( Part 1 )
The wind howled through the narrow alleyways of the outer district, scraping against the crumbling brick like claws on bone. Ash and dust swirled in the air, stinging my eyes and painting the world in shades of gray. I pulled my cloak tighter around me, though it did little to hide the iron collar still locked around my neck—the mark of what I'd once been, what I refused to be again.
The wound on my side hadn't healed properly. Every step I took sent a sharp, pulsing ache through my ribs, a constant reminder of the last fight I barely survived. But pain wasn't enough to stop me. Not now.
Because Lily was alive.
I kept repeating that in my head like a mantra. Like a prayer. I had to believe it, even if everything in this rotting city screamed otherwise. I had followed whispers for weeks—moving through slave pits, raided towns, and even the sewers of the capital—tracking each thread until they all began to point to one place. One man.
Lord Verrian.
A noble from the Inner Circle. The kind of man with blood on his wine goblets and girls locked in his cellars. I'd seen the kind before—cruel, rich, untouchable. But Verrian was different. He was meticulous. And worst of all, he had a reputation for collecting people like Lily—strong-willed, spirited. A challenge.
I ducked behind a low wall, pressing into the shadows as a pair of guards passed nearby, their boots crunching on gravel. They wore polished armor, symbols of golden serpents coiled around their shoulders. Verrian's sigil. I waited for them to pass, my fingers twitching with barely restrained flame. I wanted to burn this entire district to the ground.
But not yet.
"You planning to get yourself killed, boy?"
The voice came from my left. I turned, not startled—Bruk didn't make noise unless he wanted to. He was already crouching beside me, wrapped in rags and filth, blending in with the broken bricks and rusted pipes.
"I might," I said. "Depends how this goes."
He cackled, showing his gums—no teeth, just dark pits where they used to be. "That's the spirit."
Bruk was a former soldier turned smuggler, or maybe it was the other way around. No one really knew. What mattered was that he knew this city better than most men knew their own skin. And for a bag of coin and a favor he hadn't told me about yet, he'd agreed to guide me.
"You're sure it's tomorrow night?" I asked him.
He gave a slow nod. "Verrian's throwing one of his private gatherings. Nobles only. You're not getting through the front."
"Then I'll find another way."
He grunted and pulled a small cloth pouch from his cloak, tossing it to me. It landed with a dull thud. I opened it to find a bloodstained servant's badge. Old, faded, but still intact. I turned it over in my hand.
"That gets you in through the service gate," Bruk said. "Get past the dogs and keep your head down. If you make it inside, the rest is your problem."
"And if I don't?"
"Then I'll sell what's left of you to the alchemists," he said with a grin. "Not much of a loss either way."
I stood and tucked the badge into my tunic. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."
He shrugged. "Better than lying, boy."
I took a moment to scan the darkened rooftops, the flicker of torchlight in the distance, the muffled laughter of nobles drinking on gilded balconies while rats chewed at the starving poor in the alleys below. This city reeked of rot—and all its perfume couldn't hide it.
"I don't plan on dying tonight," I muttered.
Bruk tilted his head. "Everyone says that the night before they die."
I left him there, melting back into the shadows like a ghost.
The outer ring of Verrian's estate was patrolled heavily, but Bruk's route guided me through the gaps—under broken fences, behind refuse carts, across forgotten rooftops. I crouched low as I approached the service gate, pulling the hood of my cloak down low over my face.
A guard slouched by the entry, half asleep and reeking of liquor. I flashed the servant's badge. He barely glanced at it before waving me through with a grunt.
Inside the servant's corridor, I was met with sharp smells—cleaning oils, smoke, and something fouler beneath it all. The walls were narrow, built for function, not beauty. I joined a procession of other servants moving trays and linens, slipping into their rhythm, my eyes scanning every corner.
Verrian's estate was vast. Lavish. A mockery of the hunger that choked the city outside its walls. Gilded mirrors lined the hallways, and the floors were polished marble. But beneath all that beauty, I felt something twisted. Something wrong. Like the whole place was built atop bones.
In the kitchen, a young girl stood by the hearth, chopping roots. Her hands were trembling. She couldn't have been older than twelve.
"New?" I asked, quietly.
