Forbidden Sparks

I

The streets of Solace were eerily silent, save for the heavy march of boots that echoed through the cracked stone avenues. The enforcers—our enforcers—moved with grim precision, their footsteps steady and heavy as they marched in perfect formation. The air was thick with tension, and the faint scent of smoke lingered, carried by the sharp, cool wind. It had rained earlier, leaving the cobblestones slick and glistening, but there was no peace in the quiet that followed.

From my vantage point on the raised balcony of the Council Hall, I could see it all—down below, the chaos unfolding like a storm gathering force. Doors to homes were kicked open with violent ease, and the sounds of shuffling feet mixed with the sharp bark of orders. Families, terrified and helpless, huddled together in corners as their homes were ransacked by those who were supposed to protect them. Women clutched their children, their faces pale with fear. The men, they stood frozen, their eyes wide as they watched their lives torn apart, knowing they had no power to stop it.

Shadows flickered across the cracked stone walls, cast by the dim orange glow of lanterns lining the streets. I could feel the heat from the torches even from where I stood, and it made my stomach twist uncomfortably. I’d been raised in this city, I’d known its pulse, its rhythm, and yet tonight it felt alien. The order that had always held Solace together now seemed like a cage, its bars too close, too suffocating.

"Order is everything, Ariana," my father's voice echoed in my mind, as if he were standing next to me, reminding me of the lessons he had drilled into me since childhood. "The people cannot be trusted to govern themselves. They need us to guide them, even if it means sacrifice."

Sacrifice. The word twisted in my chest like a blade, digging deeper with each passing moment. My father had always spoken of it in such an impassive way, as if it were merely a fact of life, a necessary evil. But standing here now, looking down on the suffering below, I wasn’t so sure. I wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

I tore my gaze from the streets, but the sight haunted me. Behind me, the Council chambers hummed with quiet murmurs, the soft clinking of goblets and rustling of papers a stark contrast to the chaos outside. The other members of the Council sat at the long, gleaming marble table, their faces inscrutable, their eyes cold and calculating. They were not disturbed by the sight of the people being crushed beneath the boots of the enforcers. No, they were watching the operation unfold with thinly veiled satisfaction, as if it were a game, a demonstration of their control.

At the head of the table sat my father, his presence commanding, as always. His robes were immaculate, the deep black fabric contrasting with the stark white of his hair. The expression on his face was a mask, an impenetrable wall of authority and power. His eyes, however, were not as stoic as his appearance. They glinted with a sharpness I had learned to fear over the years.

"Report," he commanded, his voice cutting through the murmurs like a blade. A messenger entered the room, bowing low before delivering his news.

“Three houses have been cleared, Councilman. No signs of magic yet, but we found traces of unauthorized rituals in the eastern district.”

The words felt like a slap across my face. The eastern district—the area of the city where the outcasts, the artists, the rebels, and the desperate made their homes. It was a place I had visited only in the dark corners of my mind, never with any real intention. But now, hearing the mention of it, I couldn’t shake the image of the people there—people I had always kept at arm’s length.

My father’s lips curled into a slight smile. It wasn’t a smile of warmth or even satisfaction—it was the smile of a predator closing in on its prey. "Good," he said, his tone as sharp as the knife edge of a blade. "Press harder. They’re hiding something, I’m sure of it. These people think they can defy us, but we will root out every trace of magic and crush their rebellion before it begins."

My stomach turned. I should have been proud. Proud of him. Proud of the Council. Proud of the order we had brought to this city. But all I could feel was an unease that twisted deeper with each word he spoke. His voice was so certain, so cold in its conviction, that it made my heart race in an entirely different way. This was our legacy, he had always said. Our legacy. But what was it really?

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into the palms of my hands. I wanted to shout, to challenge him. To scream that this wasn’t right. But I remained silent. It wasn’t my place to question. It never had been. And the longer I stood there, the more that silence felt like an anchor around my neck, pulling me under.

I glanced back at the street, my gaze sweeping over the scene below. And then, just as I was about to turn away, I saw it. A flash of movement in the shadows of an alleyway—a figure, swift and silent, darting between the buildings, too quick to be an ordinary citizen.

My heart skipped a beat.

Could it be? Could it really be...?

"Everything alright, Ariana?" my father’s voice sliced through my thoughts like a whip, pulling me from my reverie. I turned to face him, and for the first time in years, I saw the hint of suspicion flickering in his eyes.

I forced my expression to remain steady, despite the storm raging inside me. "Yes, Father," I said, my voice betraying none of the turmoil I felt. "I’m just... observing the operation."

He nodded, but his eyes lingered on me a moment longer than necessary, as if he could see through the mask I had worked so hard to perfect. "Good," he said, and then, in a tone that sent a chill through my bones, he added, "This is our legacy, Ariana. Remember that."

I nodded, but the words felt hollow in my ears. Legacy. My father’s legacy. The Council’s legacy. Was it really something worth holding onto, or was it a cage?

As I turned back to the streets, my thoughts were already elsewhere. The figure in the alley. It had to be one of them—the ones my father had spoken of, the magic users, the ones who had evaded capture. I could feel the pull of something deep inside me, something I didn’t understand but had always known was there. A power, a strength that I had been taught to suppress. To control. But tonight, it felt like the weight of that control might break me.

"Someday," I whispered under my breath, though I wasn’t sure if the words were meant for anyone else or just for me. "Someday, I’ll burn it all to the ground."

I didn’t know if that was the right path, the noble path, or the foolish one. But it was the only path I could see, the only one that made sense in the madness that now consumed Solace.

Far below, the enforcers continued their hunt, pushing deeper into the eastern district. The cries of the innocent, the shouts of protest, and the sound of heavy boots marching on—it all blurred together. I wanted to believe that I could make a difference, that somehow, the weight of the years of order and tradition would shift and break under the weight of something better. But the truth was, I didn’t know what to believe anymore.