Chapter 39. Children of Smoke

They arrived under a veil of frigid dawn, the sky still bruised purple and slate where night clung stubbornly to the horizon. A bitter wind scraped across the clearing, carrying the acrid snap of old flame and the damp sting of wet soot. Every inhalation tasted of ash and burn, as though the world itself had exhaled blackened breath. Before them lay the orphanage outpost—what was left of it, at least. Once it had been a bustling training camp where the Council reared the “unblooded,” its walls ringing with laughter and shouts. Now it lay in jagged ruin: timber ribs charred to coal protruded skyward like fingers frozen mid-scream. Ash drifted in lazy eddies around their bases, stirred only by the restless breeze.

Aeryn dismounted first, her leather boots landing with a muted crunch atop the carpet of ash and splintered wood. She did not speak. She did not command. She simply stood, shoulders squared, as though the cold hush pressed so close it might whisper secrets in her ear.