Chapter 4 THE HEART OF ASH AND FIRE

Dawn never touched the Ashwing stronghold. Hidden deep inside the carved belly of the mountain, time was marked only by the slow gutter of torches and the distant groan of shifting stone. Kaelin woke to both.

A tremor rippled through the cavern wall, shivering dust down onto her cot. For a heartbeat she stayed still, unsure if it was a dream. Then the tremor came again stronger this time, sharp like a fist striking the rock.

Shouts echoed down the corridor.

She was on her feet instantly.

The rebels didn't panic easily. If they were shouting, it meant danger.

Kaelin shoved on her boots and grabbed her knives, pushing into the tunnel just as Taren rounded the corner, breath hot and fast, one hand already on his sword.

“There’s an intrusion,” he said. “Outer tunnels. Veyra sent the alarm.”

“How many?” Kaelin asked.

“No idea. Enough that she wants every fighter awake.” He hesitated only a beat, but she saw it. “Stay close to me.”

Kaelin didn’t have time to argue, but the look she gave him said she would remember that remark. They sprinted together, following the red-lit path deeper into the stronghold.

When they reached the Stone Spine, the wide central passage where the rebels trained, chaos was already unfurling. Steel clashed against steel, sparks spitting into the smoky air. Masked intruders in dark Crown armor forced their way through the outer gate, cutting down rebels who tried to hold the line.

Assassins.

Kaelin had seen their handiwork before silent, precise, ruthless. But this time they weren’t silent. This time they moved with a single purpose.

They were looking for something.

Or someone.

“Split!” Veyra shouted from the upper ledge. “Flank from the right!”

Taren darted forward instantly, blade flashing. Kaelin followed, slipping through bodies and smoke. A masked assassin lunged at her, twin daggers aimed at her ribs. She parried, steel ringing, then drove her elbow into his throat. He stumbled. She kicked his knee out and finished him with a swift slice across the leg tendons. Not deadly but disabling.

She didn’t kill unless she had to.

Tonight, she feared she might have to.

Another tremor rocked the ground. Not from the mountain this time this one came from within the Stone Spine itself. A deep, vibrating resonance, like something ancient had stirred below.

The assassins felt it too. Their movements grew frantic.

“Fall back!” Veyra yelled. “Pull them toward the lower rings!”

It was a good strategy narrower tunnels meant fewer assassins could fight at once but it also meant they were leading the enemy closer to the heart of the stronghold.

Kaelin parried a strike and glanced upward. Veyra’s gaze was locked on her. Not on the assassins. On her.

As if Veyra already knew this attack wasn’t random.

A scream tore through the cavern.

Kaelin whipped around. One of the younger rebels a boy barely fourteen was pinned beneath a collapsed support beam. An assassin lunged toward him, blade raised.

Kaelin didn’t think.

She moved.

The assassin’s dagger descended

and Kaelin’s fire erupted.

It wasn’t a spark. It wasn’t a flicker. It was a wave pure, molten heat flashing across her skin like living flame. The torchlight dimmed, swallowed by the blaze coiling around her arms.

The assassin staggered back, momentarily blinded.

Kaelin raised her hand, and her fire obeyed.

A burst of emberfire spiraled from her palm, curling like a serpent. It struck the assassin square in the chest and hurled him back against the stone wall with enough force to crack bone.

Silence rippled outward.

Rebels. Assassins. Everyone.

They all stared at her.

Taren froze mid-strike, sword hanging limp at his side.

Veyra’s expression changed not fear, not shock, but grim confirmation.

Kaelin felt her heart thundering, the fire still dancing around her fingers, refusing to settle. It felt alive more than it ever had, pulsing with a heartbeat that was not entirely hers.

Another tremor rolled beneath them, stronger this time. The stone floor glowed faintly red, as if something beneath the mountain had awakened.

The assassins retreated.

Not out of fear but because they had seen what they came for.

“Seal the tunnels!” Veyra ordered. “Now!”

Rebels scrambled to obey. Gates slammed. Chains rattled. One by one, the intruders were forced back, disappearing into the smoke-filled passages.

When the last metal gate clanged shut, Kaelin’s fire guttered out, leaving her shaking.

Taren approached slowly, like she was a blade held at his throat.

“Kaelin…” His voice was soft, almost reverent. “You you never told me it was that strong.”

“I didn’t know.” And she meant it. The fire she’d just wielded felt like nothing she’d ever touched before.

“Come,” Veyra said. “Both of you.”

She turned and strode toward the deepest tunnel the one Kaelin had never been allowed to enter.

Kaelin exchanged a look with Taren, then followed.

The air grew warmer as they descended. Torches flickered without wind. The tremors returned, softer now but persistent, like a heartbeat under their feet.

At last the tunnel opened into a vast chamber circular, hollowed out by ancient magic, the ceiling lost somewhere above the shadows.

At the center stood an obelisk of black glass, veins of red light pulsing through it.

The Heartstone.

Kaelin felt the pull instantly. Her fire stirred, answering the heartbeat she’d felt since the battle.

“What is this place?” she whispered.

“The beginning,” Veyra said quietly. “And the truth we’ve kept hidden until we were certain.”

“Certain of what?”

Veyra turned to face her fully. Her eyes usually hard as steel softened with something like awe.

“That you are Emberborn, Kaelin. Not merely a fire-wielder.” She gestured toward the Heartstone. “Touch it. Let it answer you.”

Kaelin swallowed, pulse hammering in her ears. She glanced at Taren. He gave a tiny nod not urging, not pushing. Just support.

She stepped forward.

Heat washed over her before she even reached the obelisk. Not painful familiar. Like stepping into sunlight after a lifetime of cold.

She raised her hand.

Her fingertips brushed the stone.

And the world exploded.

Fire raced up her arm, not burning, but illuminating memories not her own, wings of molten gold stretching across a sky of ash, a roar that shook mountains, an ancient bond forged between dragon and human long before she was born.

A name echoed in her mind.

Syrath.

The last dragon.

Kaelin staggered back, breath torn from her lungs. Taren caught her before she fell.

The Heartstone pulsed once more, bright enough to blind.

Then it dimmed.

Veyra exhaled slowly. “It’s true. The dragon chose you. Its echo lives in you. That’s why the Crown wants you.”

Kaelin’s hands trembled. “I don’t want any of this.”

“No one asked you to,” Veyra said gently. “But fate rarely waits for permission.”

Kaelin looked at the stone again. She felt its heartbeat still steady, ancient, calling.

She thought of the assassins.

Of the fear in the rebels’ eyes.

Of the fire she could no longer pretend to hide.

“I won’t run,” she said finally. “Not anymore.”

Veyra nodded once. “Then we prepare for war.”

Taren’s grip tightened on her arm, warm and stead

y.

Kaelin lifted her chin as the mountain rumbled again, as if something deep within it approved.

And for the first time since her fire awakened, she didn’t feel alone.