She looked at me, startled. Then nodded. "Don't talk too much. The others… they hear everything."
I nodded. "What's your name?"
She hesitated. "Sena."
I made a mental note of it. If I could, I'd come back for her.
But tonight was for Lily.
I found a quiet moment to slip into a storage room, pulling Bruk's rough map from beneath my tunic. It wasn't much—just scrawled arrows and scribbled notes—but it was all I had. According to it, there was a hidden stairwell behind the wine cellar, leading to the lower levels. And that's where he said Verrian kept his "acquisitions."
I folded the map away, steadied my breath, and stepped back into the hall.
Tomorrow night, this place would burn.
( Part 2 )
The mansion loomed ahead like a cathedral built for cruelty. I kept my eyes down, heart pounding behind my ribs as I passed under the archway and into the lion's den. Servants moved briskly around me, silent and tight-lipped, like shadows pretending to be human.
I blended in with them, wearing the bloodstained servant's badge like a cursed medal. The stolen tunic clung to my skin, and I felt the heat of the estate pressing in from all sides—too warm, too luxurious, too wrong.
The first thing that hit me was the smell. Not filth or blood—that would have been honest. No, it was the sweet, suffocating scent of roses and wine and sweat, carefully crafted to conceal the rot beneath.
The second thing was the sound.
Laughter. Elegant. Artificial.
Music echoed from deeper in the estate, the kind meant to entertain nobles while they toasted over sins. The strings of a harp played somewhere above, drifting like silk down the golden staircases. It would've been beautiful—if not for what I heard underneath it.
A scream. Muffled. Cut off too quickly.
I flinched. No one else reacted.
I moved faster.
The main hall was a monument to excess—pillars of carved ivory, walls inlaid with gold filigree, crystal chandeliers the size of carriages. There were paintings everywhere—some of noble lineage, others more… grotesque. I passed one that showed a woman bound in thorns, smiling with bloodied teeth.
I tore my gaze away and kept walking.
Bruk's directions told me where to go: the wine cellar. On the surface, it was just another indulgence—a collection of rare bottles aged longer than most of the city's orphans had been alive. But behind it, hidden among the dusty racks, was a stairwell. That was where the truth lived.
As I passed through the side halls, I memorized guard patterns—two by the ballroom, four outside the highborn quarters, one rotating through the kitchen. None were near the cellar. Either they didn't expect trouble… or they knew no one ever came back from down there.
I reached the cellar entrance and slipped inside.
The air grew colder immediately. The walls here were stone, damp and uneven, and the light from the sconces barely reached the ground. Bottles lined wooden shelves, the labels written in elegant script I couldn't read. I scanned the room until I found the wall with the runes—faint, ancient, etched into the stone behind a wine rack.
My heart hammered in my chest.
I reached out and pressed my palm to the runes.
They pulsed beneath my skin. Hot. Then blistering.
I grit my teeth as the magic flared. It felt like the collar all over again, branding me with pain and memory—but it worked.
A click. A hiss.
The stone groaned open.
And behind it, a staircase spiraled downward, swallowed in shadow.
I stepped through and closed the door behind me.
Darkness claimed me.
The corridor below felt like a different world entirely. There was no music here. No perfume. Just stone, and silence, and the faint echo of chains clinking in the distance.
Torches burned blue in iron sconces, casting a pale, sickly light. I moved slowly, every step deliberate. My hand hovered near the hilt of the knife hidden at my waist, but I didn't draw it. Not yet.
I passed empty cells, then some that weren't empty—eyes stared at me from the darkness. Gaunt faces. Hollow expressions. None of them spoke. Some were children. Others had no collars, just brands burned deep into their skin.
I stopped at one. A boy, maybe ten years old, watched me with a look that was far too old for his face. He didn't flinch. He didn't beg. He just… waited.
"I'll come back," I whispered.
His eyes didn't change. He'd heard that before.
I moved on.
And then I found her.
The last door on the left.
It wasn't locked. That scared me more than if it had been.
I opened it, heart caught in my throat.
And there she was.
Lily.
She was slumped against the far wall, her wrists bound in rusted manacles that glowed faintly with suppression magic. Her hair was tangled, her face bruised, but she sat upright—barely. Her clothes were torn, filthy, but her spirit…
When her eyes met mine, the light in them returned.
