Chapter 4 The Keeper of Fire

The Silence of the Temple

The Temple of Ashes wasn't just a place of worship: it was a living tomb. Asha understood this with every step she took. The walls, black as the moonless night, exuded a nameless sadness. The carved columns had humanoid shapes, misshapen, as if trapping souls in gestures of supplication. Nothing in that place was simple architecture. Everything had purpose.

She had been awakened before dawn. A sharp knock in the cell, a gruff voice ordered her to dress. The light gray tunic fell over her thin body like a second skin. The sandals were hardened leather, uncomfortable, and her bare feet felt every crack in the temple marble. She wasn't allowed breakfast. There was no need to ask why.

Pretending to be mute was no longer just a plan: it was a necessity. To speak would mean to explain. To explain would mean to lie. And to lie before the Guardians... was to court death.

As she rubbed the urns with the cloth, Asha felt a faint vibration in her palm. It wasn't coming from the surface. It was something deeper, as if the ashes spoke a wordless language. In the village, her mother had once told her that ashes listened to secrets. That was why altars were never completely clean: memory needed remnants.

A shudder ran through her. She was about to look up when she felt the change in the air. As if the room had inhaled with fear.

And then she saw him.

Kael Thuros crossed the threshold as if he were not touching the floor. Tall, thin, wearing the black robes that distinguished high-ranking Keepers. His dark hair fell to his shoulders, and his face-grave, angular-seemed sculpted by wind and ash. The strangest thing wasn't his presence, but the fact that he seemed to drag shadows with him, as if the day bent to his will.

Asha held her breath.

She mustn't look directly. She mustn't speak. She mustn't stand out. But Kael stopped in front of her.

"New?" she asked. His voice was low, but powerful. As if he were speaking not with words, but with intent.

Asha lowered her head further. She gestured slightly with her hand. Nothing more.

"Mute or fearful?" she persisted. He sounded curious, not incredulous. As if observing an unknown creature.

Silence was her only defense.

Kael didn't move. He didn't seem disappointed or upset. He was just watching. Asha felt she was being evaluated not by her body, but by something more internal. Her soul, perhaps.

And in an unexpected gesture, Kael turned, walked to the tallest urn on the altar, placed a hand on it... and the ashes glowed.

No harsh light. No explosion. Just a faint glow, like embers that remembered being alive.

"Those who are silent," he said, without turning around, "often carry the oldest fire."

And he left.

Asha felt like her heart had stopped beating until his footsteps disappeared completely.

Fire Beneath Her Skin

That night, Asha couldn't sleep.

The cell was cramped, damp, with only a threadbare blanket to cover her. But the cold she felt wasn't coming from the stones: it was coming from within. As if something had broken or awakened.

Kael Thuros. The name kept repeating itself like a spark behind her eyes. She had done nothing to impress him. She hadn't spoken a word. And yet, he had noticed her.

What had he seen?

The fear warred with something else: a pang of curiosity that nagged at her. What was it like to be around someone like that every day? Was he part of the destiny her mother had mentioned? Or just an obstacle in her path?

The next morning, she was assigned another task. She was given a wooden box with dried leaves, a bowl, and a black candle. The ritual was simple: light the candle before the Living Memory Room. Nothing more. But everyone avoided going there alone.

No one explained what Living Memory was to her. But she sensed it.

As she crossed the corridor, Asha heard a soft voice inside her. Not words, but something more instinctive. A voice from herself.

And when she opened the double doors, there he was.

Kael. Again.

Standing before an obsidian altar, an open book floating in front of him. He wasn't holding it in his hands. It was held by the ash itself, swirling slowly around the air.

He didn't look at her immediately. But she felt he knew she was there.

"You again?"

Asha knelt without looking, lit the candle as she'd been told, and kept her head bowed.

"Sometimes silence brings better answers than words," Kael said.

A pause. Then his tone changed.

"Do you know why the Keepers don't allow slaves near the Hall of Memory?"

She didn't answer. She held her breath.

"Because they're afraid they'll remember."

The candle flickered. Asha looked up involuntarily. For a moment, their eyes met. He didn't reprimand her. He didn't punish her. He just watched her... and then he smiled, barely. A crack in the stone mask.

And then Asha felt something strange. As if an invisible hand were caressing the back of her neck. Not pain. Just... warmth.

Kael had raised his hand. He didn't touch it, but a trail of ash floated between them.

"You have fire, girl. Even if you deny it. And fire, sooner or later... demands to burn."

Then he closed the book and disappeared down the side passage, leaving the air thick with ash.

Asha fell to her knees, trembling.

What Burns Without Flames

That night, Asha dreamed.

She dreamed that she was walking barefoot across a plain of ash. That each step sank her deeper. That a voice called to her from beneath the earth, in the same tone as Kael's.

"Remember."

She woke up sweating, the blanket sticking to her body. Soot marks on her hands. And she didn't remember touching any fire.

Asha understood that her first encounter with Kael wasn't the end of anything, but the beginning. That something connected her to this man, something beyond obedience. A bond made of memory, danger... and a promise I didn't yet understand.

But I would feel it. I knew it. I felt it in my skin.

Like a fire that can't be seen, but burns.