Ashen's POV
The book in my hands is older than most kingdoms.
I turn the page carefully—the paper is so fragile it might crumble at the wrong touch. Around me, tree branches sway in the night wind, but I don't lose my balance. After a hundred and twenty-seven years, you get good at reading in strange places.
"You know normal people don't read in trees at midnight, right?"
I don't look up. "Normal people are boring, Rev."
A swirl of shadows materializes on the branch beside me, and Reverie Nighthollow appears as if she'd always been there. Her violet eyes glow faintly in the darkness.
"The transport just left the capital," she says. "Six guards. One prisoner."
"The Ashford girl?"
"Ember. Seventeen years old. Last living Pyromancer." Rev pauses. "They're taking her to the Extraction Facility. By dawn, her brain will be soup."
I mark my page with a strip of leather and close the book. "And you're certain she's real? Not just another false lead?"
"I broke into her cell last night. Saw the way she looked at fire through the window—like it was calling to her. Like it was part of her." Rev's smile is sharp. "She's real, Ashen. Everything we've been searching for."
For a moment, I don't move. Can't move.
A real Pyromancer. After all these years.
The last time I saw one, I was twelve years old, watching my mother burn alive while Syndicate soldiers laughed. They'd killed my entire family because we refused to help them hunt Pyromancers to extinction.
And now, a hundred and fifteen years later, I've found one.
The irony tastes like ash in my mouth.
"What's she like?" I ask quietly.
Rev tilts her head, considering. "Broken. Angry. Desperate. Her whole town burned, her memories were stolen, and the people she trusted just condemned her to death." She pauses. "She's perfect for what we need."
"She's seventeen, Rev."
"She's a weapon. And weapons don't have ages—they just have purposes."
I finally look at her. "Is that what we are now? The kind of people who use broken children as weapons?"
"We're the kind of people who've been hunting the Syndicate for decades while they slaughter innocents," Rev says flatly. "If this girl can burn memories from minds, she's our best shot at destroying them. We train her, aim her at the right targets, and watch the Syndicate crumble."
She's right. I know she's right.
But something about it still feels wrong.
Below us, I hear the rumble of wagon wheels on dirt road. Through the trees, I can see torch light approaching.
"That's them," Rev whispers.
I close my eyes and reach out with my mind, sensing the memories of everyone in that wagon. Six guards—their thoughts are simple, focused on duty and getting home to their families. And then there's a seventh presence, dim and fractured like shattered glass.
The girl.
Her memories are full of holes. Gaps where important things should be. It's like looking at a painting where someone cut out pieces—you can see the outline of what was there, but the details are gone.
Someone used an extraction needle on her. Brutal, amateur work. They ripped memories out without caring about the damage they caused.
Rage floods through me—hot and familiar. I know that feeling. I've carried it for over a century.
"Let's collect her," I say, opening my eyes.
Rev's grin is all teeth. "Now you're talking."
We drop from the trees in perfect silence.
The wagon rolls below us, six guards walking alongside it with weapons drawn. In the back, behind iron bars, I can see a small figure huddled in chains.
She's so young. Younger than I expected. Her dark hair is matted with blood and ash, and even from here, I can see her hands trembling.
For a second, I see my little sister in her place. Anya. Twelve years old, burning alive, screaming for me to save her.
I couldn't save Anya.
But maybe I can save this girl.
Rev moves first, as she always does. Shadows explode from her hands like living things, wrapping around the guards before they can shout. They struggle silently, their mouths covered by darkness.
I land beside the wagon and press my palm against the nearest guard's forehead. His memories flood into my mind—where he lives, what he loves, who he's afraid of. I find the memory of receiving orders about this transport and burn it away.
The guard's eyes go blank. Confused.
"You were escorting an empty wagon," I whisper to him. "You saw nothing unusual. Go home."
I release the memory manipulation, and he blinks slowly. "The wagon's empty," he says to the others, sounding puzzled. "Let's go home."
Rev releases them from her shadows. The guards wander away, murmuring about the strange empty transport assignment.
"That never gets old," Rev says, watching them go.
I climb onto the back of the wagon and examine the lock on the cage. Complicated. Good craftsmanship. It'll take me a minute to—
"Who are you?"
