The price of flame

once been a haven - white towers and windward spi

sign of resistance. Watchers let Alec pass with narrowed eyes. Word of Malrik's attack had not reached them yet, but his name lingered in every glance, like a curse unspoken. Inside, the rebellion lived - desperate, chaotic, real. Tents lined the streets, filled with wounded mages, blade-worn soldiers, and young firecallers

rmor dented, eyes sharp and unsure. > "You," she said, almos

e? An accusation? Some spark of joy? Instead, Kaelenn's expression was one he

d. She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she nodded toward the inner keep. "Come with me. There's something you need to see." --- Inside the shattered hall, where once the Council met in firelit glory, a war table now stood. Maps were sprawled across it - dozens of them, inked with red lines,

l - an orphan mage. And it fed on him." > "Malrik is not the one who stole the flame. He is the theft." Alec took a step back. T

are s