"Ash?" she whispered.
I froze. It had been so long. Too long. I dropped to my knees beside her.
"Lily," I breathed. "I found you."
Her lips trembled. "You're real…"
"I promised I'd come."
She smiled through the tears, but it was faint. Fragile. "Took you long enough."
"I had to learn how to kill people first."
That actually made her laugh—a tiny, choked sound that made my chest hurt.
I reached for her chains. They were cold, humming with power. I pressed my fingers against the glowing sigils, channeling fire through them carefully, breaking the bonds without hurting her. It took all the control I had not to melt them too fast.
She sagged into my arms, exhausted.
"Can you walk?" I asked.
She nodded, barely. "If you help."
I pulled her close, supporting her weight as she stood. She was lighter than I remembered—too light.
"You came all this way for me?" she asked, voice thin.
"I'd cross the void if I had to."
We were halfway to the stairs when the door behind us slammed shut.
I turned.
A slow clap echoed through the corridor.
And from the shadows stepped the devil himself.
( Part 3 )
The door slammed behind us with a finality that made Lily flinch in my arms. I turned, muscles tightening, and faced the man whose name had haunted every lead, every whisper, every scream I'd followed across the realm.
Lord Verrian.
He stepped from the shadows with a grace that reeked of power and poison. Crimson robes embroidered with gold thread swayed with each step, and his eyes—cold, calculating, colorless—settled on us like a judge staring down insects. His skin was pale, nearly translucent, and his hair was pure white, slicked back with surgical precision.
He didn't look like a man. He looked like a sculpture carved from arrogance and cruelty.
"Well, well," he said, voice smooth as poisoned silk. "The little dog has found his bone."
I stepped in front of Lily instinctively, forcing my hands to stay steady. My magic was already stirring—heat rising beneath my skin, whispering to be unleashed.
"You're done, Verrian," I said. "She's coming with me."
His smile didn't move. "Do you have any idea how many have said that? How many heroes dragged themselves through my halls, thinking their rage would protect them?" He gestured lazily. "None of them made it out. You will not be the exception."
Two guards emerged from the corners of the room—silent giants clad in enchanted obsidian armor. I'd seen this type of guard before. Their masks were fused to their faces. Their voices were gone. All that remained was obedience, beaten into them by Verrian's magic.
Verrian didn't order them to attack.
He didn't have to.
The first guard lunged, halberd sweeping through the air with deadly precision. I moved without thinking, shoving Lily behind me. The fire rushed up from my chest, through my arms, and exploded from my palms as I caught the blade mid-swing with a burst of molten heat.
Metal groaned, then warped and melted around my hand.
The second guard charged. I ducked his strike, drove my foot into his knee, then twisted as fire spiraled down my leg and into his chest. He flew back into the wall, armor glowing red before bursting into sparks.
Verrian barely blinked.
"I see the collar didn't hold," he mused. "Interesting. Very rare. Very dangerous."
"I'm full of surprises," I growled.
"Indeed," he said. "But you're still a child playing with fire."
He raised a single hand.
I barely had time to react before the corridor plunged into darkness. It wasn't normal dark—it was suffocating. Thick. Cold. It crawled over my skin, dug into my eyes and ears, and pressed down on my magic like a vice.
I gasped, dropping to one knee as the pressure grew.
Lily whimpered behind me. I could barely see her—just a silhouette in the void. My flames flickered, barely surviving in the crushing black.
Verrian's voice echoed through the shadows. "You think I haven't dealt with fire before? You think I built this empire without learning how to extinguish a spark?"
I forced my palm to the floor, channeling every ounce of heat I could muster. Flames surged out, breaking a hole in the darkness, just enough to see him.
He stood at the far end, untouched. Cloaked in that same void magic, hands aglow with shifting black sigils.
"You shouldn't have come," he said.
I stood, legs shaking, eyes blazing. "And yet here I am."
"You think your anger makes you strong?" he sneered. "It makes you predictable."
He thrust his hand forward.
A wave of shadow shot toward me. I met it with fire. The two forces collided in the middle of the room with a deafening roar, sending a shockwave that knocked the broken door off its hinges. Stone cracked. Chains rattled.
