CHAPTER 33: GATE OF ASH

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Emberfall city is now fully visible. Zephyr’s pulse quickened. He turned to Fenna. "What is your uncle’s name? You never talked about him."

"Arlen Dale. He runs a dyehouse down by the canal quarter. Light green roof, big sign of an inkpot." She paused. "He’s honest, mostly. Just... boisterous. I never talked about him, because..." She paused, "I will tell you later. Now is not the time."

"Okay! Tell me when you’re ready." Zephyr laughed. "Boisterous sounds good after Stonejaw."

Emberfall’s outer wall was low, built from dark basalt bricks that almost blended with the scorched ground. No pennants of the Royal Guild flew here, only mismatched banners.it was a crossed hammer and quill, a red phoenix emblem, an anchor over rising smoke. Free guilds.

Two sentries lounged at an iron rimmed gate, eyeing newcomers with casual suspicion. One was a broad woman in a leather scale puffing a coal weed pipe, the other was a lean half elf, flicked carved bone dice.

Zephyr stepped forward, his cloak hiding Star under his collar. "Travelers seeking trade and lodging."

Pipe woman grunted. "No fees, but trouble costs double." She eyed Zephyr’s hand. "Injured?"

"Nearly mended," Fenna said smoothly, showing her healer’s sigil. "I’m a registered trainee medic from my village."

The sentries waved them through.

Inside, Emberfall throbbed with life, forge rings clanged, steam carts hissed, hawkers shouted about sky eel jerky and flash quartz charms. Sulfurous mist coiled above vents in the cobbles, giving the air a metallic tang.

Star peeked out, nose twitching. Zephyr whispered, "Stealth." The baby dragon dimmed his glow, scales darkening to near charcoal.

The canal quarter lay south of the forges. Lava warmed channels steamed where water met rock. A bright green tiled roof finally appeared amid warehouses and tarp covered dye vats. A wooden sign: "Dale & Daughter —Rare Colors Since 512 NE (New Era)."

Before Zephyr could knock, a booming voice rang out: "You there! With the fine cloak, step in or freeze your toes off!"

A burly man with copper stained hands swept them inside, closing a bead curtain behind. The air smelled of wet wool, boiling dye, and spiced tea. Arlen Dale wore a striped waistcoat and a grin that lit his ruddy face. "Fenna!" He hugged her, nearly lifting her off the floor. "Weren’t you supposed to be at Lowmoor Academy? So why are you here... sneaking around like a fugitive?"

"Long story, Uncle," she laughed. "We need safe beds. And a guild sponsor."

Arlen’s grin widened. "Beds easy. Sponsor... depends on what trouble you bring."

Zephyr stepped forward. "Name’s Zephyr Valorian." A subtle roar of Command Aura flickered, confidence, not coercion. Arlen’s eyes narrowed, impressed.

In few sentences they explained: guild pursuit, caravan rescue, dragon research disguised as "Hollowback." Arlen listened, stroking his beard.

The scent of pine ash clung to the air, and the hearthfire crackled low in the stone forge behind them. Zephyr stood stiff, dust-caked boots planted on the old rug of Arlen Dale’s back room, part warehouse, part office, part sleeping quarters. Shelves sagged with crates of spice bark and scrap tools. Everything in the room reeked of hard work and half measured trust.

Arlen Dale, eyed Zephyr with the suspicion of a trader who’d outlived too many sweet talkers. His calloused hands rested on his belt, fingers drumming against the steel buckle as he leaned forward slightly.

"You carry big storm clouds, lad," he said at last, voice low but not unkind. "But you’re a good friend of my niece. That counts."

Zephyr met his gaze, uncertain. "Thank you, sir."

"But don’t thank me yet," Alfred added sharply, tone hardening. "Fenna vouches for you and that means something in this house. But you make her a fugitive. I can’t overlook it. You should have run alone... Although I am very disappointed with your poor decisions. But... If she’s willing to help you, I reckon you’re not entirely rotten. But I won’t lie to you either."

He leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "The city of Emberfall is free for all, it’s a fact. Free as a market gate when the toll’s already been paid."

Fenna, standing behind Zephyr with arms folded, frowned. "Uncle..."

Alfred held up a hand. "I’m saying it plain, girl. Let him hear it properly. Don’t interrupt, you made a stupid decision. If you didn’t run with him you could become stronger then help him. But now both of you are fugitives."

He turned back to Zephyr, voice like gravel. "Coin greases freedom here. You’ve got a beast with rare blood, wings like legend, and enough naivety to get yourself gutted before the week’s out. That’s a dangerous mix."

Zephyr stiffened, jaw tightening. "I didn’t come here to beg. Just to find a path forward. I know it was a mistake to bring Fenna with me. But I will fix it. Sir, if you have any solution please... tell me. "

Alfred nodded slowly, like a blacksmith measuring a flawed blade. "Then listen close. You want to stay in Emberfall, train that beast, and survive the games this city plays? You’ve got two roads." He held up two fingers.

"One, get a sponsor. The Phoenix Ring’s always sniffing around for rare critters. They love a show, and that drake of yours would shine in the pit. They’ll dress you up, parade you around, maybe even fund your growth. But you’ll owe them or rather they will own you for the rest of your life. And when the bill comes due... You can’t pay it off." He let the words hang like the reek of old iron.

Zephyr said nothing.

"Two," Alfred continued, "you open your own guild. You’ll have control. No leash. But it’ll cost you."

"How much?" Zephyr asked.

Alfred’s eyes flicked to Fenna before he answered. "Four hundred silver beast coins. Just to register. You’ll also need a piece of land to claim as your guild hall, unless you want to run it out of a tent in the gutters."

Zephyr blinked. "Four hundred Silver..." His voice cracked under the weight of it.