Chapter 4 The spark of Rebellion🔥

Caer Virell was not what Alec remembered. It had once been a haven - white towers and windward spires, carved from stone that shimmered in sunlight.

A place where Virell children trained with open hands and hopeful hearts. Now, smoke curled from the ramparts. Walls were cracked. The gates bore black sigils - erased, yes, but not forgotten. The city stood, barely. At the edge of its southern gate, a banner flapped - the phoenix crest of House Virell, burned and mended, a 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 barely old enough to wield sparks. Supply carts rattled down alleyways under heavy guard. Spell wards flickered on rooftops like dying stars. And in the courtyard of the broken palace, she waited. Kaelenn Dross. A former initiate of the Grandmasters. Alec's oldest friend. And the last person who had seen his father alive. ---

She turned slowly as he approached. Red hair braided back, armor dented, eyes sharp and unsure. > "You," she said, almost a whisper. > "I thought you were dead." > "Everyone did."

Alec stopped a few feet away. He wasn't sure what he had expected - an embrace? An accusation? Some spark of joy? Instead, Kaelenn's expression was one he knew too well: Mistrust. > "I was powerless," he said. > "But not anymore."

She studied the sword at his back. "Where did you get that?" > "The Ember Vault. My father left me the key." Kaelenn's eyes flickered. She hesitated - just for a moment - and Alec saw it: the tension in her shoulders, the guarded stance, the echo of fear. > "What do you know of Malrik?" he asked. 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, burned cities, and ancient symbols. Kaelenn pointed to a mark near the Hollow Sea. A circle of obsidian surrounded by runes. > "This is where Malrik was born." > "Not as a man. As a fracture." Alec's jaw tightened. "What do you mean?" Kaelenn tapped the symbol again. > "He was created. Not born.

The Grandmasters severed the Hollow Flame centuries ago to keep it from spreading. But a fragment slipped free. It found a vessel - 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. The memory of Virellia's words echoed: "He is not the first Severed." > "You're saying there are more." Kaelenn nodded grimly. >

"There are seven."