The Thirteenth Ember - Chapter 37: Chapter 37
You are reading The Thirteenth Ember, Chapter 37: Chapter 37. Read more chapters of The Thirteenth Ember.
They called themselves The Emberborn Faithful.
Not soldiers. Not strategists.
Disciples.
They wore Aeryn’s flame on their foreheads, scrawled her sigil across their doors, sang hymns rewritten in her name. They whispered legends she’d never lived.
"She cannot die."
"Her flame is prophecy."
"She is the beginning, and the end."
Kael had seen enough revolutions to know the signs.
This was worship.
And worship was a wildfire no one could control.
Aeryn stood before one of their makeshift shrines that evening — a statue shaped from melted silver and ash, bearing a halo of scorched antlers.
Her own face.
She stared at it a long time.
Then shattered it with one hard strike of flame.
Kael arrived just after the pieces cooled, catching the smoke curling from her palm.
“They don’t see me,” she said. “They see a story. A symbol. A lie.”
“You’re not a lie,” Kael said gently.
“No?” Her voice broke slightly. “Then why do I feel like one?”
That night, the rebellion camped quietly in the ruins, but Kael and Aeryn slipped away — no guards, no maps, no pretense.
Just them.
They found a cave half-hidden beneath ivy, its stone walls smooth and still from years of rain and wind. Kael sparked a fire near the entrance, the glow warm but soft, not intrusive.
Aeryn sat near it, hands on her knees, watching the flicker of gold.
Kael approached from behind.
“Cold?”
She shook her head slowly.
“I just don’t want the world in the way tonight.”
She stood, walked toward him. Her fingers found his jaw.
He leaned into her touch like it was the first warmth he’d felt all day.
“I’m tired, Kael. Of being seen like a relic. A savior. Anything but… me.”
His voice was quiet. Solid.
“You’re not any of those things right now.”
He kissed her soft, sure.
Aeryn melted into it.
Not in surrender.
But in relief.
The kiss deepened, slow and searching, their hands exploring not out of hunger, but remembrance this was you, this was us, this is real.
They moved to the mossy floor, their cloaks folding beneath them like a nest.
Kael peeled her tunic from her shoulders, his lips following each inch of exposed skin, whispering heat along her collarbone.
She arched into him, her breath quickening, a small moan escaping her lips not from lust, but from need. The kind only he could fill.
He undressed her carefully.
She pulled his shirt over his head.
His scars met her fingers. Her breath caught.
She kissed them one by one.
He touched her like she was flame, and he’d
waited his whole life to feel fire without burning.
They moved together in a rhythm born not of urgency, but of deep, aching trust.
Each motion slow.
Each sound sacred.
Kael kissed the hollow of her throat. Aeryn cupped the back of his neck, grounding him in her body, her breath, her soft gasp when he slid into her.
There were no walls left between them.
Just skin.
Flesh.
Emotion.
Heat that wasn’t magic, but memory.
When it ended, they didn’t speak.
Kael lay behind her, one hand on the gentle slope of her waist.
Aeryn curled into him, letting her fingers drift down… until they stilled just over her belly.
Something warm pulsed there.
Too faint to name.
But not imagined.
Kael’s hand covered hers.
Their fingers laced.
And in the quiet between rebellion and ruin, they lay still wrapped in each other, and in the truth neither dared yet say aloud:
Something new had begun.
Not soldiers. Not strategists.
Disciples.
They wore Aeryn’s flame on their foreheads, scrawled her sigil across their doors, sang hymns rewritten in her name. They whispered legends she’d never lived.
"She cannot die."
"Her flame is prophecy."
"She is the beginning, and the end."
Kael had seen enough revolutions to know the signs.
This was worship.
And worship was a wildfire no one could control.
Aeryn stood before one of their makeshift shrines that evening — a statue shaped from melted silver and ash, bearing a halo of scorched antlers.
Her own face.
She stared at it a long time.
Then shattered it with one hard strike of flame.
Kael arrived just after the pieces cooled, catching the smoke curling from her palm.
“They don’t see me,” she said. “They see a story. A symbol. A lie.”
“You’re not a lie,” Kael said gently.
“No?” Her voice broke slightly. “Then why do I feel like one?”
That night, the rebellion camped quietly in the ruins, but Kael and Aeryn slipped away — no guards, no maps, no pretense.
Just them.
They found a cave half-hidden beneath ivy, its stone walls smooth and still from years of rain and wind. Kael sparked a fire near the entrance, the glow warm but soft, not intrusive.
Aeryn sat near it, hands on her knees, watching the flicker of gold.
Kael approached from behind.
“Cold?”
She shook her head slowly.
“I just don’t want the world in the way tonight.”
She stood, walked toward him. Her fingers found his jaw.
He leaned into her touch like it was the first warmth he’d felt all day.
“I’m tired, Kael. Of being seen like a relic. A savior. Anything but… me.”
His voice was quiet. Solid.
“You’re not any of those things right now.”
He kissed her soft, sure.
Aeryn melted into it.
Not in surrender.
But in relief.
The kiss deepened, slow and searching, their hands exploring not out of hunger, but remembrance this was you, this was us, this is real.
They moved to the mossy floor, their cloaks folding beneath them like a nest.
Kael peeled her tunic from her shoulders, his lips following each inch of exposed skin, whispering heat along her collarbone.
She arched into him, her breath quickening, a small moan escaping her lips not from lust, but from need. The kind only he could fill.
He undressed her carefully.
She pulled his shirt over his head.
His scars met her fingers. Her breath caught.
She kissed them one by one.
He touched her like she was flame, and he’d
waited his whole life to feel fire without burning.
They moved together in a rhythm born not of urgency, but of deep, aching trust.
Each motion slow.
Each sound sacred.
Kael kissed the hollow of her throat. Aeryn cupped the back of his neck, grounding him in her body, her breath, her soft gasp when he slid into her.
There were no walls left between them.
Just skin.
Flesh.
Emotion.
Heat that wasn’t magic, but memory.
When it ended, they didn’t speak.
Kael lay behind her, one hand on the gentle slope of her waist.
Aeryn curled into him, letting her fingers drift down… until they stilled just over her belly.
Something warm pulsed there.
Too faint to name.
But not imagined.
Kael’s hand covered hers.
Their fingers laced.
And in the quiet between rebellion and ruin, they lay still wrapped in each other, and in the truth neither dared yet say aloud:
Something new had begun.
End of The Thirteenth Ember Chapter 37. Continue reading Chapter 38 or return to The Thirteenth Ember book page.