The Crownless City had a way of breathing around him, as if the very streets were alive, waiting for missteps. Aeren had survived the Hollow Seas, endured the first trial of Cinder Echoes, and yet he felt no relief. The air hummed with anticipation, the whispers of the city threading around him like invisible hands.
Lysara guided him through narrow alleys, away from the main plazas. Each shadow seemed to stretch unnaturally, some moving with minds of their own. Aeren's hand itched; he could feel the sparks of ash gathering at his fingertips. But he knew now that every flicker of magic claimed something inside him—small at first, imperceptible, but cumulative.
"They know you are here," Lysara said, her voice low, almost a whisper. "The Empress's reach extends everywhere. You have survived trials meant to break the strongest of men. But this…"
Aeren's stomach tightened. "This what?"
She didn't answer immediately. The alley twisted sharply, ending at a bridge made of light, stretching across the void between two towers. From the far side, a figure stepped forward. Cloaked in black and gold, his movements precise, deliberate. Golden eyes glinted under the hood, scanning Aeren like a predator appraising prey.
"The Emissary," Lysara said. "Sent to test, to intimidate… and, if necessary, to kill."
The Emissary's boots made no sound on the glassy bridge. In his hand, a staff glowed faintly, carved with runes that pulsed with a dark light. "Ash-touched," he said, voice low and melodic. "The girl speaks of you as if you are… special. Yet I wonder—how special are you, really?"
Aeren felt his hands flare. Sparks of ash leapt from his palms, swirling around him like a miniature storm. He stepped forward, trying to steady his breathing. "I do not know what I am," he said, voice steady despite the terror coiling in his gut. "But I will not be destroyed."
The Emissary smiled. "Bold words… for one so untested." He raised his staff. The runes blazed. Shadows around him writhed like living serpents, slithering toward Aeren.
Instinct took over. Aeren raised his hand, releasing a burst of ash. The ground beneath the Emissary cracked, sparks flying in all directions. The figure leapt effortlessly, the shadows wrapping around him like armor.
"You see," Lysara's voice rang in his mind, "every strike comes at a cost. Control it… or lose yourself."
Aeren felt the pull inside him, a hollowing sensation at the edges of his mind. Memories he didn't recognize flickered and disappeared. Names, faces, feelings he didn't know he had—gone. He swallowed the panic and focused. The Emissary advanced, swinging his staff in arcs that twisted reality itself. Every strike bent the light around it, distorting the bridge beneath their feet.
The battle surged across the bridge, ash against shadow, light against darkness. Sparks danced in intricate patterns, striking at the Emissary and dispersing before he could counter. Yet each burst left Aeren hollow, fragments of himself dissolving with the heat of his magic.
"You are strong," the Emissary said between attacks, "but you are not complete. Ash-touched… incomplete… easily broken."
Aeren gritted his teeth, summoning every ounce of control he had. His hands flared, more intensely this time, shaping the ash into a solid barrier that threw the Emissary backward. The Emissary landed nimbly, staff flashing with dark energy, the runes pulsing faster than before.
"You are learning," Lysara said, her shadow flowing beside him, "but learning is not enough. Survival requires understanding."
Aeren took a deep breath, centering himself. He felt the magic in his veins, not as raw power but as a living thing, connected to him. The sparks of ash were not weapons—they were extensions of his will. And for the first time, he realized he could direct them with precision, shaping and bending their force instead of just throwing them blindly.
The Emissary attacked again, and this time, Aeren met him head-on. The ash coalesced around his hands, forming blades that danced in arcs, clashing against the staff's shadow strikes. Sparks flew, the bridge quivering under the collision of forces. The city held its breath, the streets and towers trembling as if in response.
Minutes—or hours—passed. Aeren's body ached, hollow spots gnawing at him from every spell he cast. Yet he pressed forward, determined. Finally, he saw an opening—an imperfection in the Emissary's defense. With a burst of focused energy, he hurled ash in a precise strike that knocked the staff aside and forced the Emissary to step back.
The bridge trembled. The air cracked with energy. Aeren stood, breathing heavily, eyes locked on the figure before him.
The Emissary straightened, lowering his staff slowly. "Impressive," he said, voice calm but edged with warning. "You have survived… but this is only the beginning. The Empress watches. She will come for you herself if you falter again."
He turned, moving back across the bridge, dissolving into shadow and light.
Aeren sank to his knees, feeling the hollowness inside him expand. Every strike, every burst of ash, had taken a part of himself he could not name. He looked at Lysara, who regarded him silently.
"She was testing you," she said finally. "And you passed… barely. But do not mistake victory for safety. The Empress will not be so merciful next time."
Aeren nodded, hand trembling. "I… I understand. I have to get stronger. Control the ash… control myself."
Lysara's shadow drifted around him protectively. "Yes. But remember… even control has a cost. Magic is never free."
Above the city, one tower's balcony gleamed with golden light. Seraphae's eyes were upon him. The ash-touched boy had survived the first encounter. But she was smiling… and her patience was endless.
Aeren knew, in that moment, that the real battle—the one that would test his soul, his memories, and his heart—was only beginning.
Chapter 5 End Hook:
Somewhere in the labyrinthine streets of Crownless City, whispers spoke of an unseen power moving against him. The Empress's agents were already plotting. The first victory had been won—but the game was far from over. And soon, Aeren would have to face a choice that could cost him everything… even himself.