THIRTY-FIVE #2
Earth Clan families wear textured fabrics in shades of green, ochre, and deep brown. Polished stones are braided into hair and fastened to belts, small pieces of the land carried with them into the ceremony.
Air Clan attendees are draped in pale hues—whites, creams, and the faintest shades of gray or sky-blue. Their garments are loose, perpetually in motion, stitched with silver thread that catches the light. Some wear feathers tucked behind ears or into their collars, small nods to sky and wind.
Those of mixed blood blend traditions. An Earth Clan sash worn over a Fire Clan chestplate. A Water Clan robe lined with flame-red embroidery.
The differences don’t divide them here. If anything, they remind us what we’re fighting to preserve.
But it isn’t just warriors and clan leaders.
Nobles are here too, standing shoulder to shoulder with common-born soldiers and citizens.
Grieving families sit with quiet dignity, many clutching the last things they have of those they lost—ribbons, scorched insignias, tokens worn thin with memory.
Some of the injured are present, wrapped in bandages, helped by friends who refused to let them stay behind.
Even those who lost no one have come. They fill the benches at the back of the amphitheater, their faces solemn, their presence a quiet act of solidarity.
Because this wasn’t only an attack on those who attended the ball. It was an attack on all of us.
Valen steps forward first.
He kneels beside the pyre and places something small into the flames. Twisted metal. Blackened and broken.
“Rhyen Aalor,” he says softly.
The flames leap in response. A murmur ripples through the crowd.
One by one, the names are spoken in alphabetical order. When it’s Thane’s turn, he doesn’t kneel. He steps forward like a man walking into battle, a thin strip of leather wrapped around his fist. He unwraps it carefully, then places it into the fire.
His voice is low, but unwavering. “Iriah Ahearn.”
I don’t recognize the name. But the way Thane says it tells me everything I need to know. Whoever Iriah Ahearn was, she mattered. They all did.
The fire roars, just for a moment. It illuminates the sharp planes of his face, beautiful in the most devastating way.
And then it’s my turn.
I step forward. My offering is simple. A carved wooden pendant, charred around the edges. A child had pressed it into my hand earlier today. Her brother’s.
“Liren Ainey.”
The fire rises with a whoosh of heat that rushes over my face like breath. For a moment, I can’t move. I stand there and let the heat build until it borders on unbearable. Then I return to my place.
Behind us, the Water Clan’s mourning vessels shimmer with moonlight. One by one, people step forward to drop a tear or palmful of water, a silent offering. The vessels ripple in unison.
Above, Air Clan windbearers release long white ribbons into the sky, each inked with names. The wind lifts them higher and higher until they vanish into the stars. Wind chimes resonate as they go.
At the base of the pyre, Earth Clan markers are laid one by one. Names carved into stone and grief pressed into the soil.
I breathe it in.
Ash. Wind. Salt. Stone.
Loss carried by all four elements.
And when it’s over, when the final name is spoken and the flame settles into an unremitting burn, no one moves.
We stay. Together.
The stars turn overhead, and still no one leaves. Because there are no words big enough for this kind of sorrow.
Only the Elements.
Only the silence.
Only the promise that we remember.
After the formal ceremony ends, the Ashen Ring remains open for those who are not ready to leave.
Some people rise quietly and make their way toward the exits, their faces drawn and movements slow.
But many stay. They linger in small clusters, exchanging words with friends and neighbors, clasping hands, embracing.
While Thane speaks with the council, I hang back.
The fire burns steadily now, no longer leaping in grief, just glowing low and alive. I watch it in silence, my arms folded, half-listening to the murmured conversations drifting through the amphitheater. Smoke curls upward into the night, disappearing among the stars.
My thoughts find my parents.
I wish they could see this. Not the ceremony or the people gathered around me, but me.
That somehow, after everything, I’d found my way through the grief instead of letting it consume me.
That I’d kept going. Kept fighting. Built a life they would recognize as worthy of the sacrifices they made for me.
My throat tightens as memories come in fragments—Mother’s singing, Father’s rough hands, the smell of fresh earth after rain. I stand serenely with them for a moment, letting the memories come and go like the smoke rising into the night.
I let myself drift for a moment, unanchored, lost in the flicker of firelight and heat. Grief still hangs heavy in the air, but peace is threaded through it now.
A voice breaks the quiet beside me, saccharine enough to make my teeth ache.
