The Ember's Judgment

The lanterns swung low in the city square, their dim glow a futile resistance against the suffocating night. Soot clung to the cobblestones, whispering the remnants of old fires, of ash-strewn rebellions long snuffed out. In the center of it all, beneath the towering edifice of the Governor’s Hall, stood Marius Fane, his wrists bound with iron, his face a mask of bruises and resolve.

The execution was set for dawn.

From the balconies above, the nobles watched as though attending a macabre theater, whispering in hushed, eager tones. A martyr, they called him. A fool. A vagrant who dared to mock the divine right of those who feasted while the gutters choked on the bones of the forgotten. They would watch him burn and then return to their feasts, perhaps sipping spiced wine and making wagers on how long he would scream.

Marius had no intention of screaming.

In the alleys, in the quiet corners of the city, there were others waiting. Watching. A single spark could set a field ablaze. And Marius, bound in chains, was that spark.

The Governor, a man of excessive grandeur, stepped forward, adjusting his gold-laced robe. "You, Marius Fane, are found guilty of sedition, of treason against the crown. Your words have ignited unrest. Your actions have spurred rebellion. And so, the flames you sought to kindle will consume you instead."

Marius said nothing. He simply smiled.

The guards dragged him toward the pyre, the wooden beams stacked high and laced with oil. The scent of it curled in the air, acrid, suffocating. But before the torch could be thrown, before the governor could savor his triumph, the moment shattered.

The lanterns above erupted.

Glass rained down like stars unhinged from the heavens, and with them came fire. Not the contained, controlled blaze of an execution but a wildfire, racing along the Governor’s banners, licking hungrily at the tapestries of power. In the alleys, figures emerged—shadows that had long lain in wait, clutching steel and fury.

Chaos was an ember. Now it was an inferno.

Marius felt the heat behind him, heard the cries as the crowd surged. The chains around his wrists snapped—cut loose by hands unseen. He turned, stepping free from the pyre that had been meant to consume him, and walked toward the Governor, who stumbled backward, horror dawning in his eyes.

"You were right about one thing," Marius said, his voice calm. "A single flame can change everything."

The city burned. And the world, at last, was rewritten.