"Sometimes mercy wears the same face as punishment."
The corridor stretched long and cold, the hum of the Western Base's generators filling the silence between Kaen and Elyra. The metal floor panels flickered faintly beneath their boots, pulsing with the soft rhythm of the base's resonance veins.
Elyra said nothing as they approached the lift. Her silver-white hair caught the light, her pace calm but clipped, each step echoing the weight of what wasn't being said.
When they reached the elevator, she pressed her hand to the rune pad; blue light flared, and the doors slid open with a sigh. Kaen hesitated before stepping inside.
As they ascended, Elyra finally spoke — voice low, sharp around the edges.
"You're quiet."
He shrugged. "Just thinking about what Cael might say."
"I'd guess something about control, discipline, or restraint." She gave him a half-smirk. "He's fond of lectures."
Kaen managed a weak laugh. "So you think this is about the training incident?"
Elyra's smirk faltered, her gaze sliding to the lift's mirrored wall. "You think it isn't?"
He frowned. "Isn't it?"
She didn't answer — just crossed her arms as the elevator stopped with a soft chime.
The doors opened to a wide, glass-walled hall overlooking the storm-wrapped valley. At the far end stood Commander Cael, his back to them, the pale light of morning slicing across his coat.
"Close the door," Cael said, his tone cutting the air before Kaen could speak.
Elyra obeyed.
Kaen stepped forward, unsure whether to stand or bow. "Sir, I know what this looks like, but the power earlier—I didn't mean—"
Cael turned then, and his eyes silenced him. "This isn't about the training session."
Kaen's words froze in his throat.
"It's about Brindle Hollow," Cael said quietly. "The Council of Elders wants you brought to the Central Base. They intend to decide your fate."
The world seemed to tilt. The images came back—the fire, the collapsing homes, Liora's scream swallowed by light. His heart stuttered against the memory.
"Why now?" Kaen asked, voice barely above a whisper.
"Because they know what you are," Cael replied. "And because they fear what you might become."
Before Kaen could answer, the door burst open.
Aelis stood there, her shawl clutched around her shoulders, eyes wide with terror. "You can't take him there!" she cried. "You know what the Council does to those they don't trust!"
Elyra's posture stiffened, but she didn't speak.
Cael's jaw tightened. "Aelis, you shouldn't be here."
"I don't care!" she shouted. "He's my son! You're sending him to die in front of them!"
"They won't kill him," Cael said, his voice even but tired. "They'll judge him. And if we refuse their order, they'll send an enforcement squad to bring him in. You know what that means—for him, for all of us."
Aelis turned to Kaen, her hands trembling. "We can leave, Kaen. You and I—we'll find somewhere beyond the Dominion's reach. They'll never find us."
For a moment, he almost believed her. He could see it: freedom, peace, quiet skies. But then Brindle Hollow's smoke filled his mind, and the faint voice that sometimes echoed in his dreams—the whisper of Erevos—stirred in his chest.
You can't run from what you are.
Kaen shook his head. "We can't run, Mother."
"Why not?"
"Because I have to face this," he said, his tone shaking. "If I don't, they'll hunt us both. And if I do… maybe I can prove I'm not the monster they think I am."
Aelis stepped forward, her voice breaking. "You don't owe them redemption."
He smiled faintly, bitterly. "Maybe not. But I owe it to everyone I lost."
A long, hollow silence stretched through the room. Then Aelis pressed her forehead to his chest, her voice trembling. "Promise me you'll come back."
"I promise," Kaen said softly, though the words burned in his throat.
Cael exhaled, nodding once. "Pack lightly. We leave within the hour."
As Elyra placed a hand on Kaen's shoulder and led him toward the door, thunder rumbled across the valley. Outside the glass, lightning spidered through the storm clouds—an omen that the world, once again, was holding its breath.
And just before the door closed, Kaen glanced back—catching, for an instant, the reflection of a tall figure in the window's glare. Long white hair. Black eyes rimmed in blue fire. A smile that didn't belong to anyone in the room.
He blinked, and the reflection was gone.
"You can only hide from destiny until it learns your name."
By dusk, the sky above the Western Base had turned the color of steel and smoke. Storm clouds gathered across the mountain ridge, echoing the unrest brewing below. The hum of airships pulsed in the distance, lights glimmering like dying stars.
Kaen stood near the hangar doors, the weight of his promise still burning in his chest. He'd packed what little he owned—a change of uniform, a small keepsake from Aelis, and the silence of someone walking toward their own sentence.
Elyra approached first, her frost-blue eyes softer than usual. "Ready?"
"Not really," Kaen said.
"Good." She gave him a small, humorless smile. "Means you're still human."
Cael was already at the loading ramp, the faint glow of his hellfire resonance bleeding blue light across his gloves. Around him, several soldiers prepared their convoy—a black transport crawler bearing the Ashes insignia: the sundered silver sun encircled by drifting ash-strokes.
