"...You'll have to leave soon, Burnedead. The world beyond Emberwatch needs your flame."
The words struck like a blow.
Shakes tensed. His body moved before thought could catch up—reflex, instinct, memory of a hundred fights igniting like a spark in his veins. His hand shot to his back, reaching for the familiar hilt of Severflame.
It wasn't there.
His heart skipped. Fingers brushed only the fabric of his shirt. Cold realization hit him like a slap in the dark: the sword was still in his dorm. He'd left it behind, thinking tonight would be a quiet walk, a moment to clear his head after the wreckage of the day. He hadn't expected this. Not a confrontation. Not prophecy. Not a ghost from a past he barely understood.
The old man didn't flinch. His cloudy eyes watched Shakes calmly, as if he'd known the boy would react like that. As if he'd seen it play out a dozen times already in some forgotten dream.
"There's no need for that," the man said, voice steady. "I mean you no harm."
Shakes remained tense, his breath shallow and quick. Every muscle in his body pulled tight, coiled like a spring held in check by a single, fraying thread. His feet didn't move, but his entire body hummed like a taut wire.
"You show up in the middle of the night talking riddles and storms and say I have to leave—what do you expect?" he shot back, trying to keep his voice level, trying not to let the unease slip through. "What am I supposed to do—just thank you for the cryptic message and pack a bag?"
"I expect you to listen," the man said. "Even if just for a moment."
Silence stretched between them like a drawn bow. Emberwatch stood still around them, the city hushed as if it, too, were listening—holding its breath in the cool, dim hours before dawn. The familiar lanterns that lined the narrow street flickered faintly, casting long, slow-moving shadows across stone and brick. A dog barked somewhere far off, then went silent.
Shakes let out a long, tight breath and took half a step back—not in surrender, but in reluctant restraint. His hand dropped to his side. "Why should I leave?" he asked finally, voice roughened by a dozen emotions he didn't yet understand.
The old man's expression didn't change, but his gaze sharpened, almost imperceptibly. "Because you've outgrown this place."
Shakes frowned. "This place is all I've ever known."
"And that's exactly why it can't teach you anything more," the man said, tapping his staff once against the cobblestones. The sound echoed faintly in the quiet street like a slow heartbeat. "Emberwatch has given you walls, a name... but you need more than that now. You need to understand the flame that flickers inside you—and this city has no answers for it."
"You keep talking about this fire," Shakes said. "What is it to you? A weapon? A prophecy?"
"It's potential," the man said softly. "Untamed, dangerous, powerful. Your father carried it, too. But he never mastered it—not truly. He used it to survive, to protect, but not to understand. You could do what he never did. But not here. Not under the ceiling of hunters and strategy and crumbling traditions."
Shakes' jaw clenched. "Don't talk like you knew him."
The man tilted his head. "I did."
That hit like a punch to the gut. Shakes staggered inwardly, struggling to keep his expression unreadable. His father had been a myth, a memory carried in other people's stories. To hear someone claim they knew him—really knew him—felt like pulling a curtain back on something sacred and broken.
"What do you mean?" he asked, the question barely more than a whisper.
"I fought beside him," the man said, lowering his voice. "When the world was wilder. When the old flame disciplines weren't yet forgotten. Before the embers began to die out."
Shakes shook his head. "That's not possible. You'd have to be—"
"Older than I look?" The man's faint smile returned, etched with something deeper than amusement. "I am."
A long silence stretched between them.
Shakes looked to the horizon, the winding road just visible past the alleys and watchtowers. It stretched beyond the safety of Emberwatch—into forest, mountains, memory. Into something he couldn't name. He'd stared out that road before, wondering what lay past its first bend, but never like this. Never with this weight pressing on his chest.
"I've lost enough already," he said finally, his voice low and quiet, almost like a confession. "The Den is gone. My parents are gone. You say I have potentials. Fine. But what if I don't want to chase it? What if I just want to hold on to what's left?"
The old man's eyes turned distant for a moment, as if searching some horizon only he could see. Then he spoke.
"You can stay," he said. "You can bury the flame, let it sleep. Wait for the next war to come to these walls, and perhaps you'll burn then. But I think you're already burning, boy. You just haven't learned how to shape it."
The words slid into the cracks inside Shakes like water into cold stone. Quiet. Inevitable. Unignorable.
Shakes exhaled shakily. His pulse still hadn't settled. The air felt too thin. Every breath scraped his lungs like it carried too much meaning.
"I'm not saying yes," he muttered. "I'm not even saying I believe you."
The old man nodded. "I don't need your belief. Only your choice."
Shakes stared at him, trying to read more into his face, trying to find some sign of deception or madness—but there was none. Just calm. Patience. Something ancient.
"And if I decide not to come?"
"Then stay," the man said simply. "Train. Patrol. Fight the fights Emberwatch hands you. Protect what pieces remain. But know that the real battle—the one meant for you—will happen with or without your presence. Flames don't wait forever."
There was no threat in the words. No pressure. Just truth.
The man stepped back into shadow, the folds of his robe rustling in the breeze. "Two days boy," he said. "Dawn. Edge of the city. That's when I leave. If you want answers, if you want mastery, meet me there. If not... I'll disappear like any other story Emberwatch chooses to forget."
He turned, then began to walk away, each tap of his staff against stone ringing like a ticking clock. The sound was slow and steady, fading into the distance with a rhythm that burrowed under the skin.
Shakes stood frozen for a long while, watching the figure shrink into the night until it was gone entirely. Only the emptiness of the street remained, the faint hum of the city at rest, and the heavy silence in his chest.
Above, the stars pressed in through the thinning clouds, cold and far and indifferent.
He didn't know if he would go. He didn't know if he could stay.