Chapter 38 Thou Shalt Not Silence Fire
Thou Shalt Not Silence Fire
Arwen
Isit cross-legged in my courtyard for potentially the last time. Sunlight warms the edges of my shoulders, but the weight in my chest makes it hard to notice. Atticus is beside me, leaning back on his hands, eyes focused, deep in his thoughts.
“I don’t like it,” he mutters, almost under his breath. I glance at him, waiting for him to elaborate.
He sighs, running a hand over his face. “It’s too risky. The Councilors… they could try something. Exile you before you even finish. If something goes wrong…” His voice trails off, the threat hanging in the air.
“I know,” I say, meeting his eyes. “I know it’s risky. But I have to try.”
My hands clench in my lap. “I have to believe there is some good on the Council. That there’s a part of them that can see me for who I am and what I can bring, not just the power I lack. I have to prove I deserve to be here—even without a sin power.”
He shifts his weight, frowning.
I continue with my reasoning. “It would be safer… for both of us… if you didn’t have to get past your father’s mental shields. This plan—you could get hurt. This could affect your future as the heir.”
“Arwen, I’m confident in my decision...” Atticus starts.
“I know you’re trying to protect me,” I say, “but I can’t let fear stop me. Not today.” I pause, letting my words sink in. “Atticus… please trust me.”
His gaze locks with mine, dark and unyielding. For a long moment, silence stretches between us. I can feel the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw tightens.
He exhales, a reluctant surrender. “Fine. I trust you. I'll hold off on using my power. But the moment something feels wrong, I'm stepping in.”
A small surge of relief trickles through me, but there’s no time to celebrate. My phone vibrates in my hand, and I glance down. The alert from Dean Bellows makes my stomach tighten: Councilors arriving.
I look back at Atticus, trying to read his expression. His eyes are hard, focused, but beneath it I catch the tidal wave of… worry. Concern. For me.
“They’re here,” I say, voice steady, though my pulse is racing.
He nods, standing straighter. “Then we make sure you’re ready. Every second counts.”
I inhale deeply, letting the sunlight continue to wash over me. It’s possibly the most important day of my life, and I’ve never felt more comfortable in my own skin.
***
Maddox
I should have expected the summons the moment Arwen told me the council was coming. Of course, my father wouldn’t waste an opportunity to fill me in on all the “successes” my siblings are having while I’m holed up at the academy.
I nod, words barely registering as he goes on about territory squabbles.
“You're right.” I agree, always honoring the King Thug of Gluttony.
But my mind isn’t on him or his petty updates. It’s on a red headed, sinless girl with a heart of steel and a soul of fire. I wonder how she’s holding up. I know she’s not going down without a fight, and somehow that thought hammers through the fog of my other responsibilities.
When I left the classroom yesterday, I had to fight off these conflicting feelings on the training grounds. Pretty sure my father received a bill for five destroyed practice dummies when he arrived today. Potions might be my specialty, but I can scrap as well as any basic Wrath.
Tossing and turning all night, guilt pressing down on me like a steel plate with one thought over and over in my head: I could save her life.
I hate the thought that the wounded look she gave me yesterday might be the last.
“Sorry… am I boring you? I figured you’d be more concerned,” my father drawls, voice snapping me back.
Concerned? That catches me. Did I miss something important?
“My fault, Father. I didn’t catch that- please continue.”
He leans back, eyes glinting. “Your brother… Raven. He’s taken control of your main club in Feastwell.”
Shit. How the hell did I miss this? Heads will roll when I find out who let this slip. I grind my teeth, every nerve screaming. One of my own clubs lost while I’m distracted? Unacceptable.
“Apologies, Father. I need to go handle some business,” I say, standing, not willing to lose another second. He could've told me this first, but he wanted to play with me.
He smiles that slimy, self-satisfied grin that always signals he’s set his children on a collision course. “You do that, son. I’d hate to see you lose territory while you’re at the Academy.”
I leave without another word. My phone is already open before my feet hit the hall.
All hands on deck. Everyone needs to be briefed. Everyone needs to move.
As I round the corner, I stop short.
Arwen strides between Atticus and Dean Bellows, the two of them bracketing her like she needs escorting.
Heat coils low in my chest—sharp, unwelcome. Atticus keeps a half-step too close, posture all righteous guardian, and something in me snarls at the sight.
