Page 119 of The First Scar
The Flame Gates groaned shut behind us, sealing us in with the fire and the dark and whatever came next.
There was no turning back now.
Rebels packed the terraced seats, their usual noise reduced to hushed murmurs that sounded uncomfortably like prayer. The Seer Twins circled the rim, veiled and soundless except for the bone bells at their wrists—soft clinks that made my skin crawl.
Kaelen stood at the center of it all, shoulders back, chin lifted—every inch the visionary. I wondered if he practiced that stance or if it came naturally to men who'd never been told no.
The Veil-fire painted him in shades of silver and shadow as he worked, driving slender rods of void-iron into the scorched stone. Each strike thudded, a heavy, dead sound that dampened the screaming of the fire. He was creating an anchoring perimeter—the void-iron rods placed at precise intervals, meant to keep me grounded when the fusion tried to pull me apart.
This was it. Thirty heartbeats of perfect fusion. Breach the wards. Retrieve the Codex. Stop the King. Simple plan. Stupid plan. The kind that works once or kills you. No pressure.
Kaelen's gaze found me in the shadows. "Amaria. It's time."
He gestured toward the ring of Veil-fire—that howling curtain of black-silver flame that made my marks itch just looking at it. "The vault's inner wards require perfect equilibrium to unlock. Touch them with only Light or only Shadow, and they'll consume you. But bring them both—unified, stable—and the gate recognizes balance. Opens."
"What happens after I hold for thirty heartbeats?" Steadier than I had any right to sound.
"The vault unseals. You retrieve the Codex." Easy for him to say. "The moment you break the fusion, the portal closes. So don't drop it until you're clear."
Right. Don't drop the priceless ancient tome while my body tries to turn itself inside out. Easy.
Dreadscale appeared at my elbow, his timeless eyes unreadable in the firelight. "The gate feeds on imbalance," he said, low enough that only I could hear. "It will test you. Pull at whichever mark you favor. If you lean into one to compensate, it wins."
"Comforting," I sighed.
"You've done this before." His gaze held mine. "You held thirty when someone else's life depended on it. Now hold it for your own. "I nodded and leaned my forehead against his, letting myself breathe for just a moment. His stillness steadied me.
Then a chill brushed against my arm. My eyes snapped open.
The Seer Twins loomed beside Kaelen.
Their bone bells chimed once. Twice.
"Smoke cannot wear the weight of a crown." Nyra's voice—thin, reedy—slid between the murmurs like a needle.
Aerys turned her veiled face toward Kaelen. "You were never the flame, Kaelen. Only the kindling."
Kaelen's back went rigid, but he didn't respond.
Maxx clapped me on the shoulder, then pulled me into a brief, crushing hug. When he stepped back, that smirk had gone brittle.
"Try not to explode, Flameheart."
"And leave you unsupervised? Never."
He snorted, but his eyes were too bright—feverish with a fear he refused to voice.
Serenya swooped in next, arms locked around me so tight my ribs creaked. "Remember," she whispered against my ear. "You're the forge. Not the flame."
"Right, yes, very inspiring." Maxx's voice cut through from behind us. "Now go steal the thing before I start crying and ruin my reputation."
Serenya released me, her hands lingering on my arms for just a beat longer. I could see the fear she was trying to bury. The hope she was trying not to jinx.
Then Brannick stepped forward.
He didn't speak at first. Just dipped his fingers into a pouch at his belt and came up with ash—dark and fine, smelling faintly of burnt oak. He smeared it across my cheekbones in two quickstrokes. War paint. The kind the first rebellion used to wear before battles they didn't expect to survive.
His voice dropped, rough with something older than words. A hymn in the old tongue—rhythmic, meant to settle the heart before it had to do impossible things.
