Chapter 28 – The Fire They Tried to Tame

Chapter 28 – The Fire They Tried to Tame


Blackridge training ground was never meant to feel like a theatre. But today, they did.

The sun struck the packed earth in bronze light, glinting off weapons, armor, and rows of burnished chairs arranged in a ceremonial semi-circle. Council aides, minor nobility, and a few curious guards stood along the perimeter, not for the drills themselves, but for who would be performing them.

In the center of the ring stood Anastasia Fetyer.

Clad in form-fitting silver-gray leathers embossed with her family crest, she looked like the vision of old nobility—Fetyer grace paired with youthful beauty and sharpened precision. She lifted her blade with poise, saluted her sparring partner, and stepped into motion.

Every step she took was practiced. Perfect. Intentional.

And from above, Thalia watched.

She stood on the balcony that overlooked the sparring arena, arms crossed over her chest. Her robe was simple deep black trimmed with crimson Flame-thread, but her presence radiated weight. She said nothing, but she didn’t need to.

Beside her, Veyr rested his forearms on the railing, chewing absently on the edge of a dried root. “They’ve stopped pretending this is anything other than a performance.”

Thalia’s eyes didn’t leave the ring. “She’s good.”

“She’s choreographed,” he corrected. “Every movement, every flourish is meant to impress the old guards. The ones still clinging to the Fetyer name like it means more than the Flame.”

Down in the arena, Anastasia executed a clean disarm and forced her opponent to yield. Applause rose, light but pointed. Not thunderous yet loud enough to make a statement.

“She doesn’t need to win the arena,” Veyr added. “She only needs to win the room.”

Thalia turned slowly, scanning the small but notable crowd. She spotted Elder Nyra, nodding with a tight smile. Elder Drevyn, arms folded, watched like a commander inspecting a prized weapon.

And to no surprise, Anastasia bowed toward them first before raising her blade toward the other watchers.

“She’s being paraded like a solution,” Thalia murmured. “To a problem that does not exist.”

“Not yet,” Veyr said. “But give them time. They’ll paint you as the storm even if the sky’s clear.”

\---

A little later, the hallway beneath the council chambers buzzed with small talk as nobles moved from meeting rooms to tea lounges. Thalia walked between them like a blade through water; graceful, but leaving no doubt she could cut.

As she turned a corner, she caught the tail end of a whispered conversation between two younger noblewomen:

“…if only the Flame had chosen someone raised among us.”

“Anastasia’s been trained for this. She’s known the rites since she could walk.”

“She’s one of us.”

Thalia paused.

One of us.

So she wasn’t.

The realization wasn’t new, but it hit harder each time someone whispered it without shame.

She didn’t confront them. She didn’t need to. Their backs had already stiffened the moment they realized she was within earshot.

She walked past without a word.

\---

Kaelion’s study always smelled faintly of pine resin and warm parchment. The fire in the stone hearth was low, flickering softly, and a new stack of old tomes waited on the corner of his desk—unearthed from the restricted archives that few others even remembered.

When Thalia entered, Kaelion looked up from a worn scroll, brow furrowed.

“I saw the gathering,” she said as she shut the door behind her. “I saw Anastasia.”

“She was never meant to just be Drevyn’s daughter,” he replied. “She was bred to be his flag.”

Veyr was already seated nearby, a plate of dried fruit untouched beside him. “They’re not hiding the moves anymore. They are making moves for her to speak at the flame devotional next week. That rite hasn’t been led by anyone other than the Luna in over two decades.”

“She isn’t Luna,” Thalia said evenly.

“Not yet,” Veyr replied. “But if enough wolves stop caring about the Flame’s choice, she won’t need to be. She just needs to become familiar.”

Kaelion gestured for Thalia to sit. When she did, he passed her a folded letter, its edges still smelling faintly of smoke and wax.

“What is this?” she asked.

“A letter found in the eastern records vault—dated eight years ago, sealed with Elder Garrett Fetyer’s mark. It was a formal appeal to the council to allow Anastasia to begin sacred rites training.

Thalia ran her fingers over the page. “Elder Garrett. Drevyn’s brother.”

“He was the one who first orchestrated the campaign against Nerissa,” Kaelion said. “He argued she was unfit, too young, too common-blooded, too magical. He rallied the Fetyer elders and several allies to push her out.”

Thalia’s throat tightened. “But he’s dead now.”

“Dead for six years,” Kaelion confirmed. “Fell ill and didn’t live long after. But Drevyn inherited both his council seat and the entire clan authority.”

“And with it,” Veyr said, “he’s continued the campaign. Just more subtly.”

Kaelion leaned forward, tone grave. “He isn’t just grooming Anastasia for power. He was preparing the court to forget you.”

Thalia set the letter down.

“So it’s not just a rivalry,” she said. “It’s a resurrection of a plan they never finished.”

Veyr nodded. “Anastasia isn’t the enemy. She’s the excuse.”

They sat in silence for a while after that. The fire crackled. Somewhere beyond the walls, a bell chimed for evening shift rotations.

Thalia finally spoke.

“My mother… did she ever think this would happen?”

Kaelion hesitated.

“She always hoped she’d have time to explain,” he said. “But she was running out of it faster than she could plan.”

He looked at her, eyes shadowed by years of guilt and memory.

“There’s more, Thalia. Things I never told you. Not out of malice but out of protection. Things about her, about the throne, about the decisions made in shadowed halls while the court smiled in the sun.”

Thalia’s gaze didn’t waver. “Then tell me now.”

But Kaelion shook his head slowly.

“Not yet. Not until we’re certain who’s still watching. There are records missing. But I need time to verify which ones and who took them.”

Veyr’s brows furrowed. “You think there are still moles inside the Syndicate?”

Kaelion didn’t answer directly.

But he didn’t need to.

\---

As Thalia left the study an hour later, the cold night air bit at her cheeks, and the sky above the Blackridge Court had begun to thrum with stormlight.

The rebellion wasn’t loud yet.

But it was breathing.

In the tilt of noble heads.
In the folded hands of elders at ceremonies she should’ve led.
In the way Anastasia walked like a future already promised.

But the Flame hadn’t chosen legacy.

It had chosen her.

And when it burned, it didn’t care for politics.

It only cared for truth.