Ashen sat by the window, watching the Cradle's moons—two halves orbiting each other, always close but never touching—slowly pass across the misty sky. The letter still haunted his thoughts, though its ashes had long vanished from his palm.
One of six. Wrapped in false memory. Find the others.
He didn't understand it fully—not yet—but something inside him did. The ember hadn't gone silent. It pulsed with a low hum now, steady, warm. Almost... approving.
He looked to the list again, burned into his memory.
1. Ashen Vale
2. Nia Featherburn
3. Kael Rivers
4. Ren
5. ???
6. ???
Nia was already close. Ren too. But Kael?
That one was going to be a problem.
Morning Combat Class – Blade Arena
The next day arrived with flame drills and steel chants.
Cradle's Blade Arena was nothing like the Combat Pairing dome. This was pure, physical trial—no spellcasting allowed unless explicitly directed. A dome of shifting platforms floated above an ever-changing floor of metal plates and obsidian glass, where illusions of battlefields past flickered to life around students mid-duel.
Ash wasn't ready for it.
Not mentally.
But when Crow announced the match-ups, he stopped thinking.
"Ashen Vale versus Kael Rivers."
Of course.
Kael was already stepping forward before the name finished echoing.
He wore training leathers instead of the usual uniform, sleeves rolled, Root insignia covered in binding silk. His expression was unreadable.
Ash joined him in the circle. He didn't flinch when the floor beneath them split open and rose, forming a new combat platform. This one was shaped like a jagged star, points layered in broken stone tiles from a war long forgotten.
"Instructors only interfere if lethal force is detected," said the blade proctor—a short, stern woman with obsidian gloves and hollow eyes. "Use of minor spells permitted for defense. No killing intent. Begin when the bell tolls."
Ash took his stance, light on the feet, breath steady.
Kael didn't move. Just watched.
The bell tolled.
Nothing happened.
Ten seconds passed.
Still nothing.
Kael tilted his head. "You're not going to draw your blade?"
"I want to talk."
Kael raised an eyebrow.
Ash said, "We're not enemies."
That got a laugh.
"Really? You tried to roast me in the trial."
"That wasn't personal."
"Oh?" Kael's tone dropped. "Well, let's make it personal."
He moved like lightning. Ash barely raised his guard in time.
Steel met steel in a clash that echoed across the arena. Kael didn't hold back—his strikes were fluid, elegant, trained. He pushed Ash across the platform with sharp, rapid blows.
Ash ducked under a lunge, twisted, and brought his blade up toward Kael's ribs.
Kael pivoted.
His knee slammed into Ash's gut. Ash gasped and stumbled back.
"You don't talk during blade class," Kael said coldly. "You fight."
Ash coughed, barely dodging the follow-up swing.
"I read something," Ash said, circling him. "A message. It said you're one of us."
Kael froze mid-step.
"What did you say?"
"You're on the list."
Kael's grip tightened. "What list?"
"The Spiral List. Six names. Six sparks. You're third."
Kael stood still.
Ash saw a flicker of confusion in his eyes. Then fury.
"You think I'm part of your dream-whispers? You think that Cradleborn fluke of yours gets to rewrite my history?"
Ash lowered his blade.
"You know something's wrong with this place. You've known it for a long time. You're not here because of your memory. You're here because of what you lost."
Kael's eyes blazed.
And suddenly, the wind changed.
A surge of raw, unsummoned memory burst from Kael's body—a forbidden surge of Root energy. Everyone watching felt it. Instructors snapped to attention.
"Stop!" one of them barked.
Too late.
Kael shouted a word Ash had never heard before—a word that sounded like grief and fury bound in spellform—and his Root exploded from his chest, without the standard trigger.
A serpent of translucent energy wrapped around him. A Memory Serpent. Huge. Flickering. Whispering.
The proctors reacted immediately. Three leapt toward the platform.
Kael's eyes widened. He realized what he'd done.
Ash, without thinking, raised his hand.
