The Thirteenth Ember - Chapter 35: Chapter 35
You are reading The Thirteenth Ember, Chapter 35: Chapter 35. Read more chapters of The Thirteenth Ember.
They called it Citadel Virel.
Built into the cliffs of the Sable Coast, its flame-forged towers had never fallen not even during the Ember Rebellion of the First Age. The walls were carved with flame-glyphs. The air reeked of sulfur and silence.
It was the Court’s most guarded stronghold.
And tonight, it was the target.
Sarin reached the Citadel under the cover of official dusk that sacred hour when no flame may be kindled, a tradition rooted in old superstition.
They bowed before the gate sentinels, presented the seal Aeryn had etched in stolen blood, and repeated the lie:
The rebels are splintered. The Ember Weapon is lost.
The girl is desperate. Kael is dead.”
The Court believed them.
Because hope makes fools of tyrants.
And arrogance makes them blind.
Inside, Sarin fed the High Warden details crafted by Aeryn herself maps of fake caches, traitorous names, and coded transmissions scripted to collapse the moment the Court tried to track them.
What they didn’t know?
Sarin wore a ring Kael had altered.
It stored a single, pulsing flare — silent and invisible.
Until Aeryn lit the sky.
On the cliffs above Virel, Aeryn stood with Kael, Liora, and a unit of twenty rebels who had trained in silence for months.
Each of them bore wild flame gifts awakened in secret.
Each of them wore no sigils, no rank, only scars.
A fire not sanctioned. Not tamed. But chosen.
Aeryn’s voice was steady as she raised Mirael’s staff.
“They built this place to make us kneel.”
She turned to her fighters.
“We make it remember.”
The ring flared.
And Aeryn ignited the sky.
Silver fire arced upward from her staff, exploding into a bloom of light that turned the ocean red.
Kael leapt first, golden wings of flame spreading from his shoulders as he dropped onto the west tower, smashing its sigils with one brutal blast.
Liora breached the eastern gate, wildwater flame dancing at her fingertips, disarming the guards with speed no soldier expected from a healer.
The others followed not in formation.
In ferocity.
The Citadel screamed.
Not in words but in cracking stone, shattering chains, shouted names long erased by the Court.
Aeryn landed in the central courtyard, face streaked with soot, eyes blazing.
The High Warden emerged, draped in gold and fury.
“You dare bring your rebellion here?”
She didn’t answer with words.
She answered with fire.
The truthkindled flame Mirael once buried in her bones.
It wrapped around the Citadel’s central pillar — the one that powered the branding halls — and burned it to ash.
By dawn, Citadel Virel was silent.
Not because it had fallen.
Because it had been unmade.
Aeryn stood in the ruins, surrounded by prisoners they’d freed former Flameborn, broken survivors, runemarked children stolen from villages.
And they looked at her not with fear.
But recognition.
The rebellion wasn’t hiding anymore.
It had a face.
And that face burned.
Built into the cliffs of the Sable Coast, its flame-forged towers had never fallen not even during the Ember Rebellion of the First Age. The walls were carved with flame-glyphs. The air reeked of sulfur and silence.
It was the Court’s most guarded stronghold.
And tonight, it was the target.
Sarin reached the Citadel under the cover of official dusk that sacred hour when no flame may be kindled, a tradition rooted in old superstition.
They bowed before the gate sentinels, presented the seal Aeryn had etched in stolen blood, and repeated the lie:
The rebels are splintered. The Ember Weapon is lost.
The girl is desperate. Kael is dead.”
The Court believed them.
Because hope makes fools of tyrants.
And arrogance makes them blind.
Inside, Sarin fed the High Warden details crafted by Aeryn herself maps of fake caches, traitorous names, and coded transmissions scripted to collapse the moment the Court tried to track them.
What they didn’t know?
Sarin wore a ring Kael had altered.
It stored a single, pulsing flare — silent and invisible.
Until Aeryn lit the sky.
On the cliffs above Virel, Aeryn stood with Kael, Liora, and a unit of twenty rebels who had trained in silence for months.
Each of them bore wild flame gifts awakened in secret.
Each of them wore no sigils, no rank, only scars.
A fire not sanctioned. Not tamed. But chosen.
Aeryn’s voice was steady as she raised Mirael’s staff.
“They built this place to make us kneel.”
She turned to her fighters.
“We make it remember.”
The ring flared.
And Aeryn ignited the sky.
Silver fire arced upward from her staff, exploding into a bloom of light that turned the ocean red.
Kael leapt first, golden wings of flame spreading from his shoulders as he dropped onto the west tower, smashing its sigils with one brutal blast.
Liora breached the eastern gate, wildwater flame dancing at her fingertips, disarming the guards with speed no soldier expected from a healer.
The others followed not in formation.
In ferocity.
The Citadel screamed.
Not in words but in cracking stone, shattering chains, shouted names long erased by the Court.
Aeryn landed in the central courtyard, face streaked with soot, eyes blazing.
The High Warden emerged, draped in gold and fury.
“You dare bring your rebellion here?”
She didn’t answer with words.
She answered with fire.
The truthkindled flame Mirael once buried in her bones.
It wrapped around the Citadel’s central pillar — the one that powered the branding halls — and burned it to ash.
By dawn, Citadel Virel was silent.
Not because it had fallen.
Because it had been unmade.
Aeryn stood in the ruins, surrounded by prisoners they’d freed former Flameborn, broken survivors, runemarked children stolen from villages.
And they looked at her not with fear.
But recognition.
The rebellion wasn’t hiding anymore.
It had a face.
And that face burned.
End of The Thirteenth Ember Chapter 35. Continue reading Chapter 36 or return to The Thirteenth Ember book page.