The woman stepped back, her figure dissolving into the shadows as though she had never been there at all. For a heartbeat, Ember stood frozen, her mind racing. The words of the mysterious figure echoed in her thoughts. What if the spark you seek isn't what you think it is?
The question unsettled her more than she cared to admit. She had thought the Flame was the answer, the key to everything—peace, power, balance. But the further they journeyed, the more she felt the Flame slipping beyond her understanding, a puzzle missing pieces.
"Ember?" Kaelen's voice broke through her thoughts. "Are you alright?"
Ember nodded, but her gaze lingered on the shadows, the cold of the hall pressing into her chest. "I don't know what I'm walking into, Kaelen. But we need to keep moving."
Lysra stepped forward, eyes narrowed, her fingers brushing the hilt of her daggers. "This place is twisting, Ember. It's not just a fortress—it's a prison of memories, a place built on forgotten power. If that woman is right, then everything we've believed might be a lie."
"I don't know if it's a lie," Ember said, voice steady but laced with uncertainty, "But I do know this: If we don't keep moving forward, we lose. Not just the Flame, but the chance to choose our own path."
The walls of Emberhold seemed to lean in, as if listening, as if waiting for her to make the next move. The light of her Flame flickered once more, steadying her resolve. She couldn't let herself fall into doubt—not now, not when they were so close.
They moved deeper into the fortress, each step growing heavier as if the very stones resisted their presence. The air grew colder still, and Ember's breath formed fog in front of her. She could feel the pull of the spark ahead, deeper within Emberhold, but the closer they came, the more the silence pressed on her, thick and suffocating.
Suddenly, a door appeared before them—ancient and wrought with symbols they couldn't comprehend. It was ajar, as though it had been waiting for them. Ember stepped forward without hesitation, her hand on the cold wood.
Lysra placed a hand on her arm. "Hold on. There's something wrong with this place. I've been watching shadows shift around us."
Ember met her gaze and nodded. "I feel it too. But we need answers. We need to see what's behind this door."
With a deep breath, she pushed it open.
Beyond the door lay a vast, empty chamber—at least, it appeared empty at first. The floor was made of polished black stone, and at its center, an altar stood, carved with more of the Flame's ancient runes. The air thrummed with power, thick and heavy, but there was no warmth to it, only a coldness that reached deep into Ember's bones.
And there, standing in the center of the room, was the last spark.
It pulsed before them like a heartbeat—a brilliant ember, glowing with a light that seemed to cast no shadow. It was perfect, undisturbed by time or corruption, and yet... it felt wrong. It felt like a trap.
"You came," a voice rang out, not from the spark, but from the shadows.
Ember whirled around, her blade ready. The woman—the one who had guided them here—emerged from the darkness, her figure clear now, no longer a shadow. She was dressed in flowing robes that seemed to shimmer with an ethereal light. Her eyes were ancient, timeless, and they watched Ember with an unreadable expression.
"I've seen your kind before, Ember Solara," the woman said, her voice quiet but commanding. "You choose paths, but you do not understand the cost of the choices you make. You think you seek a spark, but you seek power."
"I seek the truth," Ember replied, her voice firm despite the doubt creeping in. "The Flame is the truth. The past, the future, all of it is bound in the Flame."
The woman smiled. "The Flame is a lie. A twisted remnant of a forgotten age. The true power lies in the choice itself. Do you know what it costs to light the world again, Ember? Do you truly understand the path you walk?"
Ember's heart raced. She knew this moment was coming, but the weight of it felt unbearable. She had always been so sure, so certain that the Flame was the answer. But now, standing before the last spark, surrounded by shadows that whispered of forgotten truths, she wasn't so sure anymore.
"I don't understand," she admitted. "But I have to try. The world is broken, and the Flame—my Flame—will fix it."
The woman's eyes softened, just a fraction. "The world is broken, yes. But the Flame will not fix it. It will burn everything it touches, leaving only ash. You are not the first to come seeking this. But the choice is always the same."
Ember's gaze flickered to the ember, still pulsing in the center of the room. She could feel the call of it deep inside her, drawing her closer, promising answers, offering power. The Flame was the key to everything—wasn't it?
But what if the woman was right?
"What is the choice?" Ember asked, her voice quiet, filled with uncertainty.
The woman's lips curled into a smile. "The choice is simple. Take the spark, and become what the Flame has always meant you to be. Or leave it, and let the world go on, broken and forgotten."
Ember stared at the spark. The weight of the choice pressed on her chest, the knowledge that whatever she decided would shape everything that came after. But the woman's words echoed in her mind, warning her.
Was the Flame the answer?
Or was it a trap, just like this fortress?
Ember closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and made her choice.