Chapter 15: The First Ember

Chapter 15: The First Ember

The weight of Mordred’s revelation settled not like a burden, but like a mantle. Chase looked out of the great window, at the two cities spread below. Old Camelot, a skeleton picked clean by time and regret. New Camelot, a gleaming cage built from the denial of that regret. His entire life, he had been running from the ghost of one fire. Now, he was being asked to stand guard over the embers of a kingdom’s worth of sorrow.

"Warden," Chase repeated, the word feeling foreign and heavy on his tongue. "You dragged me out of hell just to give me a new job as its gatekeeper."

"A fitting promotion, wouldn't you agree?" Mordred replied, his tone devoid of irony. He took a slow sip of his whiskey, his ancient eyes fixed on Chase. "You have done what my father, with all his might and nobility, could not. You did not conquer the grief. You did not imprison it. You gave it peace. That makes you the most powerful man in this city, Mr. Ambrose, whether you like it or not."

The praise felt hollow, clinical. "And what about Kay?" Chase asked, turning from the window. "A man like that doesn't just decide to burn down a kingdom overnight. You said you orchestrated this. Who was pulling his strings?"

Mordred placed his glass on the rune-carved desk, the sound a quiet, final click. "Sir Kay was a pawn, but he was not my pawn. He was a man of rigid principles and deep-seated resentment. Such men are… suggestible. They believe their iron will is their own, when in fact it is merely a cage waiting for a master with the right key. He was so obsessed with preventing a new fire, he was easily convinced to start one of his own."

"Convinced by who?"

"The same voice that whispered to Arthur a thousand years ago," Mordred said, his voice dropping, the weight of ages pressing into the words. "The one that tempted him to try and harness the grief entity in the first place. Arthur believed he was containing a great evil, but in reality, he was merely following a script. He was creating a battery of sorrow, a psychic reservoir, for a power far older and more patient than he could imagine."

The scope of the conspiracy suddenly expanded, stretching back a millennium. Kay hadn't been the rot; he was just the first symptom of a much deeper infection. He was the first cracking of the ice, signaling the pressure of the great, dark thing moving in the depths below.

"This… tempter," Chase said, testing the word. "It wants the entity."

"It wants to see the world grieve," Mordred corrected. "The entity you pacified is a focus, a lens. In the wrong hands, it could be used to amplify every scrap of misery, doubt, and fear in this city into a tidal wave of despair, drowning millions of souls in their own sorrow. Kay’s coup was merely a test. A probing attack to see how the city’s defenses would react. To see what the warden was made of. It was the first ember, tossed onto the floor to see if the wood was dry enough to burn."

Chase finally understood. This wasn’t over. This was the prelude. He had just passed the entrance exam for a war he never knew he was fighting. All his pain, all his running, it had all been a long, brutal training exercise.

The door to the office chimed softly and slid open. Elara stood there, her posture rigid, her face a mask of professionalism that couldn't quite hide the uncertainty in her eyes. Borin and Kael stood behind her, a silent, formidable trio.

"Sir," Elara said, addressing Mordred but looking at Chase. "The Knight-Enforcers have been secured. The city is locked down. What are our orders?"

Mordred looked from her to Chase, a silent transfer of power passing between them. "Your squad’s designation has been updated. You no longer report to the general Lexmordant command. Your sole responsibility, from this moment forward, is the Warden."

Elara’s eyes widened slightly. She turned her full attention to Chase. The chain of command had been redrawn around him. She, the by-the-book commander; Borin, the stoic bastion; Kael, the brilliant but nervous tech. They weren't his handlers anymore. They were his guard. His support. His team.

Chase met her gaze. He saw the questions, the lingering doubt warring with the undeniable evidence of what he’d done in the tomb. He gave her a slow, single nod. It wasn't an order, but an acceptance. An acknowledgment of their new reality. She seemed to understand, her shoulders straightening as she returned the nod with a crisp, decisive gesture.

"We need a new headquarters," Chase said, surprising himself with the authority in his own voice. He turned to Mordred. "Somewhere quiet. Somewhere close to the source."

Mordred smiled, a genuine, almost predatory expression of approval. "I have already taken the liberty of preparing a place. A small, fortified command post in the upper ruins of Old Camelot. Close enough to the catacombs for you to feel the… pulse of your new responsibility."

Of course he had. Mordred always had a plan.

Chase walked back to the great window, his team assembling silently behind him. He was no longer just Chase Ambrose, the burnout with too much power. He was the Ash Wizard, a title that had once been a curse, now remade into a purpose. He looked down at the city lights, no longer seeing a cage, but a charge to be protected.

The entity within the earth was quiet, a sleeping ocean of sorrow bound to his own. It was a part of him now, the grief of a king and the grief of a brother intertwined. He knew the other, older entity was out there, watching, waiting, fanning the embers of the next plot. It would come for him. It would come for the heart he now guarded.

Let it come.

He was no longer running from the fire. He was forged in it. The guilt was still there, the memory of Lily a sharp, clean ache in his soul. But it was no longer a weight that dragged him down. It was an anchor in the storm. This wasn't a penance he was serving for his past sins. It was a purpose he was embracing for the future. He would stand here, on the ashes of a fallen kingdom, and he would not let it burn again.