"A Flame that Fades"

Chapter 4: Threads of Destiny

Trigger Warning: This content contains descriptions of neglect, physical abuse, blood and emotional distress.
Reader discretion is advised.

Azgar's POV

I didn't look up as Zoron's voice cut through the stillness of the room. My eyes were fixed on the blade I was sharpening, the steel meeting the whetstone with a steady rhythm. Each pass brought the edge closer to perfection. The sharpness wasn't just about battle; it served as a reminder of my place and the weight of my responsibilities.

"Azgar, the chief wants to speak with you," Zoron continued, his tone careful, as if navigating a minefield. "Remember, the chief is also your father, so don't embarrass yourself in front of him."

I stopped mid-stroke, letting the stone rest against the blade. His words hit me like a spark of irritation. Zoron meant well—he always did—but I resented how he assumed I needed reminders like that.

I glanced up at him, narrowing my eyes just slightly to signal that I was listening but not inclined to acknowledge him fully. "I know, Zoron," I replied, my voice low as I pressed the blade against the stone once more. "I've got it covered."

As I pushed through the doorway, my hand brushing the frame, Zoron followed up with another warning. "Knowing how short-tempered and hot-headed you can be, I wouldn't say you have it under control."

Heat rose within me, but I forced myself to swallow it back. Zoron wasn't wrong. The fire within me—my father's fire—had often led me astray. Yet he didn't grasp the burden I bore, the expectations weighing on my shoulders day in and day out.

I turned slowly, leveling a hard look at him. My voice was low and controlled, edged with a mixture of anger and exasperation. "If you think you know me so well, Zoron, then maybe you should understand that I've had my fill of people telling me what I can and can't control."

Zoron stood his ground, arms crossed, his expression steady. He had never been intimidated by me, and I respected him for that. But that didn't mean I would let him push me around.

"Perhaps," I softened slightly, crossing my arms as I leaned against the stone wall. "But you're right about one thing. I am short-tempered and hot-headed. But I'll handle it. I know how to control it when it counts."

Zoron nodded, but skepticism flickered in his eyes. "The chief will test that, Azgar. He always does. This time, you'll be expected to answer as both his son and his successor. He won't tolerate anything less than your full discipline."

I didn't want to admit it, but he was right. My father's expectations were as sharp as the blade I had just set down. Unlike some of the younger warriors, I couldn't afford to squirm under that pressure—not anymore.

"Don't worry about me, Zoron," I said, my voice firm. "I know what's at stake."

He didn't offer further advice; he simply gave me a look that said he hoped I was right. He turned and walked out of the room, leaving behind an echoing silence.

I stood there for a long moment, inhaling deeply to steady myself. I didn't like how Zoron had rattled me, his words cutting through my pretense like a blade. But there was no time to dwell on it.

The chief wanted to speak with me. My father wanted to speak with me.

I had to be ready—more than I'd let anyone believe.

***

I stood before the enormous doors of the throne room, their weight more symbolic than physical. The cold stone beneath my boots felt like it was sinking into my bones. There was something oppressive about this place—the stillness, the silence hanging in the air like a fog.