The Thirteenth Ember - Chapter 55: Chapter 55
You are reading The Thirteenth Ember, Chapter 55: Chapter 55. Read more chapters of The Thirteenth Ember.
The Grove – Morning Light
Aeryn woke to the scent of scorched wildflowers.
Her body ached in places she didn’t know existed. The world came back slowly breath by breath until the quiet sound of crackling leaves reminded her that she was still alive.
Then she heard it.
A soft whimper.
Not pain.
A baby’s breath.
She turned her head.
Kael sat beneath the sheltering arms of a broken tree, a small bundle wrapped in gray cloth resting in his arms. His eyes were red-rimmed but alight with something deep, something she hadn’t seen in him since before the war.
She reached for them, her hand trembling.
Kael rose instantly, kneeling beside her. He helped guide the child into her arms.
Their daughter.
Small. Warm. Bright.
Aeryn pressed her lips to the baby’s forehead.
And wept.
The Court Arrives
They did not come with armies.
They didn’t need to.
Just three cloaked figures, gliding over the rise at the edge of the grove like shadows cast by fate itself.
Kael stood instantly, hand on his blade.
Aeryn stood, too barely the child cradled in her arms.
The lead figure lifted a gloved hand.
“No blood. No blades,” he said.
A pause.
“We only came to see. And to confirm.”
Kael stepped forward, eyes flashing. “She is not for you.”
The second figure stepped slightly ahead. A woman’s voice. Cool. Smooth. “We know. That’s why we’re leaving.”
Aeryn narrowed her eyes.
“Then why come?”
The third figure spoke the only one without a hood.
It was Maevra, her voice distant, almost reverent.
“To witness the end of the prophecy. And the beginning of a new one.”
A long silence passed.
Then Maevra turned and vanished into mist.
No threat.
No demands.
Only a presence that left the wind colder.
That Night The Grove's Heart
Aeryn stared into the fire as Kael placed the final rune stone.
They had worked in silence for hours, guided by the child's pulse and the fragments of old spells left behind by Miraen herself.
They were not hiding.
They were sealing.
A temporary veil just enough to slow time inside the grove, enough to give their daughter years of peace, even if the outside world turned violent again.
“She will grow safely here,” Kael said, voice low. “And when the veil breaks...”
“She’ll choose her own path,” Aeryn whispered.
Dawn A Promise
They lay curled together, all three.
Kael with his arm wrapped around both mother and daughter.
Aeryn traced her fingers along the baby's cheek.
“She’ll have your calm,” she whispered.
“And your fire,” Kael replied.
The child stirred between them, her embermark glowing faintly on her tiny shoulder not forced, not summoned.
Just present.
Like breath.
Like dawn.
Somewhere far beyond the grove, the Order reorganized.
The Court wrote new edicts.
And old rebellions whispered rumors of a child born in fire, shielded by a shadow-bound guardian, and a woman who once shattered a Seer with her scream.
But none of them knew the full truth.
Not yet.
The fire was not extinguished.
It was simply sleeping.
Waiting.
Aeryn woke to the scent of scorched wildflowers.
Her body ached in places she didn’t know existed. The world came back slowly breath by breath until the quiet sound of crackling leaves reminded her that she was still alive.
Then she heard it.
A soft whimper.
Not pain.
A baby’s breath.
She turned her head.
Kael sat beneath the sheltering arms of a broken tree, a small bundle wrapped in gray cloth resting in his arms. His eyes were red-rimmed but alight with something deep, something she hadn’t seen in him since before the war.
She reached for them, her hand trembling.
Kael rose instantly, kneeling beside her. He helped guide the child into her arms.
Their daughter.
Small. Warm. Bright.
Aeryn pressed her lips to the baby’s forehead.
And wept.
The Court Arrives
They did not come with armies.
They didn’t need to.
Just three cloaked figures, gliding over the rise at the edge of the grove like shadows cast by fate itself.
Kael stood instantly, hand on his blade.
Aeryn stood, too barely the child cradled in her arms.
The lead figure lifted a gloved hand.
“No blood. No blades,” he said.
A pause.
“We only came to see. And to confirm.”
Kael stepped forward, eyes flashing. “She is not for you.”
The second figure stepped slightly ahead. A woman’s voice. Cool. Smooth. “We know. That’s why we’re leaving.”
Aeryn narrowed her eyes.
“Then why come?”
The third figure spoke the only one without a hood.
It was Maevra, her voice distant, almost reverent.
“To witness the end of the prophecy. And the beginning of a new one.”
A long silence passed.
Then Maevra turned and vanished into mist.
No threat.
No demands.
Only a presence that left the wind colder.
That Night The Grove's Heart
Aeryn stared into the fire as Kael placed the final rune stone.
They had worked in silence for hours, guided by the child's pulse and the fragments of old spells left behind by Miraen herself.
They were not hiding.
They were sealing.
A temporary veil just enough to slow time inside the grove, enough to give their daughter years of peace, even if the outside world turned violent again.
“She will grow safely here,” Kael said, voice low. “And when the veil breaks...”
“She’ll choose her own path,” Aeryn whispered.
Dawn A Promise
They lay curled together, all three.
Kael with his arm wrapped around both mother and daughter.
Aeryn traced her fingers along the baby's cheek.
“She’ll have your calm,” she whispered.
“And your fire,” Kael replied.
The child stirred between them, her embermark glowing faintly on her tiny shoulder not forced, not summoned.
Just present.
Like breath.
Like dawn.
Somewhere far beyond the grove, the Order reorganized.
The Court wrote new edicts.
And old rebellions whispered rumors of a child born in fire, shielded by a shadow-bound guardian, and a woman who once shattered a Seer with her scream.
But none of them knew the full truth.
Not yet.
The fire was not extinguished.
It was simply sleeping.
Waiting.
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