They left the hollow spire just after dawn.
The air was different. Still heavy, still thick with ash — but not quiet anymore. Something murmured at the edge of every breath, like a forgotten voice trying to remember itself.
Irin felt it before they reached the outer walls of the ruined city: a gentle, insistent pull on the mark beneath his sleeve. Not pain. Not even heat. A presence.
The Hollow Flame had awakened something deeper than memory.
And now… something else was listening.
They camped on the outskirts, just beyond the shadow of the last tower. The trees here grew twisted and pale, their bark ashy-grey and dry to the touch. No wind stirred their branches, yet they creaked as if moved by an unseen current.
Kael sat apart from the others. His gaze wandered constantly — not just at the dead forest, but toward his own hands. Ever since the descent into the spire, he'd been quieter. More focused. Restless in a way that made Irin uneasy.
The boy was changing.
Too fast.
Later that evening, Kael approached him.
"I want to try again," he said, standing just beyond the firelight. His voice was firm — almost too firm for his age.
Irin met his eyes. "You nearly burned yourself last time."
"I didn't mean to lose control."
"I know," Irin said. "But meaning doesn't matter to the flame."
Kael hesitated. "Then how do you keep it from devouring you?"
Irin paused.
"I don't."
That answer seemed to silence the boy, but only for a moment. He stepped forward.
"Please. Let me try again. I don't want it to control me. I want to… understand it."
Lera, who had been resting nearby, glanced over. Her brow creased, but she said nothing.
Irin stood slowly.
"All right. But this time — you follow exactly what I say."
They moved into a clearing between fallen trees and blackened stone. The moonlight filtered faintly through the ash-covered sky, giving the whole world a silver tint.
Irin knelt and motioned for Kael to sit opposite him.
"Breathe. Let the mark settle. Don't force anything."
Kael closed his eyes. The mark on his wrist flickered faintly — then grew steady.
Irin watched carefully. The energy was unstable, but familiar. Raw. It hummed just beneath the skin.
"Now call it," he said. "Gently. No will. Just welcome it."
Kael's fingers twitched. A small spark of red-orange light shimmered between his palms.
It hovered.
Balanced.
Then — it wobbled.
Irin reached out to intervene, but the spark flared too fast.
A burst of energy shot outward. Dirt lifted. Leaves blackened and curled. The clearing brightened for a split second — and then fell still.
Kael slumped forward, breathing hard. His hands smoked.
Irin caught him before he collapsed fully.
"You're fine," he said quietly.
Kael blinked. "I… I felt it. Just for a moment. It was clear. Like it knew me."
Lera arrived and knelt beside them. "And then it nearly boiled your blood."
Kael lowered his head. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Irin said. "That was better than before."
But inside, he wasn't sure.
The flame inside Kael responded too easily now. Not like Irin's first years of flickering control — this was immediate. Too immediate.
And something about that disturbed him more than it should have.
They didn't sleep well that night.
The flame under Kael's skin pulsed even in dreams. It lit the inside of the tent faintly, like a heartbeat projected through canvas. Lera kept watch, her blade never more than an arm's reach away.
Irin sat alone beside the fire, tracing the edges of the new mark on his wrist — the one branded by the Hollow Flame. It didn't hum like the Ashstone. It didn't whisper.
It waited.
And that, somehow, was worse.
By morning, the ash fell heavier than usual — a slow, constant drift like snow that had forgotten how to melt.
They traveled north. The trees grew sparser, replaced by old watchposts and roads overtaken by thorn and moss. Every few miles, they saw signs of collapsed caravans, broken sigils, and fragments of mage-etched stone.
Ruins were nothing new. But these felt wrong.
As if someone had tried to erase them.
Kael stuck close to Lera's side. He didn't speak unless spoken to. And when he did, his voice always returned to one subject:
"Did it feel like this for you?"
Irin never gave the same answer.
Because it never did.
Midday brought a change.
They crossed what used to be a wide stone bridge, most of it collapsed into the dry ravine below. As they reached the far side, Kael suddenly stopped.
He was breathing hard.
"What is it?" Irin asked.
"I… I don't know. Something's… humming."
He grabbed his wrist.
Irin stepped forward.
Kael's mark glowed again — not just a spark this time, but a soft, resonant shimmer that spread across his forearm.
Lera drew her blade on instinct. "He's not doing that."
"I know," Irin said.
Then he felt it too.
From the earth below.
A vibration.
Not seismic — magical.
A pulse.
They followed it.
Through the trees, past a wall of vine-covered stone, and into a broken amphitheater carved into a natural bowl of black rock.
At its center: a pedestal.
On it — a shattered statue.
Half of it resembled a man. The other half was scorched into unrecognizable ruin.
Symbols surrounded its base, some matching those from the Hollow Flame, others far older.
And all of them… were shaking.
Kael stepped closer.
The moment he entered the circle, every mark on the stone flared with red light.
Irin grabbed him by the shoulder. "Don't move."
Lera circled wide, keeping her eyes on the surrounding cliffs.
Then the pedestal began to rise.
A low grinding echoed from beneath, and the base of the amphitheater shifted. Stone peeled back like petals, revealing a circle of deep obsidian.
From its center rose a flame — white, cold, whispering.
Irin stepped forward. His own mark blazed in response.
He heard no words.
But he understood.
The Ashborn had not built this.
They had tried to seal it.
And now it stirred again.
He stood at the edge and stared into the light.
The whisper returned — not language, but presence.
Not Sirat.
Not the Ashstone.
Something older.
Watching.
Measuring.
Waiting.
Lera stepped beside him. "We should leave."
He nodded, but his gaze didn't shift. "It's calling. Not just to us."
She frowned. "To who, then?"
He finally turned.
"To anyone still listening."
That night, they built no fire.
Kael's mark no longer glowed, but he barely slept.
Lera paced like a restless wolf.
Irin sat apart, his mind far from the hollow ruins and broken paths.
He could feel it now — not just the weight of memory, but the beginning of something forming around him.
A pattern.
A tension.
As if the world itself was drawing breath.
And when it exhaled… something would change.