Chapter 5 The Catacombs of Ash

The city burned again by dawn.

Columns of black smoke coiled above Auradyn’s rooftops as the Inquisition swept through the lower districts, setting fire to every building that could hide a fugitive. The air smelled of oil and salt and fear.

From the bell tower, Lyra could see the red banners advancing street by street. Every clang of armor echoed like a countdown.

Finn fastened his pack, nerves written across his face. “Remind me again why going underground is the smart option when the people chasing us literally burn things for fun?”

“Because they won’t look for fire beneath the altar,” Eira said, tightening her cloak. “And if the legends are true, the Ashen Circle still guards the old catacombs below the Basilica.”

Lyra stood by the window, eyes reflecting the flames outside. “Then we move now.”

Finn groaned. “Of course we do.”

They moved through the ruins like shadows, keeping low as patrols marched past. The streets that had once thrummed with merchants and musicians were now graveyards of ash.

Every corner felt alive with danger.

Eira led the way, navigating by memory and instinct. Lyra followed close, the warmth in her chest flickering higher with each step. The dragon’s presence inside her was alert, restless.

You walk the path of bones, the voice murmured. Here the old ones sleep, and not all sleep peacefully.

“I’m not here to wake the dead,” Lyra whispered under her breath.

Then you walk in the wrong direction.

By nightfall, they reached the outer steps of the Basilica of Firelight.

The cathedral loomed above them like a fortress, its spires piercing the fog. Stained-glass windows glowed faintly from within images of saints conquering dragons, of fire twisted into symbols of purity.

Lyra’s stomach turned. The murals had always been lies.

Eira glanced up at the twin gargoyles that flanked the massive doors. “There’s a passage beneath the northern wall. It was sealed after the Purge, but if we’re lucky”

Finn snorted. “We’re never lucky.”

Still, they followed her to a courtyard choked with weeds and broken statues. Behind a toppled archway, Eira found what she was looking for: a half-buried iron grate covered in soot.

“Here.” She brushed dirt aside, revealing an ancient sigil two wings encircling a flame.

“The mark of the Emberguard,” Eira said. “The last loyal keepers of dragonfire.”

Lyra crouched, tracing the symbol. Her fingers tingled with heat, the mark beneath her skin responding.

A spark jumped from her palm to the metal. The grate hissed—and the sigil blazed briefly gold before the lock snapped open.

Finn stepped back. “I’ll pretend that was normal.”

Lyra gave him a half-smile. “You’ll have to start getting used to weird.”

The tunnels were older than the city above.

They descended narrow steps into darkness that smelled of rust and decay. Eira lit a small lantern, its glow casting long shadows on the stone walls. Carvings lined the passage dragons coiled around suns, wings outstretched over kneeling figures.

“History carved in lies,” Eira said quietly. “The Church claimed dragons were monsters. But here… they were gods.”

Lyra trailed her fingers across the carvings. “What happened to them?”

“The first Dragon War,” Eira replied. “Men feared the power they couldn’t control. They made a pact with fire, then betrayed it.”

They called it salvation, Aurenyx’s voice whispered in Lyra’s mind. It was slaughter.

A shiver ran down her spine.

As they moved deeper, the tunnel widened into a vast chamber. Pillars shaped like claws supported a domed ceiling covered in faded murals humans and dragons fighting side by side.

At the center stood an altar of obsidian, its surface etched with runes.

“This is it,” Eira breathed. “The Sanctum of Embers.”

Finn circled the altar, uneasy. “Feels like the kind of place that gets people cursed.”

“Maybe,” Eira said, “but it’s also where the bond ritual was born. If the Circle still exists, they’ll come here.”

Lyra stepped closer. The altar’s runes pulsed faintly in response to her presence. The dragon within her stirred, its voice low and reverent.

Home.

Eira noticed. “It’s reacting to you.”

“I can feel her Aurenyx. She remembers this place.”

Lyra pressed her hand against the stone. The air shimmered, and suddenly she saw

A vision.

The chamber alive with golden fire. Dragons circling overhead, their scales like living suns. Humans kneeling in devotion. And at the altar stood Aurenyx herself magnificent, vast, eyes like molten stars bowing her head as if in blessing.

Then the image twisted. Swords. Screams. Flames turning black. The same altar, now drenched in blood.

Lyra staggered back, gasping.

Eira caught her arm. “What did you see?”

“The war,” Lyra said hoarsely. “The Purge. They didn’t kill them all in battle… they slaughtered them here.”

Eira’s face darkened. “Then the Circle is right to hide.”

Before Lyra could respond, a sound echoed through the tunnels a low, rhythmic clanging.

Finn drew his dagger. “That didn’t sound friendly.”

“It’s not,” Eira said. “We’re not alone.”

Torches flared at the far end of the chamber.

Figures emerged from the shadows, their faces hidden by hooded masks shaped like dragon skulls. The flicker of their torches illuminated crimson robes lined with ash-colored embroidery.

Lyra stepped forward, heart pounding. “The Ashen Circle.”

The leader lowered his hood, revealing an older man with burn scars tracing his jaw. His eyes glowed faintly gold.

“So,” he said, voice rough but calm, “the ember awakens.”

Eira bowed slightly. “We seek the Circle’s aid. The girl bears the fire of Aurenyx.”

The man studied Lyra. “We know who she is. The Inquisition burns our city to find her.”

Lyra swallowed. “Then you know I’m not your enemy.”

“That remains to be seen,” another voice said from the back of the group, sharp and cold.

A woman stepped into the light, younger than the others, her eyes the same molten shade as Lyra’s. A faint shimmer of scale traced her neck.

“She’s unstable,” the woman said. “Her fire bleeds uncontrolled. She’ll draw the Inquisition to us all.”

Lyra stiffened. “Who are you?”

“I am Serah. Keeper of the Third Flame. Born of Aurenyx’s line like you claim to be.”

Lyra met her gaze. “I don’t claim anything. I just want to stop Kael Thorne.”

At the mention of his name, a ripple of tension passed through the Circle.

The leader stepped closer. “Kael Thorne is no ordinary Inquisitor. He was once one of us.”

Lyra froze. “What?”

“He betrayed the Circle to the Church. It was his blade that struck the final blow against Aurenyx. He carries the brand of the oath-breaker even now.”

The truth hit like a hammer. The fire in her chest flared, responding to rage she couldn’t contain.

“He killed her,” Lyra whispered. “He killed you,” she said inwardly to the dragon.

Aurenyx’s voice answered, soft as thunder. He did. And he will not rest until he finishes what he began.

The leader’s eyes narrowed. “If you face him, you face the Church, the Inquisition, and every fear mankind ever buried. Are you prepared for that?”

Lyra lifted her head. The gold in her eyes burned brighter than the torches.

“I didn’t choose this fire,” she said, voice steady. “But I’ll use it to burn down the lies built on her ashes.”

For a long moment, silence filled the chamber.

Then the leader nodded once. “Then the Circle will stand with you.”

Serah frowned but said nothing.

Eira exhaled, shoulders relaxing for the first time in hours. Finn just shook his head. “Guess we’re starting a revolution now.”

Lyra almost smiled. “Looks that way.”

But far above, in the rain-soaked city, Kael Thorne stood in the ruins of the Basilica’s courtyard. His soldiers had found the open grate.

He looked down into the darkness, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding,” he murmured.

The lieutenant beside him spoke. “Do we pursue?”

Kael turned away. “Not yet. Let

her believe she’s safe.”

He gazed up at the storm-wracked sky, lightning flashing across his face.

“When she rises from the ashes,” he said softly, “I’ll be there to break her wings.”