Of Flame, Sand, and Gold

Chapter 8

The air in Chief Tenem-Ra’s private garden was heavy with the perfume of night jasmine and lies. Crickets sang lazily. The torchlight flickered golden against marble arches, pretending nothing outside these walls could touch him.

He had just reclined with his second goblet of wine when the first guard went down.

No cry. What happened was a quiet shift of weight, a flicker of movement in the shadowed trees — and then nothing.

The second dropped seconds later, gurgling softly into the ornamental pond.

Tenem-Ra sat up, frowning. “Khesan?”

No answer.

His pulse quickened, lips parting.

Before he could stand, a low hiss of steel hummed behind him — and cold metal pressed gently beneath his chin.

“Don’t scream,” said a voice — quiet, feminine, edged like glass. “We both know no one will come in time.”

Tenem-Ra stiffened. His eyes darted across the garden. One by one, the rest of his guards were gone — sprawled like discarded dolls in the shadows.

The figure stepped in front of him. She wore layered black leathers and a hood pulled low over a silver half-mask. Her boots made no sound on stone. In her hand, a blade like polished ink — no glow, no etchings. But its silence was the loudest thing in the garden.

She moved slowly, deliberately.

And then… the blade hovered low — not touching, but close enough to remind him of mortality.

“I’m not here to play games,” she said softly. “Tell me everything you think you might know about the legacy box.”

Tenem-Ra’s lips twitched. “What box?”

The blade shifted a fraction closer.

“Try again.”

He exhaled shakily. “There are… rumors. Whispers passed between dead men. The last High Chief—he had something locked away. Something ancient. Some called it a vault, others a curse.”

“And you inherited it.”

“I inherited the position,” Tenem-Ra snapped. “Not his madness.”

The masked woman tilted her head. “But you still have it. Hidden. Untouched. Because you’re too afraid to open it.”

Tenem-Ra hesitated. His silence said more than denial ever could.

“I don’t know what’s inside,” he muttered. “Only that it’s bound to someone in the bloodline. He said, "Only one born of flame could open it.”

The woman’s body didn’t move, but her breath slowed — as if confirmation had settled like dust.

“What else did you hear?” she asked.

“Just a name,” Tenem-Ra whispered. “Before he died, he said, ‘It’ll call to the one who’s already burning.’”

A pause.

Then, she stepped closer — far too close. Her voice dropped low, just for him.

“Tell me where it is.”

Tenem-Ra looked away. “If I do, I won’t live to see the next morning.”

“You won’t live to see the next breath if you don’t,” she replied coolly.

His eyes flicked up. “You’re not here to kill me.”

She leaned in. “No. I’m here to warn you.”

His brows furrowed.

She leaned closer, the blade now tucked beneath his ribs. “The fire you’ve tried to bottle will break out. And when it does… you’d better pray it still remembers your name.”

Tenem-Ra’s heart hammered.

And in the very next heartbeat — she vanished.

One blink.

One shimmer of light.

Gone.

Before he could shout, move, or breathe, everything went black.

Tenem-Ra’s eyes fluttered open.

The silk canopy was gone. The incense. The garden. replaced by cold stone and flickering torchlight. His arms were bound, his head pounding.

And sitting just across from him, relaxed as a man enjoying a glass of wine, was a stranger in iron-grey robes — face partially concealed by a dark brown veil, fingers gloved in black leather, flame-tattooed across the back of his hand like a dragon sleeping under skin.

He didn’t speak at first.

Just watched.

Tenem-Ra shifted, wincing. “Where… where am I?”

The man tilted his head. “That depends. Where do you think you are?”

“Who are you?” Tenem-Ra, he rasped. “What do you want?”

The man smiled faintly. “I’m what comes after mercy.”

He rose and stepped forward, shadows twisting around him like they belonged there.

“That masked intruder? She was the echo,” he said. “I am the consequence.”

“You’ll be hunted,” Tenem-Ra hissed. “You touch me, you won’t see daylight.”

The man’s smile disappeared.

“I don’t need daylight.”

He leaned in until Tenem-Ra could smell iron and smoke on his breath.

“You’ve made too many deals. Looked away too often. And now you find yourself trying to survive a game you no longer understand.”

Tenem-Ra’s voice shook. “Is this about Kaelen? About the girl?”

“No,” the man said. “This is about truth.”

He leaned down and whispered, “You buried something. Something that belonged to Flame.”

Then, without warning, he stepped back — and snapped his fingers.

The room ignited with crimson light. Sigils flared on the walls. Magic. Ancient. Binding.

“You’ll remember what you tried to keep locked away,” the man said.

And with a flick of his hand — the flame reached onto Tenem-Ra’s mind.

He screamed…

Zaria had stopped shaking three minutes ago.

Now she was just numb.

The metal basin poured water down her spine again — colder than snowmelt, sharp as glass, and cruel in its patience. Her wrists were tied behind the metal chair. Her feet barely touched the floor. Every part of her body had lost the will to tremble.

The torturer leaned in again, a broad man with cracked lips and dead eyes. He was patient. Efficient. Not a sadist — worse. He was loyal.

“You and your husband,” he said for the third time. “Where do you hide it?”

Zaria kept mute.

He dipped a cloth into the freezing basin again.

Pressed it against her skin. Her breath came out in rasps. Her heart pounded, not from fear — but from the chill.

She’d lost control earlier. Couldn’t summon her flame again. Not yet. Her body was too weak. Her mind was too frayed.

But her will was alive.

“We know you have it,” the torturer said. “Blue flame. That narrows the list. We have records. We know what bloodlines it runs in.”

Still, Zaria said nothing.

“Tell me where you hid the artifact, and i'll make this a bit less painful.”

Zaria lifted her eyes.

And spat blood at his feet.

The torturer sighed. “That was a poor choice.”

The next slap cracked across her cheek hard enough to break skin.

But she didn’t scream.

She smiled.

 whispered, “You’re afraid of what I might remember, aren’t you?”

He stepped back, confused.

She laughed, weakly but really.

“You’re all so desperate to make me forget what’s coming… when you should be terrified that I remember what came before.”

At the same moment, across the city — in the smog-filled rooftops of Aru’Shenu—a spark ignited.

A man in a faded blue cloak stepped into the light of a dying lamppost. His eyes glinted, and the mark on his wrist shimmered — faintly, just once — with blue fire.

Kaelen was back.

And this time… he wasn’t alone.