Ashes in the Snowfall

Emberfall Street.

The scent of roasted chestnuts drifted through the morning fog, curling around corners like smoke from a dying fire.

A fishmonger in indigo workwear threaded carp onto a straw string. Water flicked from the fish tails, splashing into the basket of dried persimmons beside an elderly fruit vendor—earning a few sharp words and shared laughter.

A child in a tiger-ear cap squatted in front of a tinker's cart, watching copper wire stitch broken porcelain into blooming chrysanthemum patterns. The malt candy in his hand had melted halfway.

Autumn wind swept across a fortune-teller's booth, lifting a yellow charm from the table and dropping it into a bowl of steaming wonton soup.

Kael sat inside a carriage, its gentle sway doing little to calm his nerves. The inkstone, newly mended and left in his care, was clearly meant to draw him to the Broken Jade workshop. But why? Who was that black-cloaked stranger, and what did he know about the fire that razed Ashvale Manor in the twenty-seventh year of the Crown?

As Kael wrestled with his thoughts, the noise outside suddenly stopped.

The carriage had come to a halt.

Had they arrived already?

Kael gripped the curtain and pulled it aside—only to find a street frozen in eerie silence.

The sound of copper wire snapping rang out, painfully sharp. The chrysanthemum-pattern bowl hit the stone and shattered.

The child didn't cry. The syrup dripped from his fingers onto the old soothsayer's parchment.

No one moved.

All eyes turned skyward.

Kael followed their gaze.

His blood turned to ice.

The sky was ripping open—a jagged wound of crimson light. From the tear, glowing fireballs tumbled, trailing smoke like incense ash scattered by careless gods.

Reflections of flame seared his vision, each comet painting scars across his eyes. Gold-red flashes swam over the rooftops, merging with memories of burning windows.

The inkstone slipped from his fingers.

From the cracks, red sand leaked in fine lines—like blood seeping through charred wood.

A fiery burst detonated just outside the carriage.

The carriage rocked violently. His horse reared, its mane igniting.

Kael was thrown back, slamming into the wooden wall. A scream ripped through the sky. Reins snapped. The carriage lurched forward, smashing through fruit stands.

The second prince's horse bolted through the city.

Amid the chaos, a figure in black burst through the fleeing crowd.

He cut against the tide like a blade.

His cloak swept aside baskets and steamers as he sprinted, leapt atop an overturned butcher's block, and vaulted.

Boots brushed iron hooks still swinging from above. Between swaying chains, he soared like a shadowed hawk.

"Whoa—!"

Blood-spattered reins caught in his grip midair.

The red horse screamed and thrashed. The stranger twisted, locking his legs around the beast's flanks. Sparks flew as leather bracers scraped fur.

The horse reared—vertical. For a breathless instant, his back was nearly parallel to the ground.

In his eyes burned the falling fire. The prayer beads at his wrist flared with violet light.

The rider dropped forward, cheek against the horse's neck. Reins clamped in his teeth, looped tight around a bulging wrist.

"Stop!"

The command cracked like thunder.

The horse's hooves smashed into stone. The rider rolled from the saddle. Boots scraped twin scorches into the street before his back slammed into a clay pot beside the wonton stall.

Shards stabbed his palms.

He still held the reins.

The beast collapsed, foam-flecked. The carriage stopped inches from an overturned basket of persimmons.

The figure rose. Blood dripped from his fingers.

Silence returned.

Kael was huddled in the corner of the carriage, arms wrapped around his knees.

The door curtain lifted. Light flooded in. A tall shadow blocked it as someone stepped inside.

"Lord Kael. We meet again."

Lucien's voice, calm and amused.

Kael looked up.

Lucien leaned lazily against the carriage wall, hands tucked in his sleeves.

Kael tried to compose himself, hiding the tremble in his hands.

His gaze dropped to Lucien's boot—bloodstained.

Yesterday's crimson footprint in the snow.

"Your foot…"

"Oh?" Lucien tilted his head. "Was that concern, my lord?"

He stepped closer.

Kael smelled blood and sandalwood.

He stepped on Lucien's injured foot.

"Ahh—! Damn it!" Lucien hissed. His pale knuckles twisted the curtain. "Had I known my savior's reward would be this painful, I'd have rescued a dog instead."

"What do you want in return?"

Lucien brightened.

"Oh, not much—no gold, no titles. If you'd just consider repaying me with—"

The teasing trailed off as he leaned in.

Kael backed away—only to hit the carriage wall.

Footsteps approached from behind.

Kael shoved him.

"Tell me—who were the assassins last night? Who are you? And this inkstone—"

His questions tumbled out.

Lucien silenced him with a finger pressed to his lips.

"Shhh."

Bloodied fingertip. Smiling eyes.

"So many questions, my lord. More than a magistrate's dossier."

"We'll meet again soon."

Lucien vanished in a blur of black silk.

Kael scrambled to follow—but only saw him vanish across rooftops, cloak fluttering into the golden-red sky.

"Milord! Milord!"

His driver stumbled into view, blood on his brow, pant leg torn.

He fell to his knees beside the ruined harness. "A fireball fell from the sky—right in front of us!"

Ash and soot clung to his raincloak.

"I failed you, milord. Forgive me."

Kael pulled him up, noting the burns blistering his palm.

He glanced at the fallen horse. Red stained the reins like plum blossom petals.

"Shall we return to the manor?" the driver asked.

"Mrrrow."

The black cat bounded from nowhere and leapt into Kael's arms.

He flinched—then smiled, stroking its head.

"You followed me here, huh?"

The cat purred, nestling in.

"Milord?"

Kael nodded. "Yes. Take us home. The East Market will have to wait."

His heart pounded.

He stared at the blazing sky.

A feeling he couldn't name twisted in his chest.

Something was coming.