I staggered back. My vision blurred. Blood trickled from my nose.
He was strong.
Too strong.
Lily clutched the wall, trying to stay on her feet. Her eyes met mine—terrified, but defiant.
Verrian noticed.
"Ah. So that's the heart of it," he said, stepping forward. "You burn for her. How poetic. How… stupid."
He lifted both hands this time. The shadows surged like a tidal wave, swallowing the torches, the floor, even sound itself.
And then—
Lily moved.
I didn't see it coming. Neither did Verrian.
She grabbed the broken end of her chain and lunged forward, wrapping it around his outstretched arm with a cry. He cursed, twisting, trying to shake her off—but she held fast.
"NOW!" she screamed.
The darkness faltered for an instant.
I didn't hesitate.
I leapt forward, fire trailing from my hands like wings. I hit Verrian full force, fire pouring from my fists into his chest. He screamed—really screamed—as the flames dug into his flesh.
He lashed out, striking me with raw magic. Pain tore through my ribs. I fell, skidding across the stone floor.
But Lily hadn't let go.
The chain pulsed with light—her own spirit, maybe, or something deeper. Something sacred. Her eyes burned with fury.
"You took everything from me," she spat.
And Verrian, face twisted in agony, screamed again.
I stood, every muscle on fire. My skin was scorched, my lungs raw—but I summoned the last of my strength.
Fire answered.
It surged from my chest, up my arms, and exploded from my hands in a pillar of gold-red flame.
Verrian howled as the fire consumed him.
There was a flash—white, blinding—and then…
Silence.
He was gone.
Nothing remained but ash. His robes, his weapons, his smirk—all turned to dust. The oppressive cold lifted. The air was still, and the torches sputtered back to life.
Lily collapsed.
I caught her just before she hit the ground.
She was breathing—barely.
I pulled her into my arms, my body trembling with exhaustion and pain. I felt hollow. Burned out. But she was here. She was real.
"We… we did it," she murmured.
I nodded. "We did."
"We have to go," she said. "There's a passage… east wing… Bruk said…"
"I know." I pushed to my feet. "We're not staying a second longer."
She leaned against me as we limped down the corridor. My body screamed with every step, but I didn't care. The shadows were gone. The prison had crumbled. The tyrant was dust.
We moved up the stairs slowly, the sounds of alarms echoing above us. Flames were spreading. Servants were screaming. Guards were shouting.
The whole house was falling apart.
Good.
We slipped through the east wing unnoticed, ducking under broken beams and past overturned statues. When we reached the back gardens, the night air hit me like a blessing.
And there, waiting at the wall with a rickety old cart, was Bruk.
"Took you long enough," he muttered, yanking a tarp aside. "Get in."
Lily collapsed into the back, and I climbed in after her. Bruk snapped the reins, and the mule lurched forward, carrying us away from the burning mansion, the screams, the past.
I didn't look back.
But I felt the heat.
The fire didn't just burn down a house tonight.
It lit a signal.
A beginning.
( Part 4 )
The fire had already spread through the mansion, curling up the walls, licking at the sky like a living thing. It was beautiful in its violence, as if the house itself had decided to rebel, to rise up against the greed that had twisted it into a prison for the helpless and the broken.
I didn't look back as we raced through the slums, Bruk's cart creaking and groaning beneath us. Lily leaned against me, her breath shallow, but the fire in her eyes was still burning. She wasn't just alive—she was alive because of me, because of us. Together, we had brought down the unthinkable.
"You're quiet," Bruk said from the front of the cart, his voice cutting through the stillness. "Something wrong?"
I grunted, shifting my position to better support Lily. "Just thinking."
"About?"
"The fire," I said, my voice rough. "Not just the house. The whole damn city. It's all burning now."
Bruk didn't answer right away. I didn't need him to. He knew as well as I did that the mansion wasn't the real enemy. Lord Verrian was just one of many in a system that thrived on cruelty, on fear, on greed.
But the fire—it could change things.
For a while, we didn't speak, letting the cart jolt along the uneven road, the sound of hooves muffled by the night. Lily's eyes had closed, though her fingers tightened around my hand every now and then, as if she needed reassurance that I was still here.
She was still here.