The girl's voice is rough, like she's been screaming. She stares at me through the bars with eyes that burn with equal parts fear and fury.
"Someone who can help," I say carefully.
"That's what the last person said before they tried to erase my brain."
Fair point.
I pull a lock pick from my coat and start working on the mechanism. "My name is Ashen Vale. The woman with the violet eyes is Reverie Nighthollow. We've been looking for you."
"Why?"
"Because you're the last living Pyromancer, and we need your help to destroy the people who murdered your family."
The lock clicks open. The cage door swings wide.
Ember doesn't move.
"How do I know you're not lying?" she asks. "How do I know you're not with them?"
I could tell her about my family. About the century I've spent hunting the Syndicate. About how I understand her pain because I've lived it for longer than she can imagine.
Instead, I hold out my hand.
"You don't know," I say honestly. "You can stay in that cage and let them erase you at dawn. Or you can trust me for the next five minutes and see what happens. Your choice."
She stares at my hand like it might bite her. Then her eyes flick to Rev, who's leaning against a tree, grinning like this is all very entertaining.
"If you try anything—" Ember starts.
"You'll set us on fire?" I finish. "Looking forward to it, actually. It's been awhile since I've seen real Pyromancer flames."
That surprises her. "You know what I am?"
"I know what you will be, once we train you."
Slowly, she reaches out and takes my hand.
Her skin is ice cold. She's shaking—from fear, from exhaustion, from two weeks of hell. When I pull her from the cage, she nearly collapses. I catch her, and for a moment, she's just a terrified girl who's lost everything.
"I need to find my sister," she whispers against my shoulder. "They took her. I have proof—"
"We know," Rev says, stepping forward. "Spark Ashford, age ten, held in Syndicate custody. We've known for two weeks."
Ember pulls back, staring at us. "You knew? You knew and you didn't—"
"We needed you first," I say. "Breaking into Syndicate holding cells without a Pyromancer is suicide. But with you?" I meet her burning gaze. "With you, we can get her back."
"You're lying."
"We're your only chance."
The truth of that hangs in the air between us.
Finally, Ember nods once. Sharp. Decisive. "What do I have to do?"
"First, we teach you to control your fire," Rev says. "Then we teach you to burn memories. Then—"
"I already know how to burn memories," Ember interrupts.
Rev and I exchange glances.
"What?" I ask carefully.
Ember reaches into her torn dress and pulls out a small glowing crystal. "My mother left me this. It's a memory crystal—her final message. I watched it last night." Her voice drops to a whisper. "She taught me the basics before she died. Recorded lessons. Just in case."
My heart stops.
"You've already absorbed Pyromancer training?"
"Some of it. Enough to know what I am. Enough to know—" She looks at me, and her eyes are hollow. "—that I've been burning memories by accident my whole life. Every time I got angry. Every time I touched someone in fear. I've been stealing pieces of people without knowing it."
"That's not possible," Rev breathes. "Accidental Pyromancy without training? The power surge alone should have killed you."
"Maybe it did," Ember says quietly. "Maybe I died in that vault and this is what's left."
She holds out the crystal.
"My mother's last memory says that the Syndicate isn't just hunting Pyromancers. They're trying to create them. Trying to weaponize the power." Her hand shakes. "And she says someone in the Phantom Collective is helping them."
The world tilts.
"What?" My voice comes out strangled.
"There's a traitor," Ember whispers. "Someone who's been feeding information to the Syndicate. Someone who—"
Behind us, Rev makes a choking sound.
I spin around to see her collapse to her knees, violet eyes rolling back in her head.
"Rev!"
But she's not unconscious. She's locked in some kind of trance, shadows pouring from her mouth like smoke.
And in that smoke, words form:
"ASHEN VALE. YOU HAVE SOMETHING THAT BELONGS TO US. RETURN THE GIRL OR WATCH YOUR WHOLE ORGANIZATION BURN."
The message dissolves.
Rev gasps, coming back to herself. "What—what happened?"
"Message curse," I say, my mind racing. "They tagged you somehow. They know where we are."
"How is that possible?" Rev asks. "I'm clean. I'm always clean—"
"Unless the traitor planted it," Ember says softly.
We all freeze.
In the distance, I hear war horns. Lots of them.
An army is coming.
And we're trapped in the middle of the road with nowhere to run.