The gates of Embermoor were shut, but the city was far from silent. Tension curled in its alleys like smoke, thick and acrid. Within the stone walls, the people waited—not just for orders, but for a sign.
Elira and the rebels had made camp in the high cliffs overlooking the valley. From there, they could see the city's watchtowers, its iron chimneys, and the Crown banners that still flapped stubbornly in the wind.
> "They're afraid," Auren said, adjusting the scope on his spyglass. "Not just of us. Of what we represent."
> "Then we give them something to believe in," Elira replied, wrapping her fingers around the circlet on her brow. "And something to fear."
---
That night, a small group of rebels slipped into Embermoor through the old aqueduct tunnel. Elira led them, her fire cloaked—only a faint warmth pulsing in her chest to light the path.
They emerged in the undercroft of an abandoned smithy. Dust choked the air, but beyond the crumbling walls, the heartbeat of the city thudded steadily.
> "We split up," she whispered to Garran. "Find the prisoners. Start the whispers. Let the city feel us moving."
Auren caught her arm. "Be careful. They'll know you're here the moment someone says your name."
She smiled faintly. "Then let them say it loud."
---
In the deepest wing of Embermoor's prison, Elira found rows of cells crowded with miners, healers, and voices of resistance.
A gaunt man staggered to the bars. "It's her," he murmured. "The fire... I thought it was just a story."
> "Stories carry truth," she answered, melting the lock with a touch of flame. "And this one just opened its eyes."
She freed them, one by one—until the prison echoed not with chains, but with hope.
---
Outside, the first bells rang in warning. The Crown's guards surged through the streets, but they were too late.
Torches lit in the windows. Miners banged pickaxes against stone. Symbols of the Flameborn appeared on banners strung between rooftops.
From atop the forge chimney, Elira stepped into the open wind.
> "You tried to bury us," she called out, her voice rolling like thunder, "but fire does not sleep beneath stone. It waits."
> "We are awake now. And we are many."
Embermoor erupted—not in violence, but in rebellion. A city that once fueled the Crown's coffers had become a beacon.
And as the gates swung open from within, Elira walked through them, not as a conqueror—but as the flame that refused to be put out.