed.
Preserve it.
Elaric looked up.
"Let it go," he said.
Audrey did not intervene.
He placed the letter down.
And did nothing.
The ember flickered—
—SSSS—
And died.
The backlash was worse than before.
White-hot pain lanced behind his eyes. His stomach twisted. For a heartbeat, he thought he would retch.
Then—
Relief.
The room felt cleaner. Lighter.
Audrey knelt before him.
"Well chosen," she said softly. "Some fires poison everything they touch. Ending them is not cruelty. It is surgery."
She made him drink the tonic.
"You will practice this every day," she said. "Discernment is the difference between a hearth… and a wildfire."
By evening, refusal no longer felt like agony.
Only pain.
Manageable pain.
Dinner that night was communal.
A long bronze table.
Roast meat.
Dark bread.
Red wine.
Laughter echoed through the hall. Fors embellished her travels shamelessly. Hawick spoke of the City of Silver. Leonard even smiled.
Elaric sat between Audrey and Fors.
Quiet.
But no longer overwhelmed.
Later, Leonard pulled him aside.
"Tomorrow, Hawick handles combat. You'll hate it."
"And after?"
Leonard's expression hardened.
"After that, we hunt. The fires stopped. That means the enemy adapted."
He lowered his voice.
"The Curtained One is stirring. I felt it watching through layers of deception."
Elaric swallowed.
That night, he dreamed.
Endless curtains.
Black. Crimson. Gold.
Eyes behind fabric.
A lantern burning low.
A voice whispered—
Come closer, little spark.
He woke gasping.
The ember burned hot.
Hungry.
Training had given him control.
Now he had to decide—
What kind of fire he would become.
Above, Trier slept uneasily.
Below, a boy learned that mercy weighed more than steel.
And between worlds, something ancient waited—
Patient.
Interested.