The Crucible had a scent Lucien was beginning to recognize.
It wasn't just sweat or old stone or the faint tang of ozone that always clung to the Ember. No, it was something deeper. The scent of struggle. A weight in the air. Like every breath carried the echoes of those who had bled and broken here before.
It was morning now — or at least, what passed for it underground. Lamps along the corridor flickered to life with a crimson glow, mimicking sunrise. Lucien was summoned by a chime in his chamber. One long, echoing tone. Sharp. Demanding.
Time for training.
He dressed quickly, slipping into the ash-grey tunic provided to him — simple, lightweight, and marked at the collar with a faint ember-glyph. His arms still ached from the last session, but there was no time to complain. No room for comfort. He had chosen this. He needed this.
He made his way down the tunnel to the training hall, a cavernous space lined with weapon racks, target dummies, sparring circles, and the ever-present heat of the Ember's pulse. Along one wall, molten veins glowed like rivers under glass, casting shifting light over the floor.
Seraph stood waiting.
But she wasn't alone.
A massive man leaned against the far wall — arms folded, expression unreadable, eyes like cold steel. He wore no uniform. Just black armor pieces strapped over worn clothes, and a strange scar that ran from the corner of his jaw to the base of his neck, glowing faintly red.
Lucien stopped short.
Seraph gestured to the man.
"This is Thorne," she said. "He'll be your mentor."
Thorne didn't move. Didn't blink. Just stared at Lucien like he was trying to decide whether he was worth speaking to.
"Uh... hi," Lucien offered, a little unsure.
Thorne pushed off the wall and walked slowly toward him, each step heavy with purpose.
"You're the new spark," he muttered, circling Lucien once. "The one they say might burn bright."
Lucien resisted the urge to shift under the man's gaze.
"I'm just trying to survive," he said.
Thorne let out a humorless chuckle.
"Good. You'll need that mindset. But if you want to do more than survive — if you want to fight, to matter — you need to be broken first."
Before Lucien could respond, Thorne's hand shot out.
A backhand across Lucien's cheek.
Not hard enough to knock him out — but hard enough to sting. Hard enough to send him staggering a few steps back.
Lucien's hands went up reflexively, fury flashing through his gut.
"What the hell—"
Thorne didn't stop.
He stepped forward and slammed his elbow into Lucien's ribs, sending him to the floor.
Pain exploded in Lucien's chest.
He gasped, rolling onto his side, coughing.
Seraph said nothing. Just watched.
Lucien looked up, eyes blazing. "Are you crazy?!"
Thorne's voice was calm. Controlled.
"This is not a sparring session. This is war prep. You think the Vanta Order will hesitate? That they'll wait for you to be ready? Out there, you hesitate, you die."
Lucien struggled to his feet.
Thorne raised an eyebrow. "Again."
Lucien lunged.
But Thorne caught him mid-step, sweeping his legs out from under him and planting a foot on his chest.
Lucien wheezed beneath the weight, fists clenched.
"Use your fire!" Thorne snapped.
"I can't!" Lucien yelled back.
"Then learn!"
Thorne stepped back. Lucien rolled over, coughing, rage bubbling just beneath the surface.
"Stop fighting me," Thorne said. "Start fighting yourself. The part of you that's still weak. Still waiting to be saved."
Lucien sat there for a moment, breathing hard.
"I'm trying..." he said quietly. "But I don't know how to control it."
Thorne nodded. "That's why I'm here."
He offered a hand.
Lucien stared at it for a second. Then took it.
The rest of the day was agony.
Thorne didn't teach with words. He taught with motion. With force. Every move had purpose. Every hit came with a lesson.
Lucien was knocked down. Again. And again. And again.
But he kept standing back up.
By the fifth hour, his knuckles were raw, his legs numb, his head ringing.
But something had started to shift.
Not outside.
Inside.
Each time he hit the floor, something inside him screamed louder. Something primal. Something ancient. It roared in his blood. Burned behind his eyes.
When Thorne came at him again, Lucien didn't think.
He moved.
Faster than he should have been able to.
Thorne swung low. Lucien ducked, twisted, slammed a shoulder into his chest, and sent the larger man staggering back two steps.
Both froze.
Lucien's hands trembled.
His eyes — flickering.
Not orange. Not red.
White-hot gold.
Thorne stared.
Then, a smirk broke his face.
"There it is."
Lucien looked down.
A faint trail of heat shimmered around his fingers. Not flame. But something else. Like the promise of fire yet to ignite.
"I didn't even try," Lucien muttered.
"Exactly," Thorne said. "The Ember doesn't respond to thought. It responds to drive. To intent. The moment you stop thinking about it — and start wanting something enough — it answers."
Lucien collapsed to his knees, chest heaving.
Thorne walked past him, speaking over his shoulder.
"You're not ready."
Lucien looked up, exhausted. "Gee, thanks."
"But," Thorne added, "you're closer than I thought."
That night, Lucien sat alone at the edge of the training ring, nursing his bruises.
Seraph approached and sat beside him.
"You held your own," she said.
"Barely."
"That's more than most can say after a day with Thorne."
Lucien looked at her.
"Why is he so... intense?"
Seraph's eyes darkened. "Because he's the only one here who's seen what the Order can really do. Who's survived it."
Lucien didn't ask more. He could tell by her tone that was a story best told another day.
Instead, he whispered, "I felt it. Today. The Ember. Just for a second."
Seraph smiled. "And it'll come again. Stronger. Just keep pushing. You'll either ignite... or turn to ash."
Lucien looked at his hands.
Then at the Ember veins running along the wall.
Something had changed today.
Not just in his body.
In his will.
He was no longer just trying to survive.
He was starting to believe he could fight.
End of Chapter 5