Ashes and Oaths

CHAPTER SIX – “Ashes and Oaths”

The Council Hall felt colder than before—colder than the night of the Trial. Rowan stood in the center again, this time without flames roaring in her hands, but the air still crackled with magic. The half-moon windows let in pale light, casting long, watchful shadows of the dragon elders surrounding her.

Headmistress Vale’s voice cut through the silence. “From this day forward, the Dragonheart will remain under Arcadian protection. All activities will be monitored.”

“Protection?” Rowan’s eyes narrowed. “Or imprisonment?”

A ripple of disapproval spread through the elders. One of them—a tall man with silver hair and crimson robes—stepped forward. “Do not mistake our intent. We seek only to prevent… accidents.”

Rowan caught the pause before the last word. “You mean me losing control.”

Vale’s expression didn’t change. “You are carrying fire that can raze kingdoms. This is not punishment, Rowan. It is precaution.”

“Precaution looks a lot like chains,” Rowan muttered.

The Headmistress ignored that. “Your magic will be tracked. Your classes will be supervised. And outside contact will be… limited.”

Her stomach sank. “So I’m the Academy’s favorite exhibit now? Watch the dangerous girl behind the glass?”

“Enough,” Vale snapped. “You’ll thank us when you still have control over your own skin.”

Rowan’s nails dug into her palms, but she bit back the retort burning in her throat. Talking here was like trying to breathe underwater—every word dragged her deeper.

When they finally dismissed her, she walked out to the echo of whispers.

⸻

The corridors felt different now. Students shifted aside when she passed, their eyes darting to the glowing silver rune at her wrist—the Council’s mark. It pulsed faintly, a reminder that every move, every flicker of magic, was being recorded somewhere.

“Cursed,” someone whispered behind her.

“She’ll blow before the term ends,” another voice said.

Rowan kept walking, shoulders straight. If she stopped, if she looked back, she knew she’d see the smirks.

By the time she reached the training hall, the tension in her chest had twisted into something sharp. She wanted to hit something. Burn something.

Sparring was supposed to help.

The hall was half-empty, the floor lined with dragonsteel tiles that could withstand anything short of a volcanic eruption. Kai stood opposite her, rolling his shoulders. His coat hung open, revealing faint lines of scales creeping further down his chest than she remembered.

“You’re late,” he said.

“I was busy being fitted for my shiny new surveillance bracelet,” she shot back, holding up her marked wrist.

His jaw tightened. “They’re scared.”

“They should be.”

He gave a faint smile. “Ready?”

She nodded, and they began.

Sparring with Kai was like dancing with lightning—fast, dangerous, impossible to control. Fire clashed against fire, their strikes sparking in the air, their movements a blur of heat and shadows.

For a few minutes, Rowan forgot the whispers. She forgot the Council. She even forgot the bond hanging over her head.

Until Kai faltered.

It happened mid-strike. He lunged, flame curling from his palm, then stopped dead. His body jerked, as if something inside him had locked up.

“Kai?”

His eyes snapped open wider—glowing, molten bright. Fire leaked from the cracks in his skin, crawling up his arms like it was trying to escape.

He stumbled back, clutching his head.

“Get—” His voice broke. “—back.”

She didn’t. She was already moving toward him, catching him before he hit the floor. His heat was unbearable, like holding the heart of a forge, but she didn’t let go.

“Kai!”

He didn’t answer. His breathing was ragged, his pulse wild under her hands. The glow in his eyes flickered dangerously.

“Stay with me,” she muttered, half-hauling, half-dragging him out of the hall.

No one stopped her. No one even tried.

⸻

By the time they reached his chambers, he was barely conscious. She kicked the door shut, forcing him onto the bed. The moment his head hit the pillow, the flames on his skin began to fade, leaving faint scorch marks on the sheets.

For a long time, she just stood there, catching her breath.

When his eyes opened again, they weren’t molten anymore—just tired.

“You… carried me?” His voice was hoarse.

“Dragged you, more like,” she said. “You weigh a ton.”

He tried to smile, but it came out twisted. “It’s getting worse.”

She sat on the edge of the bed. “Worse how?”

“Every day without the bond, the fire… it eats more of me.” He closed his eyes briefly. “It’s not just power anymore. It’s hunger. And it’s winning.”

Her fingers curled into the blanket. “Then we figure it out. We fix it.”

He gave a short laugh, bitter and tired. “You think I haven’t tried? I’ve fought this curse for years. I can slow it, but I can’t stop it. Sooner or later, there’s nothing left to fight.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s truth.”

Rowan shook her head. “No. It’s giving up.”

His gaze met hers, something heavy in it. “And if one day you’re standing where I am now, what then? What if you can’t stop it?”

“Then you’ll stop me,” she said without hesitation.

He frowned. “That’s not—”

“Yes, it is,” she cut in. “We’re not doing the whole tragic-sacrifice thing. You don’t get to burn alone, Kai. Not while I’m here.”

Silence. The firelight from the wall sconces danced across his face, picking out the sharp lines, the faint scars, the weariness in his eyes.

Finally, he spoke. “I don’t want you caught in this.”

“Too late,” she said quietly.

His breath left him in a slow exhale. “Then promise me something.”

“What?”

“If it gets bad—if I lose control—you run.”

“No.”

“I’m serious, Rowan.”

“So am I,” she shot back. “You’re asking me to swear I’ll abandon you. That’s not happening.”

“Rowan—”

“No,” she said again, sharper this time. “You don’t get to give up on yourself, and you don’t get to make me swear I’ll give up on you.”

He stared at her for a long moment. “You’re stubborn.”

“Pot, meet kettle.”

That got a faint huff of laughter from him, but it didn’t last.

The quiet stretched. Somewhere outside, the wind rattled the windowpanes.

Finally, she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “You’ve carried this alone long enough. I’m not saying the bond’s the answer. I’m not saying I’m the answer. But I am saying you’re not ashes yet. Not while we still burn.”

His gaze softened, but before he could answer—

The rune on her wrist flared.

A faint chime rang in the air, cold and metallic.

Rowan glanced down. The mark pulsed faster, reacting to something outside.

Kai sat up instantly, every trace of exhaustion gone. “They’re coming.”

Her pulse spiked. “Who?”

He didn’t answer. His eyes had gone molten again, but this time, the fire wasn’t leaking—it was coiled, ready.

Rowan rose to her feet, heart pounding.

⸻

Last line:

“We’re not ashes yet,” she said quietly. “Not while we still burn.”