Ash and Chains

The flames roared high, casting wild, dancing shadows across the scorched earth. You were on your knees, wrists bound tight behind your back, the ropes digging in with every tremble of your body. Smoke stung your eyes, but it couldn’t blur the image in front of you—the lion. Your lion.

He was trapped within the ring of fire, golden fur blackening with each second, his powerful frame shaking as he let out a broken roar—more pain than rage. His eyes met yours across the blaze, wide with fear, still loyal, still trying to protect you. But you couldn’t reach him. And he couldn’t reach you.

You screamed his name until your throat went raw, your whole body shaking as you fought the ropes—useless, powerless.

Cael stood just beyond the fire.

Not gloating.

Not triumphant.

He looked at you like a man unraveling.

His jaw was clenched, his eyes glassy. Ash clung to his blond hair. His blade hung forgotten at his side. The firelight painted him in gold and shadow, but he didn’t look like a conqueror. He looked like a boy who had just set fire to something he loved.

He knelt slowly, just far enough to be near—just close enough to see the tears streaking your soot-stained cheeks.

“I didn’t want this,” he murmured, voice breaking. “Gods, I didn’t—”

You flinched when he reached toward you, fingers trembling before they brushed a strand of hair from your face—gentle, familiar, wrong.

“I told them to leave you out of it,” he whispered, his eyes never leaving yours. “I thought they would… I thought I could protect this.”

You turned your face away, but not before he saw it—how much you hated him. How much you still loved him.

Behind you, your lion gave one last breath, collapsing into the flame with a heart-wrenching cry.

Cael flinched.

He reached out again, cupping your face in his hand like it might be the last time. His touch was tender, reverent, but it couldn’t erase the smell of smoke. Or the sound of death.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

And for the first time, he cried too.