"Board up," Cael ordered, voice curt but weary. "We travel under dusk cover. Central Base doesn't want Dominion patrols catching scent of this meeting."
As they climbed aboard, Aelis appeared at the edge of the platform, clutching her shawl tightly. Her eyes met Kaen's. She didn't speak—she didn't need to. Her silence carried every prayer she'd ever whispered.
The crawler's engines growled to life. As it rolled into the storm-lit valley, rain began to fall—slow at first, then heavy, drumming against the reinforced hull. Inside, Kaen sat across from Elyra and Cael.
For a while, no one spoke. Only the steady hum of the engine filled the void.
Finally, Elyra broke the silence. "The Council doesn't usually call trials like this. Not for recruits. You must've made quite the impression."
Kaen gave a tired smirk. "Guess that's one word for it."
Cael's gaze remained fixed on the rain-streaked window. "Don't let them see fear. Merek respects strength. Veil values compassion. Ronin admires fire. But weakness…" He turned to Kaen, eyes burning faint blue. "They'll eat you alive if you show it."
Kaen nodded slowly, though inside, his stomach twisted. "And what if I fail?"
Elyra answered before Cael could. "Then you'll die, and we'll have to avenge you. So don't."
Kaen blinked—then almost laughed, half in disbelief. "That supposed to make me feel better?"
"It's supposed to remind you you're not alone," she said.
The crawler rumbled into silence as it approached the massive walls of Central Base—a fortress carved into the heart of a mountain, lit by the soft glow of resonance lamps. The air smelled of metal, ash, and rebellion.
The gates opened slowly, revealing a cavernous interior—hundreds of rebels training, repairing ships, studying maps of Dominion territory. Murals of the sundered sun stretched across the stone walls. The very air seemed to hum with defiance.
"This," Elyra murmured, "is the heart of the Ashes."
They disembarked. A soldier met them at the platform's edge. "Commander Cael. The Council awaits in the High Hall."
Cael gave a short nod, then looked to Kaen. "Stay close. Don't speak unless spoken to."
The walk through the Central Base was suffocating. Everywhere, eyes followed Kaen—whispers rising like smoke behind him. That's him… the one from Brindle Hollow.
The High Hall doors loomed ahead—massive slabs of dark stone carved with the sigil of the sundered sun. Two guards stepped aside as the doors groaned open.
The chamber beyond was vast. At its center stood a circular dais of black marble surrounded by banners. Three figures waited within the glow of a suspended light-crystal:
Veil, robed in white and gold, her hair silver as dawn, eyes kind yet piercing.
Merek, a towering man with scars like old maps, the scent of earth clinging to his armor.
And Ronin, cloaked in deep red, a faint ember burning in his palm as though his very blood still smoldered.
"Commander Cael," Veil greeted softly. "You've brought him."
"I have," Cael said. "Kaen of Brindle Hollow."
Kaen stepped forward, pulse roaring in his ears. The moment his foot touched the dais, the air thickened—resonance currents swirling like unseen wind.
Ronin leaned forward, eyes narrow. "So this is the boy who destroyed a village."
Kaen froze. "I didn't mean to—"
"Intentions don't matter," Merek interrupted, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. "Only outcomes."
"Enough," Veil said gently. Her gaze softened on Kaen. "You've carried much pain, haven't you?"
Kaen didn't answer.
"Good," she said. "Because pain means you still feel. And the world we fight for is built on those who still can."
Ronin snorted, flames curling between his fingers. "Or destroyed by them."
The hall fell silent, tension rippling like heat off stone.
Then Veil turned to Cael. "He is to remain here until judgment is passed. At dawn, the Council will decide whether the boy stays among us—or burns as the Dominion claims he must."
Elyra stiffened, but said nothing.
Kaen glanced up—just for a heartbeat—and swore he saw movement in the shadowed ceiling. A faint shimmer of blue and black light coiling like smoke, whispering in a voice no one else could hear.
"Do not fear their fire… you were born from it."
His breath caught. The whisper felt like it came from behind his own eyes.
And when he looked again, the shadows behind the Elders rippled—just once—as though something vast had blinked.
Veil turned her gaze toward him. "Rest for now, Kaen. Tomorrow, we will see whether you are truly the child of ruin… or the spark of something greater."
The torches dimmed, and the hall's doors closed with a sound like a tomb sealing shut.
Kaen stood alone in the dark, the echo of Erevos's whisper pulsing like a heartbeat in the air around him.
"They judge what they fear… and fear what they cannot control."
He closed his eyes.
Outside, thunder cracked through the mountain.
Inside, the mark on his back began to burn.
"Some chains aren't forged from metal — they're made from the lies we tell ourselves to survive."