Chapter 8: Chapter Seven: Ashes Beneath Iron, Part IV: A Throne Without Chains

CHAPTER SEVEN — ASHES BENEATH IRON, PART IV: A THRONE WITHOUT CHAINS

📜 “Legacy doesn’t ask if you’re ready. It watches if you survive.”

Day 230 of the Twelvefold Cycle

Era of Concordance, Year 812 — Deep Duskhorn | Midnight

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The rain fell cold and thin, slicing through smoke and moonlight like threads of silver.

The system prompt flickered once in Ruki’s field of view — dim, ghostly, only for her eyes.

> [Fatigue: Critical — -20%]

>

> Mana Recovery: Locked

>

> Health Recovery: Locked

>

> ⚠ Further action may result in death or permanent injury.

>

> [LEVEL UP!] — Level 14 Reached

>

> Skill Slots Unlocked

>

> New Abilities Available

Ruki dropped to one knee.

The impact echoed through her frame — muscles trembling, ribs tight, vision blurred. Her fingers dug into shattered stone slick with rain. Steam still hissed from the scorched bricks behind her where Malfur had landed, his armor warped and cratered like a gutted forge.

“I didn’t kill you,” she whispered hoarsely. “Even if I should’ve…”

She spat near his boots.

The Tier 6 noble groaned, face half-buried in the ruin she’d left him in. Not from pain — from disbelief. His halberd was shattered. His pride, worse. And still, she could barely stand. Level 3 against a battle-hardened Fang-ranked killer. She hadn’t won through strength. She’d won because she refused to fucking lose.

The crowd hadn’t scattered — not fully. Some hung back under broken awnings, tucked in alley shadows. Lanterns crackled above swaying merchant banners, the rain bouncing off rusted steel and half-collapsed stalls. A beastkin child peeked out from behind a crate, collared, wide-eyed. Watching.

Then the Order came.

Boots hit stone in perfect rhythm, halberds raised, shields locked. South Trade Fang’s exit sealed in seconds. Uniformed bodies formed a wall of metal and mana. Behind them came Victor — dry, cloaked, his steps unnaturally silent. Even the rain curved around him like it knew better.

His glasses caught the city light like twin glyphs. “Attacking a noble,” he said. “A Fang-ranked officer. In front of civilians. Unregistered.”

He adjusted his cuffs with surgical calm. “That’s treason.”

Ruki tried to rise — her legs betrayed her, forcing her to brace with one hand. Mar-Mar’s voice buzzed faintly in her thoughts, sealed inside her arm in Soulbound form.

Ruki… you cannot keep making hospital decisions on a battlefield.

His tone carried weight, not scorn. Just disappointment.

You nearly died. Again. For someone you don’t even know.

Maybe you’re not a god’s weapon… maybe you’re worse. A girl who won’t let people die.

She didn’t respond. Not aloud. But something in her chest curled around those words — not regret. Not pride. Maybe loyalty. Maybe something deeper.

Then Willow stepped up.

Soaked. Bruised. Proud.

“Oh, come on,” she barked, limping forward with the same audacity that got her chased in the first place. “He came after me first. I just ran faster. Your Royal baked potato tried to deep-fry me in the street — she just redirected the heat.”

Victor’s eyes shifted to her like she was a stain on his floor. “Goblin tongue has no weight in court,” he said coldly. “Be quiet. Know your place.”

“Great,” Willow grinned. “Good thing I’m not goblin then.” She pointed at Ruki. “And she’s not yours. No crest. No collar. No leash. So unless you’re adding chain beastkin to your inventory, you’ve got no jurisdiction.”

That hit harder than the lightning did.

Ruki’s eyes snapped toward Willow, dazed but alert. She didn’t know what the girl had stolen, or why Malfur had hunted her like a dog. Didn’t matter. She’d seen that kind of look before — back in camps. Back in cages.

“You’re gonna explain all this later,” Ruki muttered, barely audible.

Willow side-eyed her, serious now. “Yeah. If we make it out breathing.”

Victor stepped closer. The cobblestone cracked faintly beneath his boot.

“You’ve crippled a noble officer. Damaged sanctioned property. Disrupted a patrol. You should be caged,” he said, voice cool and exact. “But… I’m feeling generous.”

The square tensed. Even the Order paused.

“You have four days,” Victor continued. “You’ll appear at the Political Fang’s central hall. You will settle your debt — in Imperial Shillings or in service. If you fail to appear…”

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

He smiled, just faintly.

“Don’t make me come find you.”

He turned. “Clear the square.”

The soldiers moved on command, but Malfur didn’t.

Two armored guards tried to lift him. He shoved one aside, staggering upright with a hiss of pain.

“You filthy nobody,” he spat at Ruki, blood smeared across his lip. “You’ll regret not finishing me. You’re marked now.”

He turned toward Victor, voice raised. “She aided that thief — she’s protecting a criminal!”

Victor didn’t even look back. “We’ll discuss it in private,” he said flatly. “You’ve already embarrassed yourself enough for one evening.”

Malfur’s fists clenched. But he limped off. Barely.

Ruki stood alone in the ruin she made.

Not shackled. Not claimed. Not dead.

But seen.

For the first time since awakening in this hell-world… the city was watching her.

She grinned — bitter, tired. “I left obedience in Room 406,” she muttered, her voice low. “If you think I crawled out of one world just to kneel in another, you really don’t know shit.”

Willow blinked. “You… were reborn?”

Ruki didn’t answer. Not yet.

“Well fuck it,” Willow laughed, brushing soaked bangs out of her face. “That was nuts. Lightning, spelljacks, cratering a noble? You’re fun.” She nodded ahead. “C’mon. We’ve drawn enough eyes. Let’s move before any more Order grunts or black market freaks get ideas.”