The warmth of her hand, the faint tremble in her touch—there was something fragile about it, something precious. I had almost lost her. I couldn't forget that. Not now.
The further we went, the more the city revealed itself. Smoke curled into the sky from every direction. The fire had spread faster than I'd expected. It was impossible to know how much damage we had caused, but I wasn't sorry. If we had to burn this city to the ground to rid it of its rot, then so be it.
Bruk's cart turned down a narrower path, one that twisted through the back alleys and hidden passages of the outer districts. The city was a maze of forgotten roads and crumbling buildings, a place where those who had nowhere else to go could hide. Where those who had been cast aside could survive.
"We're close," Bruk said, pulling the reins and slowing the mule.
Lily stirred, but didn't open her eyes. Her hand was still clutched around mine, and it made my chest tighten. I didn't want to think about the things I had done, the things I had become, but I couldn't help it. Every step had led me here. Every choice had brought me to this moment, this fractured path.
"What happens now?" Lily's voice broke through my thoughts.
I glanced down at her, trying to smile, but it felt like a grimace. "We survive. We keep moving."
Her fingers flexed around mine. "You make it sound so simple."
"It is," I said, though I wasn't sure I believed it. "Surviving is the easy part."
She looked up at me, eyes full of questions. I didn't have answers, not really. All I knew was that we couldn't stop. Not now. Not when we were so close to something bigger than ourselves.
Bruk stopped the cart at the foot of a steep hill, where a small, hidden door in the side of a building was barely visible. "This is it," he said. "From here, you're on your own."
I nodded, helping Lily out of the cart. Bruk didn't wait for thanks. He pulled the reins and turned the mule back down the alley, disappearing into the night.
I didn't care. It was over now.
We were free.
I turned to Lily as we stood in front of the door. She was still too pale, her hair matted with dirt and blood, but there was a strength in her eyes that I hadn't seen before. She wasn't broken—not anymore.
"You alright?" I asked, though the question felt weak. She had been through more than I could imagine.
She nodded slowly. "I will be."
I pushed the door open, and the smell of stale air and damp stone filled my lungs. We descended into the depths of the building, the stone steps slick with moisture, the darkness pressing in around us. The air was thick with the smell of old sweat and something metallic—blood, maybe. This was a place for the forgotten, for the lost. A place for survivors like us.
The hallway stretched out before us, lit by flickering torches that cast long shadows on the walls. The floor was uneven, the walls cracked and crumbling, but the place had a strange feeling of safety. It was a forgotten corner of the city, untouched by the flames that had ravaged everything else.
At the end of the hall was a heavy door. Behind it, I could hear the sound of muffled voices, low murmurs that filled the air with a sense of expectation. I knew what this was—another underground network. A safe house for those like us, for the rebels and outcasts who refused to bow to the nobility.
I knocked twice, then once more.
The door opened just enough for a pair of eyes to peek through. The eyes were hard, calculating, but there was something familiar about them.
"Ash?" the voice behind the door asked. "You're alive?"
"Barely," I muttered. "Let us in."
The door opened fully, and we stepped inside, into the dimly lit room. There were a few people inside—mostly men and women in tattered clothes, their faces hardened by the same things we'd all endured. There was a sense of cautious hope in the air, though, something that made my chest tighten.
"This is Lily," I said, pulling her forward. "She needs rest."
One of the women, a dark-haired figure with a scar running down her cheek, stepped forward. "We've got a cot for her. You look like you need one too." She eyed me up and down, noting the blood and ash that covered me. "Both of you."
I nodded, too tired to argue. I guided Lily to the cot in the corner, settling her down carefully. She glanced at me, her lips curving into a tired but genuine smile.
"We made it," she said softly. "You found me."
I brushed a strand of hair from her face, smiling back, though I couldn't bring myself to say the words I wanted to.
I'd found her.
But at what cost?
The night stretched on as I sat beside her, watching the shadows in the room flicker and grow. The others were whispering among themselves, exchanging information, making plans. But for now, all I could think about was the quiet warmth of Lily's presence.
The world was changing. It was burning, but something else was rising from the ashes.
I didn't know what the future held, but I knew that, for the first time in years, I wasn't alone.
And that had to count for something.