Of Flame, Sand, and Gold

Chapter 7

The shackles snapped open with a clang.

Zaria didn’t wait. Her instincts ignited before thought could catch up.

She slammed her boot into Sahen’s chest, shoving him back — not far, but enough. Her body spun into motion. One arm flung out, and the chain from her wrist caught his cloak, yanking him sideways. He didn’t fall. Of course he didn’t. But he staggered.

It was all she needed.

Zaria’s hand reached for the old, flame-marked dagger tucked into her boot — the last thing they hadn’t taken from her. She gripped it, whispered the word her mother taught her in secret, and the air shuddered.

Her flame answered.

Light erupted around her hand — pale, wild, and electric blue. It coiled up the blade like a living thing, wrapping her arm in shimmering coils of sky-fire.

The air pulsed with heat. Her heartbeat climbed.

“You wanted the Flame?” She growled. “Here it is.”

She lunged — not with the grace of a trained soldier, but with the fury of a woman who had been hunted too long.

The enchanted dagger met Sahen’s gauntlet with a thunderous crack, a blast of energy surging out the impact and cracking the nearest stone pillar. Zaria twisted, using her smaller frame to slip past his guard, the blue flame dancing in spirals behind her.

She struck again — once, twice, a third time — pushing him back, slashing through air and fabric. Her flame trailed like lightning across dusk, leaving sparks in her wake.

But Sahen… smirked.

He raised one hand. No weapon. No word.

Just a slow breath in.

Then his flame awakened.

It roared out of him like smoke from a collapsing mountain — dark, dense, and crimson-black. Not red. Not orange. Something unnatural. A color that shouldn’t exist.

Zaria felt her flame stutter in the air.

His darkness curled around her blue fire like a predator sizing up prey.

“Pretty,” Sahen said, stepping through her strike like it was mist. “But shallow.”

His gauntlet flared, metal glowing as his corrupted flame surged through it. With a swift gesture, he caught her wrist mid-strike, and the contact sent a cold heat searing up her arm.

Zaria screamed.

He twisted, flinging her across the chamber. She crashed into the far wall, breath knocked out of her. Her dagger skidded away in a flash of blue light.

Zaria gasped, the flame flickering out. She reached for it—too late.

Sahen stepped on the blade, grinding it into the stone with the heel of his boot. It shattered.

He crouched in front of her, his dark flame whispering around him like oil-fed smoke. “You thought you understood fire,” he said. “You thought it was your birthright.”

He leaned closer.

“You don’t even know what you are.”

Zaria tried to rise. Her body trembled. Blood trickled from her nose. But her eyes — defiant. Alive. Unbroken.

“I know I’m still fighting,” she hissed.

Sahen raised his hand again.

And then— the chamber exploded with gold.

A blast of force tore across the room as Drevaris — the head of security for all of Aru’Shenu — stormed through the side corridor like a living weapon.

His armor was gold-inlaid obsidian. His gauntlets glowed with deep amber flame, and his face — worn, stern, and carved from years of war — was anything but surprised.

“Enough,” Drevaris barked, voice like a command etched into stone.

Sahen froze.

For a moment, the smoke recoiled.

Then the sneer returned.

“You’re late,” Sahen said, straightening. “Again.”

Drevaris stepped between Zaria and his son, his flame forming a protective arc in front of her.

“I warned you. She’s off-limits. A royal civilian under sealed protection—”

“You mean your protection,” Sahen spat. “Because you still think you can control everything that breathes.”

Drevaris narrowed his eyes. “I built the city’s order. You wear the insignia because I allowed it.”

“You used me,” Sahen snarled. “You sent me into the shadows while you posed in the light. Well, the shadows chose me back.”

His crimson-black flame surged higher. It flickered at the edges of the amber shield between them — testing it. Cracking it.

“I’m done playing soldier, Father,” Sahen whispered. “I’m not your pawn. I’m not anyone’s.”

Drevaris didn’t blink. “Then drop your blade. Stand down.”

Sahen’s laugh was soft and dangerous.

“I’m going to take your title,” he said. “I’m going to break your legacy. And I’m going to start by reducing everything you love to ash.”

He launched forward.

Flame met flame.

The room howled as their powers collided — one light, one void. Sparks flew like dying stars. Every impact of their enchanted weapons shook the ground. Every strike carved into the floor, the walls, the air.

Drevaris fought with a general’s discipline — swift, precise, and merciless.

Sahen fought like a man unchained — unpredictable, wild, and lethal.

Zaria crawled behind a broken pillar, watching fire tear the already fragile building apart. Her pulse thundered in her ears. Blood dripped from her lip. Her flame had gone silent — but her will hadn’t.

Then came the blow no one expected.

Sahen slipped past Drevaris’s guard with a movement too fast to track — not magic, but sheer rage.

His gauntlet plunged deep into his father’s armor.

Drevaris gasped.

Zaria’s scream echoed with it.

Flame erupted in a tangled, violent burst.

And then — silence.

Drevaris collapsed.

Sahen stood over him, chest heaving, hair singed at the edges. His armor was cracked. His arm trembled from the force of the final blow.

But his eyes… victorious.

He turned toward Zaria.

Slowly. Methodically.

And smiled.

“I told you,” he said, his voice low and blood-wet. “The old world is burning.”

Then:

“And i’m the one lighting the match.”