Chapter 49 #2
Rynna froze. She knew what it looked like—what it felt like—when someone teetered on the brink of combustion. The air around Bran rippled with heat, thick with the scent of scorched rock.
And if Kaelith had taken that boy…their boy…for his experiments…
Her heart splintered. Blood thundered in her ears, each beat warped, like a blade drawn over bone. And still, the pain crept higher, raw and frantic, as memories of the Hearth flooded in—laughter, stubbornness, tiny hands gripping hers in training. The boy they had both loved.
Kaelith’s eyes tracked the fire’s approach, expression unreadable. Then he turned back to her. And closed his eyes. Not in defiance. Not even in resignation. He squeezed them shut like it hurt.
Taren and Elara flanked Bran without a word. Shoulders squared, jaws tight, eyes focused on Kaelith with the stillness of people who had made peace with violence long ago.
“It was always going to end like this.” Taren’s voice chafed. “Even in a world of blood and violence…justice still finds its turn.”
Rynna’s stomach heaved with pain so sharp it felt like an animal fighting tooth and nail to escape her innards. Her foot shifted forward without permission, her body already moving toward Kaelith.
It couldn’t end like this. Not now. Not after she had fought to save him—fought in spite of everything. Not when she’d finally started to believe there might be something left worth salvaging between them.
But Bran—
Tears welled up, hot and unrelenting. She barely felt them as they spilled over. Her vision blurred, and then Fenn’s arms closed around her from behind, pulling her against him like he could hold her together through sheer force of will.
“I’m sorry, love,” he murmured against her hair, voice thick with sorrow. “Taren’s right. However it began…he’s done too much harm. This is personal.”
She shook her head, trembling. “No—” But the word stuck in her throat.
She tried to teleport out. To move. To do something—anything—but her thoughts scattered. Panic blurred everything, made her limbs useless. Her mind couldn’t find purchase. She couldn’t think. Her power wouldn’t answer.
The fire inched closer.
Kaelith didn’t move. He exhaled softly, opening his eyes, and looked at her.
I have done more than enough to deserve the fire, Rynna…but... The words teased her mind. That boy…he was the last thing connecting me to you.
Then the flood hit.
A storm of images crashed into her—too fast, too bright. Pain. Loneliness. Regret. Love twisted into rage. The heat of firelight in a home long gone. A small child laughing. Then screaming. Crying.
A woman, sobbing—her voice hoarse. Her hands shaking as she shoved the child into Kaelith’s arms, tears streaking her soot-smudged cheeks.
“Run. Please, just run. He’s still young enough to leave.”
Then darkness.
Branches cutting at his skin as he sprinted through the trees, the child clutched in his arms. Wind howled around him, carrying the roar of a collapsing mountain behind him.
Save him!
Rynna screamed without sound as she curled in on herself, hands clamped over her skull, trying to squeeze out the avalanche of sensation crashing into her.
Fenn’s arms tightened around her for a beat before he lowered her gently to the ground.
Very well. It was just a whisper in her mind. Fenn. Not…Kaelith.
She felt it in him, the conflict and resignation warring beneath his skin.
Then he stepped forward, and the absence of his touch landed like a verdict.
“Stop.” His voice was hard as his footsteps moved away.
She barely heard him. She couldn’t hear anything over the memory of Kaelith striding into the small office—a child limp in his arms—where an old man in the robes of the Ember Warden waited behind a desk, his face grave.
“If you leave,” the Warden said quietly, “you can never return.”
“So long as you take care of the youngling, I don’t care about anything else.”
“Very well.”
The memory shattered.
Rynna closed and opened her eyes, the weight lifting just enough for a single gulp of air. But the scene before her had already shifted. Fenn’s boots now stood planted between Kaelith and the path of the fire. The flames licked at his legs, sputtering in angry hunger, but he didn’t move.
“Move aside, Guide Fenn.” Bran’s voice was firm. “You said it yourself. He deserves this. Whatever hold he has on Rynna dies with him. We’ll all be free once he’s gone.”
Rynna forced herself forward, her limbs shaking as she fought to rise. “Stop—!”
But they didn’t hear her. Bran and Fenn remained locked in a silent standoff, neither flinching.
“He’s done something to them.” Taren’s hand slid to the hilt of his sword. “Best we end this quickly.”
“No!” Her voice ripped free this time.
She reached Fenn’s leg, gripping it with both hands as she hauled herself upright, gasping. “He didn’t do it. He saved the boy.”
Bran flinched, and Fenn turned, but Taren only narrowed his eyes.
“Lies,” he growled.
But the fire faltered.
Bran’s brow furrowed, and the glow around him dimmed.
“That’s…” Rynna swallowed hard, fighting to steady the whirl of memory unraveling inside her. “That’s where we met. The Hearth. After I left…he showed me the memory. It was under attack. Mira—your grandmother—she gave him Ben. Gave him your father. To protect.”
The silence split open between them.
“We lived there for years,” she said, pressing a fist to her chest as more and more pieces fell into place. “It was a sanctuary. Nearly everyone there wielded fire—pure, unbroken elemental fire. Warriors. Protectors.”
Her mouth quirked with the ghost of a smile. “But that boy…”
She turned toward Kaelith.
He hadn’t moved—not once since the fire had begun to crawl toward him—but now his chin dipped just slightly.
A single drop welled in his eye, tracking silently down the harsh line of his cheek.
“That boy was always getting into trouble.” Her hand lowered, brushing the wetness away with the back of her fingers. “And he’d only come to Uncle Kae for healing. Because he didn’t trust anyone else to touch his fire.”
She let her hand fall to her side.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. For thinking you could’ve hurt him. Even for a second.
It’s not like you haven’t seen me do worse. His fingers lifted, touching the space where her hand had skimmed his cheek. I am a monster, Rynna. Your love doesn’t change that.
Then, aloud, he sniffed once and straightened. “Well,” he said, his tone slipping back into something casual, almost flippant. “Kill me or not.”
He reached back, gathering his long ponytail and flipping it neatly over his shoulder, the motion practiced.
“Either way, it’s not like the world’s going to save itself.”