"Return to ember," he said, and his own construct flared, intercepting the serpent and collapsing it in a burst of light before the instructors could intervene.
Silence.
Smoke rose from the arena.
Ash and Kael stood facing each other. Neither moved.
Then, from the shadows, a slow clap.
Crow.
"That, my dear students, was very illegal," he said, smiling in the way only Crow could—like it was a joke and also your funeral.
***
Detention – Ember Vaults
Ash and Kael were thrown into joint detention. Crow called it "Ember Reflection Time," which sounded like meditation but felt more like imprisonment in a memory-locked room filled with fireglass walls and silence that bent your thoughts inward.
Neither spoke for ten minutes.
Then Kael broke the silence.
"You shouldn't have said my name."
Ash looked over. "It's your name."
"You shouldn't have known it."
"I didn't. The letter did."
Kael exhaled, face unreadable. "I don't know what's happening anymore."
"You've heard the voice too, haven't you?"
Kael didn't respond.
"You feel like there's a life you had before this one," Ash continued. "One you can't remember. But pieces leak in through the cracks. Battle instincts. Words you shouldn't know. Symbols that make you sick."
Kael slowly turned toward him. "You saw the tower, didn't you?"
Ash nodded.
"Spiral made of flame. Ruined city. God of fire falling from the sky."
Kael clenched his fists. "I thought I was going mad."
"You're not," Ash said quietly. "Or we both are."
Kael leaned back. "How many on the list?"
"Six. Me. You. Nia. Ren. Two unknowns."
Kael looked away. "If I find out you're lying—"
"I'm not."
A pause.
"Then we find them," Kael said, voice firm. "Before the Cradle finds them first."
Ash almost smiled.
Almost.
***
Hidden Chamber – Nia's Discovery
Meanwhile, Nia Featherburn was having her own problem.
The wind had led her here.
She didn't know how else to describe it—the way her Root whispered sometimes, the way the air shifted and pointed, like a compass drawn from thought. She followed it into a closed wing of the academy's east sector. Past the vault rooms. Through old, dust-choked archives.
Until she reached a sealed chamber.
🜂 burned on the door.
And another symbol beside it: 🜃 — the mark of Icebound Memory.
She touched the door. It opened without resistance.
Inside: rows of stasis coffins.
Students.
Frozen in mid-spellcast, some still glowing with unfinished Root energy. Their names etched in gold:
Calia Veer – Dream Root – Tier 3
Jonas Flint – Blood Root – Tier 2
Ilya Rhen – Unknown Root – Tier ???
Then she saw the last coffin.
It didn't have a name.
Only a number: 6.
Her heart froze.
She stepped closer.
Inside the glass: a boy, about her age, wrapped in threads of memory like chains. His hair was silver-blue. His eyes were closed. On his chest, a Root sigil burned faintly.
Not 🜂. Not 🜃.
Something stranger.
Something that flickered through all the other elements at once.
Her breath caught.
"You're the sixth."
She turned and left in silence.
***
Nightfall – The Pact
Ash, Kael, Nia, and Ren met that night in the old observatory, where the stars couldn't be seen through the ever-shifting stormclouds.
Nia told them about the frozen boy.
Kael didn't speak.
Ren did.
"If he's one of us, and he's locked up…"
Ash nodded. "Then someone in the Cradle knows."
Kael stood.
"Then we find out who."
Ash turned to him. "So we're doing this?"
Kael looked at each of them. "Like it or not, we're bound now. If the Spiral is coming again, we don't have time for pride or secrets."
Nia gave a rare, small smile. "Took you long enough to catch up."
Ren said nothing, but raised his hand, palm out.
Ash hesitated. Then placed his own hand on Ren's.
Nia followed.
Kael was last.
Together, the four of them stood—hand to hand, Root to Root, flame to memory.
And in that moment, a spark passed between them. Their Roots flared briefly, a synchronized pulse. No fire. No explosion.
Just a quiet, undeniable resonance.
The flame remembers.