Night settled over Vaeroth like a bruise. Ashwatch smoldered, and the city's mood felt stretched thin — a violin string about to snap.
At the Hall of Records, the group gathered in the council chamber, exhausted and singed. Lyria soaked a cloth in cool water and pressed it to her forehead.
"We're losing control of the narrative," she muttered. "People think the firefight was our fault."
Garron spat into the firepit. "Let them think. Truth survives long enough to step on lies."
Maera raised a brow at him. "Garron, that made no sense."
"I don't care."
Kethra leaned over the table, studying maps. "The Forgefathers want chaos. Panic divides poor from poor. The more people fight each other, the easier it is for them to act."
Soryn nodded. "And the Sovereign feeds on that division. He grows stronger each time humans turn against each other."
Then a soft, rhythmic tapping echoed in the hall.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Lyria stood instantly, rapier half drawn. "Someone's in the corridor."
The torches flickered.
A shadow slid into view — tall, lean, wrapped in black smoke as if the darkness were clothing it.
Eyes glowed faintly from beneath a hood.
Orange. Burning.
Cinder-Eyes.
Maera whispered, "Not him again…"
He bowed with polite superiority. "Good evening, my dear Ashborn companions."
Garron lifted the hammer. "Step carefully, demon."
"Oh please," Cinder-Eyes smirked. "If I wanted to kill you, we would be having a very different conversation."
Aeron's glow started to brighten involuntarily. Cinder-Eyes noticed and smiled wider.
"My, my. The Heartstone grows comfortable inside you."
"Stay away from him," Lyria said, stepping in front of Aeron.
"Relax. I'm not here to claim the boy. Not today."
He paced around them like a lecturer correcting unruly students.
"I came to offer… information."
Maera rolled her eyes. "The last time you offered information, we got ambushed."
"Yes, but you lived. Growth requires adversity."
"Cinder," Soryn said sharply, "speak plainly."
The demon's gaze sharpened. "The Forgefathers have activated a sleeper agent in Vaeroth. A specialist. One with… let's say… unique persuasion skills."
"Name," Garron demanded.
Cinder-Eyes shrugged. "Names are expensive."
Kethra slammed a wrench onto the table. "Fine. What's the price?"
A pause. Then a smile that held teeth.
"Aeron."
Everyone stepped forward at once.
"No."
"Impossible."
"Not happening."
But Cinder-Eyes held up a hand. "Relax. I don't want the boy. I want a single conversation with him."
Aeron's heart hammered.
"Why?" he asked.
Cinder-Eyes stared into him with ember eyes. "Because you are carrying a power older than your bloodline, child. I wish to see what shape you are becoming."
Lyria snapped, "He is not a project."
"But he is becoming something," Cinder-Eyes whispered. "Something the Sovereign did not anticipate."
Aeron felt a chill.
Maera crossed her arms. "You always talk in puzzles. Why warn us?"
"Because," Cinder-Eyes whispered, "if the Forgefathers' agent reaches you before I do… you won't like the results."
He backed away, smoke curling like wings.
"We will speak again, little ember."
Then he dissolved into shadow.
Silence filled the hall.
Garron finally spoke: "We need to find this agent before he does."
Soryn nodded. "And we also need to ask… how long can we keep Aeron safe from himself?"
Aeron didn't answer.
Because for the first time, he wasn't sure if the ember inside him was entirely his anymore.