The wind shifted at dawn, carrying the scent of pine and smoke as the rebel host gathered at the city's edge. Kirevale stood behind them, scarred but free. Ahead lay Embermoor—once a mining city, now a fortress for the Crown.
Elira stood atop a stone outcrop overlooking the valley road. A ribbon of soldiers, farmers, healers, and mages stretched behind her—no longer scattered voices, but an army shaped by purpose.
Auren tightened his gloves, eyes scanning the eastern hills. "Embermoor will not fall easily."
> "It doesn't have to fall," Elira replied. "It only needs to rise."
She held up her hand. Flames danced across her palm—not to destroy, but to signal. The rebels moved.
---
The journey through the Wyrmshade Pass was slow and dangerous. Landslides from old mining accidents had narrowed the roads, and shadows clung to the ridges like watchful beasts.
On the third night, they made camp near a broken stone archway that once marked the boundary of the Embermoor territory.
Garran rode in with news. "The city's gate is closed, but there's unrest inside. Some of the miners are refusing to work."
Auren grinned. "Then the fire's already at their feet."
> "And we fan it until it burns," Elira said.
---
That evening, Elira stood by the edge of the camp, watching the flickering torchlight echo across the cliffs.
A young woman approached, face half-covered by a soot-stained scarf. "Flameborn," she whispered. "I come from within the city. My brother is imprisoned. They're locking up anyone who speaks your name."
Elira's hands clenched. "And still they speak it?"
The girl nodded. "Louder each day."
> "Then tell them this," Elira said, eyes gleaming, "the Flameborn walks the pass. And she does not walk alone."
---
By morning, word had spread. In Embermoor's streets, graffiti appeared on walls:
"We remember the fire."
"The Crown cannot smother truth."
"Elira lives."
Inside the council chambers of the city's keep, the local magistrate slammed his fist on the table.
> "If she reaches the gates, it'll be another Kirevale!"
But even as he raged, servants whispered, guards exchanged glances—and somewhere in the dark, a child lit a candle against the cold.
The fire was coming.