Page 87 of Forged in Fire
“And then you came back… to meet with Viktor and Caleb. To have discussions about rescuing my own brother because…?”
The room holds its breath. Viktor and Caleb suddenly find their screens fascinating. Even Ember steps back, recognizing the minefield we’ve stumbled into.
“I wanted to have complete intelligence before involving you in planning,” I say, knowing it sounds like the excuse it is. “Wanted to present options instead of problems.”
“Options.” She moves closer to the table, studying the photos with professional assessment. “Like the option to plan an assault on a four-hundred-year-old chamber without consulting the person who knows Kieran best?”
“We weren’t planning anything,” Viktor interjects. “Just assessing—”
“Don’t.” Her attention swings to him like the barrel of a gun finding its target. “You were strategizing. Calculating acceptable losses. Determining whether my brother’s life is worth the risk to your people.”
She’s not wrong.
But she’s also not just talking about tactics.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I made a mistake.” This isn’t the time or the place to make excuses for my actions. Kieran Asguard means little to me aside from what he means to Iris. But I know she won’t be happy until she has her brother back.
Which means I will move heaven and earth to make that happen.
Her expression softens fractionally. Not forgiveness, but acknowledgment that I’m at least trying to be honest about my limitations.
“I’m sorry, Iris,” Viktor chips in. “I can assure you that you won’t be cut out of the loop.”
“Now… If we’re done with the bowing and scraping for forgiveness,” says Caleb, who’s completely unrepentant, “are you going to tell us why you’re here?”
“Ember has something to share with you,” Iris says. “About dreams she’s been having.”
“Dreams?” Viktor frowns.
“Prophetic dreams. Like the ones from before,” Iris says firmly, glancing at the younger woman beside her. “Dreams that have significant meaning. Especially considering Ember’s considerable powers.”
“Of course,” says Viktor. Caleb looks more dubious but doesn’t object. “Tell us about these dreams of yours, dear.”
Ember steps forward, clearing her throat. “Like I told everyone before, I’ve seen the chamber,” she says. “Where the Sleeping King rests.”
“Yes? What of it?” Viktor presses.
“Well, the dreams have been getting stronger. More detailed.”
“What kind of details?” Caleb asks, professional interest overriding interpersonal drama.
“I saw the chamber. Not just fragments—the whole structure. It’s not like anything I expected.” Ember moves to the table, hands hovering over the photographs. “The Sleeping King isn’t just a symbol. He’s… connected. To something vast.”
“Connected to what?” Viktor asks.
“Power. Ancient magic that’s been building for centuries, waiting for the right catalyst.” Ember’s eyes unfocus slightly, like she’s seeing something beyond the physical room. “The Syndicate thinks they can control it, channel it through Kieran’s abilities. But they’re wrong.”
“Wrong how?” I ask.
“Because it’s not dormant. It’s dreaming. And when it wakes up…” She shudders. “The magic that built the first dragon dynasties, that carved territories from raw wilderness—it’s all there. Sleeping but not dead.”
“Fuck,” says Viktor. “This is what they want Kieran for. Under the right circumstances, with the right tool, they can tap into that power.”
“And the Syndicate wants to create those circumstances,” Iris says, understanding flooding her features. “Using Kieran as the key.”
“A shadow-walker with Craven blood,” Caleb murmurs. “Theoretically, he could navigate whatever protections surroundthe chamber. Could make contact with power that’s been sealed away for centuries.”
“Not for much longer,” says Iris. “Ember’s dreams have more information.”
