Ember's POV
The fire was dying.
I stood in the center of the burning vault, my whole body shaking. Orange flames danced across the shelves, but they weren't spreading. They were circling me like loyal dogs waiting for orders.
I'd done this. Somehow, I'd made fire appear from nothing.
"Ember?" Spark's voice was tiny behind me. "What's happening to you?"
I didn't know. I didn't understand any of this.
The three soldiers who'd been about to kill us were on the ground, rolling and screaming, trying to put out flames on their clothes. The cold-voiced leader stared at me with wide eyes—not angry anymore, but afraid.
"She's awakened early," he breathed. "Impossible. She's only seventeen. Pyromancers don't manifest until—"
"I don't care what I am!" I screamed. The flames around me flared higher, responding to my rage. "You tried to kill my sister!"
"Stand down, girl." The leader raised his hands slowly, like I was a dangerous animal. "Your power is unstable. You'll kill everyone down here, including yourself."
He was right. The fire was getting harder to control. It wanted to spread, to consume, to destroy everything.
Just like it had destroyed my town.
My home.
My parents.
"Ember, please," Spark whimpered. "You're scaring me."
That broke through my rage better than anything else could.
I looked at my baby sister—her face covered in soot, her eyes wide with terror. She wasn't afraid of the soldiers anymore.
She was afraid of me.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "Spark, I'm so sorry, I don't know how to stop it—"
"Then let me help you," the leader said, his voice suddenly gentle. Fake gentle. "I can teach you to control it. No one else has to get hurt."
"You just tried to kill us!"
"I was following orders. But now I see you're valuable alive. Both of you." He took a step closer. "Come with me peacefully, and I'll protect you. I'll teach you everything. You'll be safe."
More lies. I could hear them dripping like poison from his mouth.
But what choice did I have? I couldn't control this fire. I couldn't protect Spark. I couldn't even protect myself.
The flames around me flickered, responding to my doubt.
"That's it," the leader coaxed. "Just let go. Let the fire die. Everything will be—"
He lunged.
So fast I didn't see it coming. One second he was talking, the next his hand was around my throat, squeezing.
The fire vanished instantly, sucked back inside me like it had never existed.
"Foolish child," he hissed in my ear. "Did you really think I'd let a Pyromancer live? Lord Dredge wants you dead. He just needs your blood first."
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't fight. His grip was iron.
Through the spots dancing in my vision, I saw another soldier grab Spark. She screamed and kicked, but he was too strong.
"Leave her alone!" I choked out.
The leader squeezed harder. "You should have burned when you had the chance. Now you'll suffer before you die."
My vision was going dark. I was dying. Just like Mama. Just like Papa.
Just like everyone in Cindervale.
NO.
The rage came back, hotter than before. Deeper. It wasn't just anger anymore—it was something ancient, something that had been sleeping in my blood for generations.
Fire exploded from my skin.
Not orange flames this time. These were white-hot, blindingly bright. The leader screamed and let go, stumbling backward with his hands burned black.
I fell to my knees, gasping for air.
The white flames died as quickly as they'd appeared, leaving me empty and shaking. I'd used too much power. My body felt like it was made of wet paper, ready to collapse.
"Restrain her!" the leader snarled, clutching his burned hands. "Now! Before she kills us all!"
Soldiers swarmed me. I tried to fight, tried to call the fire again, but I had nothing left. They grabbed my arms and slammed me face-first onto the stone floor.
Pain exploded through my skull. Blood trickled into my eye.
"EMBER!" Spark shrieked.
"Take the younger one to the holding cells," the leader ordered. "Lord Dredge will decide what to do with her later."
"No! Spark! SPARK!" I thrashed against the hands holding me down, but I was too weak. Too broken.
They dragged my sister away, her screams echoing through the vault until a door slammed shut and cut off the sound.
She was gone.
I was alone.
The leader knelt beside me, his burned face twisted with hate and satisfaction. "You know what the worst part is? You could have saved them all. If you'd awakened yesterday, you could have burned every soldier in Cindervale. Protected your whole town."
His words stabbed deeper than any blade.
"But you were too late," he continued. "Too weak. Too slow. And now everyone you love is dead or dying. How does it feel, little Pyromancer?"
I tried to speak, to curse him, to do anything. But I couldn't.
He pulled out that silver needle again. "Lord Dredge wants your memories. The ones about your parents' research. The ones about what they discovered." He pressed the needle against my temple. "Don't worry. You won't remember any of this pain. You won't remember your sister. You won't even remember your own name."
Sharp, burning agony exploded through my skull.
I screamed.
It felt like someone was reaching into my brain and pulling out pieces. Memories flashed before my eyes—Mama teaching me to bake, Papa reading bedtime stories, Spark laughing at my terrible jokes—and then they started disappearing.
Fading.
Being stolen.
"No," I sobbed. "Please, no, don't take them, don't take my family—"
"Too late," the leader whispered.
The needle dug deeper.
I felt memories being ripped away. Mama's face started to blur. Papa's voice became distant. Spark's laugh turned into an echo I couldn't quite hear.
"Stop! Please stop!"
But they didn't stop.
They kept pulling, kept stealing, kept erasing pieces of my soul until there was almost nothing left.
The last memory I had before the darkness took me was strange. Not one of my own memories, but something else. Something that felt ancient and angry and vast.
A woman made of fire, standing in the ruins of a burned city. Her voice echoed through time:
"They will hunt us. They will fear us. They will try to extinguish us. But fire cannot be destroyed, little one. It only waits to rise again."
Then—nothing.
When I opened my eyes, I didn't know where I was.
Or who I was.
Or why I hurt so much.
I was lying on cold stone. My head felt like it had been split open. My throat was raw from screaming.
Above me, a man in a black uniform stood talking to someone I couldn't see.
"The extraction is complete, Lord Dredge. We have everything—her parents' research, the location of the other Pyromancer bloodlines, all of it."
"And the girl?" A cold, powerful voice that made my skin crawl.
"Brain damaged from the extraction. She'll never be a threat now. Should we kill her?"
A long pause.
"No," Lord Dredge finally said. "Leave her in the ruins. Let her wake up with gaps in her memory, wondering what happened. It will drive her mad. A fitting punishment for the bloodline that's caused us so much trouble."
"And the younger sister?"
"Useful leverage. Keep her alive in the holding cells. If the Ashford girl ever becomes a problem again, we'll use the sister to control her."
Footsteps walked away.
I tried to move, to speak, to do anything. But my body wouldn't respond.
I lay there in the darkness, feeling the empty spaces in my mind where memories should be.
I knew something terrible had happened. Knew I'd lost something precious.
I just couldn't remember what.
Or who.
Or why I wanted to scream.
Above me, through the damaged ceiling of the vault, I could see the night sky. Everything was burning orange with reflected firelight.
And somewhere in the ruins, a girl was crying for someone named Ember.
But I didn't know who that was.
I didn't know who anyone was.
Not even myself.