Ash drifted from the sky like black snow.
Kael stood at the center of the ruined battlefield, the ground scorched beneath his feet, and the lingering embers of the Sixth Flame curling around his fingers. The body of the Warden of Chains had crumbled into divine dust, fading into the soil like forgotten history. Yet, despite their hard-won victory, Kael's eyes were distant.
The flame within him was too quiet.
It had whispered once, a chilling truth: One Warden falls. Nine remain.
Now, even that whisper had gone still.
Aelira sat on a rock nearby, her long silver hair falling in streaks over her wounded shoulders, the Celestial Fang stabbed into the earth beside her like a monument. Her gaze wasn't on Kael—it was fixed on the cracked sky above.
"They'll come now," she said. "The other Wardens. The Gatekeepers. The ones watching this realm for signs of awakening."
Kael looked down at his scorched hand. "Then let them come."
"No," Aelira said softly. "You're not ready."
He didn't argue. Not because she was right, but because something deeper was stirring. Not power, but memory.
Fragments of it. Forgotten echoes.
The battle had shaken something loose within him—not just the seal on his cultivation, but something older. Something locked away since childhood.
That night in the forest.
The fire.
The screams.
The figure cloaked in chains who had watched him from the edge of the inferno.
"Kael, you must never remember…" someone had told him once.
But he was remembering now.
And it terrified him.
They left the battlefield before dusk. The Flame Sect's outer elders, alarmed by the destruction, tried to intercept them—but one look at the scorched mountain and the twin auras surrounding Kael and Aelira silenced any questions.
Kael barely spoke. He followed instinct more than thought, as if something within him guided his steps.
They descended toward the forgotten cavern—a place not marked on any map, shielded by old illusions.
"How do you know this place?" Aelira asked.
"I don't," Kael replied. "But my flame does."
They entered the cavern.
It was silent. Cold. The walls were marked with ancient symbols, the language of the Primordial Flame—long lost even to the sages of the central empire.
As they moved deeper, the walls began to glow faintly, responding to Kael's presence.
Then they reached the heart.
A chamber bathed in golden light.
There, floating in the center, was a brazier—its flame untouched by time, flickering with an eerie blue fire. Beneath it was a pedestal carved from obsidian, etched with the names of ten Wardens. Nine were still lit.
Only one was dark.
"The Warden of Chains," Aelira whispered.
Kael stepped forward.
The brazier flared.
A voice echoed—not spoken, but felt.
"Flamebound Heir… why do you wake us?"
Kael clenched his fists. "Because I have to know who I am."
A long silence.
Then, the flames parted, revealing a memory—a projection burned into the air.
A boy.
A woman in robes of fire.
A betrayal.
A sealing ritual.
And a voice, warm and broken: "Forgive me, Kael. This flame must sleep until the world is ready."
Kael fell to his knees.
Aelira caught him before he collapsed.
"You saw it," she said. "Didn't you?"
"My mother," Kael murmured. "She sealed everything. My power… my past."
The brazier's flame dimmed.
And then a single ember leapt into Kael's chest—igniting a flame that pulsed not with rage, but clarity.
It wasn't the Forsaken Flame.
It was older.
The First Flame.
Outside the cave, the wind shifted.
Across the continent, in the frozen north, a chained Warden opened his eyes.
In the capital of the Azure Empire, the Emperor dropped his teacup, trembling.
And in the deepest dungeon of the Obsidian Sect, a chained girl whispered:
"He's waking up."
Kael stood, his aura transformed. It wasn't just fire—it was legacy. Bloodline. Destiny.
"We have work to do," he said to Aelira.
"Where do we start?"
He turned, eyes glowing.
"With the next Warden."