The wind howled across the shattered plateau, where blood had soaked into the blackened soil and the last remnants of battle still sizzled in the air. Smoke curled from cracks in the ground like whispers of a war not yet done, and over the ridge, the skies churned in a slow spiral of grey and fire.
Ashen stood at the edge of a broken cliff, the remnants of the eastern front spread behind him. His cloak billowed in the hot wind, scorched and torn, and a thin cut traced his jawline where Kael's blade had kissed too close.
Below, the remnants of the Chimera horde twitched and smoldered, charred by fire and ruptured by mana spikes. The final clash with Kael's corrupted soldiers had left scars on more than just the land. The cost was written across every breath Ashen drew—strained, but still rising.
Beside him, Lyra sat with her prosthetic arm resting across her lap, the silver plating etched with fresh runes from the Forge Priestess. Her real arm may have been taken, but her resolve was unshakable. Bandages peeked from beneath her armor, and her expression held the still focus of someone ready to move forward despite the pain.
"I never thought we'd live through that one," she said softly, her voice a wry whisper over the wind.
Ashen glanced at her. "You almost didn't."
Lyra smirked, a flicker of defiance returning to her face. "You almost lost your ribs to that Void Beast's tail."
"Fair," he admitted. "But I still walked away."
"Staggered, you mean."
Their banter was a quiet shield against what they'd just endured—and what was coming next. Below the cliffs, the ruins of the Obsidian Bastion smoldered like a corpse too proud to crumble completely. That had been Kael's stronghold. And it was now a tomb.
Or so they hoped.
A voice crackled in Ashen's ear—Thorne, speaking through a crystal communicator.
"You need to see this," came the gruff call. "We found something buried beneath the inner sanctum. Get down here."
Ashen clicked the crystal in response, then turned to Lyra. "Time to find out if this was really the end—or just another doorway."
Together, they descended into the broken halls of the Bastion. Stone had collapsed in on itself, and pillars once etched with ancient sigils now lay fractured and inert. Thorne waited near the shattered altar, his armor stained with ash and ichor. He held a strange artifact in his gauntleted hands—a cube of obsidian that pulsed with a heartbeat rhythm.
"This was beneath the command dais," Thorne said. "Protected by an enchantment older than anything I've seen."
Ashen stepped closer. The cube responded to him, glowing brighter, as though recognizing the fire of Emberfang in his soul. The runes across its surface shifted—an ancient script neither of them recognized, but whose power they could feel.
Lyra tilted her head. "It's not a weapon."
"No," Ashen said slowly, "It's a key."
Thorne frowned. "To what?"
Ashen didn't have an answer. But the cube was drawing heat from the air around it, and deep within its core, a flicker of something alive pulsed—a memory sealed in crystal.
Lyra looked up sharply. "It's showing something. Look."
The cube's topmost face began to project an image in firelight—a burning city. No, not burning—being consumed. A wave of black flame rushed across rooftops and towers, disintegrating stone like paper. Above the inferno hovered a figure wreathed in shadow, but with molten eyes and a crimson cloak.
"The Seared One," Ashen breathed.
"But he's dead," Lyra said. "You saw it happen—his essence collapsed after the last ritual."
Ashen watched the projection play again. "Or… we thought we saw it. What if what we destroyed was just a fragment?"
Thorne grunted. "You think he's still out there?"
"No," Ashen said, narrowing his eyes. "I think this is from the past."
He reached out to the cube. It pulsed once, then twice—and then it spoke.
"Bearer of Flame," it echoed in a voice neither male nor female. "The Pact was broken. The Fire betrayed the Balance. You must find the Echoes. Or all shrines will fall."
The message repeated. Then the cube dimmed.
Lyra looked shaken. "What does that mean?"
Ashen didn't answer right away. His mind was racing, piecing together fragments from his dreams, from the shrine rituals, from the forgotten lore of the Beast Thrones.
"I think... there were others before me. Other bearers."
"And they failed?"
"Or vanished before the end. If we find their traces—those Echoes—it might tell us what really happened back then. And how to stop it from happening again."
Thorne exhaled. "So, not the end of the war. Just the end of the first battle."
Ashen nodded. "Let's rebuild our strength. Then we go hunting for answers."
That night, as the army camp settled under the fractured moonlight, Ashen sat beside the embers of the fire, lost in thought. Lyra approached, her steps soft on the grass.
"You're thinking too loud," she said, settling beside him.
"I keep wondering," he said, eyes on the stars, "if I'm just following someone else's footsteps. Someone who already failed."
She touched his arm lightly. "You're not them. You've already gone further. You've already changed more."
He met her gaze. "Then why does it feel like the fire is getting heavier?"
"Because the weight only grows when you're strong enough to carry it."
Ashen chuckled softly. "You're getting good at the sage advice thing."
"I had a good teacher."
Their hands brushed. This time, neither pulled away.
But before anything else could pass between them, a horn sounded in the distance—one short, sharp blast. A scout signal. Trouble.
They stood at once, weapons already half-drawn. Thorne's voice echoed from across the camp.
"Riders coming in! They bear no banners!"
Ashen moved fast, fire flickering in his palms. "Stay behind me."
"Not a chance," Lyra said, blade already in hand.
They approached the northern rise just in time to see the riders crest the hill—three cloaked figures on skeletal steeds, their auras like flickers of dying stars. One held a banner—a torn fragment of crimson cloth.
The lead rider removed his hood.
Ashen froze. "No…"
It was Kael.
But he was different. Half of his face was scorched, revealing blackened bone beneath. His eyes glowed an unnatural violet, and from his back—Void wings had grown, twisted and metallic.
"I told you," Kael rasped, his voice a broken echo, "this isn't over. I saw the truth inside the flame. And I embraced it."
Ashen stepped forward, fury rising like a tidal wave. "You betrayed everything. Everyone."
Kael smiled. "No, Ashen. I evolved. And soon, you'll understand. The Echoes won't save you. They'll break you."
He raised a hand—and from the sky, a crack of darkness split the air.
Then he vanished into the void.
Ashen stood frozen for a heartbeat longer, fists clenched, eyes burning.
Lyra touched his shoulder. "That was a message."
He nodded slowly. "Then we send one back."