The door slammed behind her.
The force was not violent, not really—but it did not need to
be. The finality of it hit just as hard as a blow, sealing Ember inside the
space that smelled of polished leather and quiet resignation.
She was not alone.
The other humans sat in stiff silence, their bodies rigid, hands folded tightly in their laps, and a few sobs escaping the silence, their expressions blank with grief.
She did not know their names. Neither did she need to.
Because they were just like her—marked. Bound to fate.
However, she was still different.
Her silver headpiece burned brighter than the rest—a warning, a threat, a silent promise that she was not broken, yet.
The warlock had made sure of that.
Her fingers curled against the cool surface of the seat as she stared ahead, refusing to meet the gaze of the others, refusing to let the quiet press against her ribs like something too tight.
Instead, she turned toward the window.
Her reflection greeted her there, faint against the backdrop of the empire's towering walls, her face pale, her eyes sharper than the
emptiness surrounding her.
The silver shimmered against her forehead. Mocking. She did not recognize herself.
She saw the shape of her face, the cut of her jaw, the tension in her mouth—but it was not her. Not anymore.
The felling creeped in, the shift, the slow unraveling of who she used to be.
But now, in the stillness of the ride, as the world blurred outside, as the weight of the present settled into the bones of her past— She remembered.
---
She remembered the bitter scent of the herbs. The metallic taste curling against her tongue.
The way her father's voice had cracked as he whispered, "We are sorry."
Then the thud of their bodies hitting the floor beside her.
She had been so young, too young to utterly understand that her parents were not choosing death because they wanted to leave her—
They were choosing it because it was the only way out that they could see.
The empire did not bend. It did not grant mercy. And her parents had fought so hard, for so long, trying to carve an escape into the impossible trying to protect her from the same fate her brother had suffered. But their extra restrictions, as a result of trying to hide their son, had kept them from finding any other options.
For years, they had hunted for answers, searched for gaps in the system, hidden secrets beneath whispered breaths.
And when they found nothing— They chose poison. But not just for them they also thought to take their daughter with them in death.
She could still see their faces, still feel the quiet silhouette of their bodies beside her, the way their fingers twitched before stilling forever.
But she— had lived.
Her body stubbornly fought the poison with every natural mind it had, forcing her to stay. And leaving her alone.
Alone to face all the consequences that her parents did not consider had one of them survived.
This is why she was in the orphanage, scrounging for food among other children. Fighting and gambling for pieces of clothes.
Everything that her parents had once given her, they stripped away.
embers tenacity would not let her be still and settle for the little that she was given. She had scrounged, fought, and clawed her way back to something close to stability.
Now she had done it twice, only to lose it again.
And now— Now, she was here, in this limo, bound to a fate she had spent years trying to outrun.
She closed her eyes, gripping the fabric of her sleeves.
Her parents had chosen death as mercy. But she was still here.
And if they couldn't find a way out— Then she would.
The silver against her skin burned, but Ember did not bow her head.
She had once screamed that she would never forgive them.
And then she admired them for trying to do whatever they could for both themselves and her fate. After all nothing in death could be taken.
Now, she could only wonder— Had they ever seen a way out that did not end in destruction?
And if they had not—
Was she the only one who would dare try to find it?
Maybe…
Amber's mind wandered to the piece of parchment that she found. She had etched every word in her mind, carrying it like a precious treasure.
"The North remembers. Look for the ruins."