Solum sat alone on the balcony, fingers wrapped around a cup of dark, bitter kalven. It was the kind of drink the rich used to sip in sunlit towers, before the towers stopped sharing their light. Now it was brewed in backroom vats behind broken temples, traded in rusted tins, poured without ceremony.
He liked it that way.
Across the slums of Nyxara, forge-smoke and ash clung to every rooftop like a second skin. Cracked lanterns lit crooked alleys .Somewhere far off, a bell rang—three slow chimes. The curfew warning. The thirty-first night was coming.
The final night of darkness.
He took another sip.
The kalven tasted of ash and iron.
Perfect.
His room was perched on the upper floor of a crumbling archive. The walls were paper-thin and the floor bowed under weight, but it had a view. From here, he could see the edge of the Inner Gate, where the last of the real light ended and the Shaded began.
And tonight… he could hear it.
Not just murmurs.
Fighting.
Far below, the sound of unrest rumbled near the old perimeter wall—low and irregular. The beasts were back again.
Ashspawn.
beasts of the night cycle, born from the ashes of the ancient sun that never set. only Fractured beasts dared to mar the gates, aware of the Champion guards from the inner sanctum. Beasts of the fractured rank were dangerous but manageable for most warriors.
Solum could hear the iron of blades ringing in defense, the twang of bowstrings, the shouted warnings echoing from crumbling towers. Fires flared briefly along the barricades, dying as fast as they were lit. The slums' defenders—ragged, outnumbered, exhausted—held the line with rusted spears and chipped axes.
Not to protect themselves.
But to protect the Inner Sanctum.
The towers. The light.
The same people who had long since stopped supporting them.
Solum stood slowly and leaned forward, elbows on the rusted rail. From here, he could see the glow of the city's last artificial lights—kept well behind the Inner Gate. Towers gleamed there like forgotten suns. Beyond that line, power had a price, and the Shaded couldn't afford it.
He traced one of the balcony's burn scars with a fingertip. Faint heat still lingered.
Behind him, a faint clink of metal.
Irin, in the next room, tending the oils.
Solum didn't turn. "How much time?"
"Not long," Irin called. His voice was hushed, reverent.
The First Ember was expected.
Solum finished his drink and let the cup rest on the sill. Then he stepped back inside.
The room was bare—stone floors, soot-smeared walls, one cracked mirror leaning above a rusted basin. Hanging from a bent hook was his robe: deep crimson, embroidered with gold-flame sigils and lined with ritual ash. Heavy with belief.
He reached for it and paused.
In the mirror, his face stared back— dull blackish eyes, a pale face, tired, and far too calm.
He dressed without hurry.
The robe settled over him like a curtain before a play.
In the next room, Irin had begun his preparations in full. Bowls of sacred oil sat beside bone-etched flint. Incense burned low, sweet-smelling. The priest moved with practiced care—devotion evident in every motion. He didn't look up when Solum entered.
"Does it feel different tonight?" Solum asked.
Irin nodded without speaking. Then: "The air hums."
Yes. It did.
The whole city was holding its breath.
Outside, the plaza had begun to fill. Silent figures, cloaked and marked with soot, gathered before the altar pyre at the base of the hill. No songs yet. No chants. Just waiting. Watching.
Solum fastened the final clasp at his throat and pulled up the hood.
It draped his face in shadow, and for a moment, he wasn't Solum.
He was the First Ember.
The one chosen to burn.
He looked to Irin. "The oil is ready?"
"Yes. And the core burns hot."
Good.
He passed through the doorway, down the stone steps and into the flickering torchlight of the courtyard.
The wind had picked up, carrying the scent of smoke and rust and old hope.
All around him, the Shaded stood in reverent silence, parting at his steps.
He ascended the altar with careful, deliberate pace.
At the top, he paused and looked to the sky.
No stars.
No moon.
Just black.
And it would stay that way… until something changed.
He knelt.
And waited.