Ruki nodded. Slow. Quiet.

“Not like we’ve got options.”

As they turned down a crooked side alley, Willow raised an eyebrow.

“You can’t be more than what — sixteen? We’re the same height. You always punch that high above your weight?”

Ruki snorted. “Not usually this stupid about it.”

“What’s your Vein Flux?”

“My what?”

Willow paused. “Nevermind. We’ll talk later.”

She glanced behind them, where shadows flickered behind vendor tarps and whispers curled from behind alleys. Collared Beastkin crouched near the river rail, watching the two of them walk free.

Willow’s tone dropped. “There are worse things than Victor in this city. Slavers. Hunters. Syndicate men who don’t need permission to take what they want.”

Ruki didn’t look back.

“Then let’s make sure we’re not worth taking.”

Together, they vanished into the fog-soaked streets of Black Fang — the ruined gates behind them, and The Whining Moon ahead.

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Chapter Seven Part II

Day 230 of the Twelvefold Cycle

Era of Concordance, Year 812 – Deep Duskhorn | Early Morning | Kaelira POV

The cellar still hadn’t settled. Not really.

Victor’s name lingered like mildew, souring every corner it touched — clinging to the stone, to the firelight, to the silence that came after Selene’s words:

“He’ll be the first one to burn.”

The slow drip from the rusted pipe in the far corner kept time. No one moved. It had been nearly seven minutes.

Upstairs, boots creaked against the floorboards above. Patrons shuffled. Voices hummed low. Black Fang hadn’t slept — it was waiting, watching, like the city itself was holding its breath.

The long oak table in the center bore every scar of this rebellion — claw marks, knife grooves, scorch rings from reckless spells. Ethel hadn’t touched his mug. The braided ends of his white hair clung to his shoulders, damp with sweat… or maybe rain. It didn’t matter.

Selene stood across from him, arms crossed, her black coat still clinging to the sewer’s last breath. A faint glint shimmered along her collar — a golden thread, stitched with the Tachi Trade Company’s mark, catching shadow more than flame. Her expression didn’t waver as the cellar door opened behind her.

A beastkin woman stepped in quietly. Dark-skinned, long locs tied with iron pins, and loyalty worn like armor. Eviue leaned close and murmured something in their native tongue.

“They’re gone,” Selene translated. “Victor and his men left Trade Fang empty-handed. No arrests. No trail.”

Eviue nodded once and disappeared through the same door — silent as she entered.

Selene turned back toward Kaelira. “I say this with all respect, but… can you explain how the Lurie heir — if that’s who she is — ended up alone? I’m struggling to grasp why the Queen’s Shadow wouldn’t bring her in directly.”

The heat behind her voice wasn’t disrespect. It was real confusion. Sharp, but earned.

“You said she made her choice. So her choice was to solo into Black Fang, clash with a Fang-ranked noble, and land herself in the middle of Victor’s damn politics?” Selene’s brow tightened. “No leash. No plan. That doesn’t sound like the heir to anything.”

Juizo had stopped pacing. His tattooed arms hung still at his sides now, eyes narrowed, reading every twitch in Kaelira’s face. Ethel hadn’t spoken — but his silence carried weight. He wasn’t one to rush judgment. But he was waiting for the truth.

Kaelira didn’t flinch. Not at Selene’s tone. Not at the stares. But her silence stretched a breath too long before she spoke.

“I parted from her before arriving here,” she said. “It was my choice. If she’s to be queen, she can’t be coddled. She needs to make decisions. Even reckless ones.”

Selene scoffed under her breath, but Ethel raised a hand — not to stop her, but to give Kaelira space.

“You didn’t see her wake up in that camp,” Kaelira continued, voice lower now. “She was nothing. Shaking. Quiet. Broken. And then—just like that—she was a tactician. Lightning affinity. Tactical casting. She moved like she’d fought before. We both know what that means.”

She looked up, locking eyes with Ethel. “Lurie had it. But Ruki didn’t inherit a throne. She inherited a target. And a bond.”

“…The Whiteveil,” Selene murmured, jaw tightening.

Kaelira nodded. “Marzha’ren. She bonded him without trying. The moment I saw that, I knew her path wouldn’t follow ours. So I gave her space. I gave her time. I told her… we’d meet here. In a month.”

“A month?” Juizo’s voice cracked. “Kaelira, what the fuck? You think this is a game? There’s blood in the streets. That stunt she pulled just painted a bounty target on her damn back.”

“She needs to earn more than just a throne,” Kaelira said coolly. “She needs to survive it.”

Juizo stepped forward, tone rising. “And what if she doesn’t?! What if some chain-brand bounty fuck gets to her first? Or Victor flips this into a propaganda play? You just watched from the sidelines like it’s a damn test?”

“Enough.”

Ethel’s voice landed like thunder. Not angry — final.

Juizo backed down. Not from fear. From respect.

Ethel leaned forward, fingers pressed to the table. “She’s still royalty, Kaelira. That means her recklessness becomes our consequence. So I ask you now, plainly — did you plan any of this?”

Kaelira’s jaw clenched. “No.”

She stood then — tall, sharp, silent — and reached for the bottle on the table. One pull. Two. The liquid burned down her throat as she wiped her lips with the back of her hand.

“I was angry,” she admitted. “Because she wasn’t Lurie . Because she’s not the queen I thought we’d follow. And because… I think she might be something worse.”

She reached into her cloak and dropped something on the table. A faint glyph pulsed along its edge — a sigil rune, embedded into polished cloth.

“I gave her Lurie’s old armor. I wove a tracker into the inner lining. She’s not running. She’s headed here.”

Juizo scoffed under his breath, jaw tight, voice low.

“Then gods help whoever gets in her way.”

END OF CHAPTER SEVEN

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