“It’s a beautiful sight, isn’t it?”
I turn and my stomach sinks.
Ardyn.
She’s dressed in white like the rest of us, but that’s where the similarity ends.
Her golden hair is swept into an elegant twist, piled high on her head without a strand out of place.
Gold earrings catch the firelight as they sway gently, and a heavy necklace rests against her collarbones, ornate and gleaming.
She looks immaculate.
Her hazel eyes shine like amber in the firelight, but there’s no warmth in them. Only calculation.
“Yes, it is, Ardyn,” I reply flatly.
Then I turn away, back toward the fire.
The heat brushes my face, but it does nothing to thaw the tension settling between us. I hear the faint rustle of her gown as she steps closer, uninvited, her presence curling around me like smoke I can’t wave off.
“So,” Ardyn says, her tone cool and crisp, “I see you’ve declared your station, standing beside the Warlord.”
Gods.
I don’t want to do this right now.
I don’t want to parry barbed words dressed up as pleasantries. I don’t want to trade careful smiles and veiled insults. I just want a moment to grieve in peace.
But Ardyn has a talent for finding cracks in my calm.
I keep my gaze on the fire. “I stand where my place is.”
I know exactly what she means.
She doesn’t need to say it outright. No one does anymore.
People have been whispering about it since the night of the ball. Thane chose me. Not only as the Spiritborn, but as the woman standing at his side. I belong with the Warlord now, in all things ceremonial and public.
The Fire Clan doesn’t rely on formal declarations the way other clans do. Here, actions carry the weight of vows. Here, the Warlord doesn’t need a formal declaration or an engagement sealed in court. A choice made in the open, witnessed by the people, is a declaration.
And it wasn’t just once.
Thane placed me beside him at two major formal events since we arrived at the capital. Once could’ve been seen as convenience, strategy. Twice makes it intentional.
So much has happened since we’ve arrived, we haven’t even had a chance to talk about it.
Elira, not Thane, explained what it meant. My chambermaid told me what everyone else already seemed to understand: when a Warlord repeatedly places someone at his side in public, people notice. People remember. People draw conclusions.
I should be furious with him for not telling me. But truthfully, I don’t think he’s avoiding the conversation. I think we’ve both been trying to keep our heads above water while the world burns around us.
Still, at some point soon, I’m going to have to pin him down and ask. Because I have no idea what this responsibility actually means. What standing beside him really requires.
I’m just starting to figure out the Spiritborn part. I don’t know how to be this, too. I’m still not entirely sure what any of it means.
Ardyn doesn’t respond right away.
She watches me, her lips curved in something that isn’t quite a smile. I can feel her reading me, searching for the fracture, the hesitation I know I’m still wearing like a crack in my armor.
“You carry it well,” she says finally, voice smooth as silk. “This new role. Though I imagine it must feel . . . overwhelming. So much, so quickly. Especially when you haven’t even settled into one title before acquiring another.”
My jaw clenches. I don’t take the bait.
She steps a little closer, her gaze flicking over my dress, then back to the fire. “Still, I suppose you’ve learned by now that being chosen doesn’t always come with clarity. Only expectation.”
There it is. The edge beneath the elegance. The blade wrapped in sugar crystals.
I keep my attention fixed on the flames.
“Although I was with Thane for years, I never stood by his side for ceremonies such as the Ashen Ring,” she adds, her tone light, though something beneath it frays at the edges.
“But I suppose that’s just the way life goes.
You think everything is secure and predictable, and then suddenly everything changes. ”
I keep my expression neutral, even as something coils tight in my chest. I hear what she’s really saying.
You think you have him? You think you have a place at his side. So did I.
Ardyn inclines her head, her smile thin and effortless. “I imagine court maneuvering must feel overwhelming, especially for someone from a small village no one’s ever heard of.”
She says it like it’s nothing. A passing comment. But it lands with the precision of something carefully sharpened and well-aimed.
I feel it land, but I refuse to let it show.
I turn to face her fully, keeping my tone level.
“You’re right. I didn’t grow up in court. I wasn’t groomed for power, or trained to smile while telling lies.”
I pause, letting the firelight dance across her perfect features.
“But I survived things that would have broken most people.”
My gaze holds hers.
“And I stand beside Thane because he chose me. And because I chose him.”
Ardyn’s smile doesn’t falter.
“We’re all here because of you.”