She looks calm, collected… but I catch it—the flicker behind her eyes. A spark of determination. A live wire of fire she tucks behind a steady expression. The same fire that drags her through every damn thing the world throws at her.
And watching Atticus pretend he’s the one keeping her upright?
Yeah. That sets my teeth on edge.
I drag my gaze away. I can’t—can’t—let her pull my focus right now. This is exactly what I warned myself about. One look at her, and the edges of my priorities start to blur.
My jaw locks hard enough to ache.
No. I shove the distraction down where it belongs.
There’s a mess brewing, and I’m the one who has to keep it from detonating.
I steady my breaths, shoulders squared.
I need to get this Feastwell situation under control. Now.
***
Arwen
The Dean leads me down to the basement, past floors I’ve never seen, past the level that holds Maddox’s lab, past every familiar corridor and training room.
The air grows colder, heavier, and the torches flicker shadows that stretch like long fingers across the stone walls.
This place feels less like an academy and more like a dungeon carved into the bones of the building itself.
My hand bumps the Sloth relics I lifted from my kidnappers. I should probably know how they work before handling them but…nope. If things crash and burn today, maybe they’ll be useful. Or explode. Knowing my life? Probably explode.
We arrive at a room with vaulted stone ceilings, torchlight dancing across rough-hewn walls.
A prickle runs up the back of my neck. The chamber is similar in layout to the trial room in Pride — crescent-shaped desk with 7 seats, the intimidating weight of authority—but this one feels darker, older, meaner.
Most of the Councilors are already here.
My eyes lock on Maddox’s father, whispering into Councilor Willshire’s ear with that sickly, smooth grin I recognize from last time.
Willshire chuckles quietly, but his gaze snaps to me.
The amusement vanishes in an instant when he notices Atticus standing beside me.
“Is there a purpose to your presence, Atticus? You weren't summoned,” his father asks, suspicion lacing his tone.
Atticus glances at me, almost pained, and I shake my head subtly. “Just observing, Father,” he murmurs, stepping toward the crescent-shaped desk where the Councilors sit.
“Smart of you to take the initiative, Atticus, although next time you’ll inform me first,” his father says, dismissing him and turning back to me.
Dean Bellows nudges me forward toward the small stone circle at the center. There’s no seat for me today. My heart hammers.
“Has Councilor Baylen brought the transporter?” Councilor Willshire asks, scanning the group.
“He has,” Councilor Blaise replies. My stomach drops. Ryker. He looks every bit like his father, smug and untouchable.
“And where is Speaker Villanox?” the Councilor Baylen interrupts, scanning the room. My gaze flicks to the empty spot, the one missing for Envy.
Of course—Maylo again, voting in place of his Councilor. Things didn't go so well for me last time with Maylo.
“We don’t have time to wait,” Councilor Willshire booms, irritation rolling off him like wildfire. “This has already been a huge inconvenience to our schedules. Let’s get this ridiculous circus over with.”
The room falls into silence, every torch flicker casting more shadows over their stone faces.
“Girl,” Councilor Willshire says, voice sharp, dismissive. He doesn’t even use my name. My jaw tightens.
“Have you manifested your powers in the time that you’ve been here at the academy?”
I swallow the nervous lump in my throat and step forward, voice steady but charged with the force I can muster. “No. But I have prepared something I would like to say in my defense.”
“That is not part of the process—” Willshire begins, but Dean Bellows interrupts him, commanding the room with a tone that even the Councilors hesitate to challenge.
“Let her speak,” Bellows says.
My pulse spikes. I take a deep breath, planting my feet in the stone circle. For the first time, I let myself feel that flicker of strength I’ve been denying. Today, no one — not even the Council — will define me.
I clear my throat, letting the weight of the silence press against my words.
“I may not have manifested a sin power… yet.” I say, and I watch the Councilors shift, some in annoyance, some in intrigue.
“But I have learned. I have fought. I have grown. And I am here because I deserve to be—not because of power, but because of who I am.”
The torches flicker, and for a moment, the shadows seem to lean closer, listening.
I take another breath, steadying myself against the weight of their stares.
“When I came here, I believed I was nothing. I believed what everyone told me—that I had no worth because I was without a sin power. I thought the only thing I could do was try not to take up space.”
My throat tightens, but I push through, lifting my chin. “But I’ve learned I was wrong. I have value—not because of what I lack, but because of what I bring.”