The wind over the Emberfields had changed.
Where once it carried the scent of scorched earth and rebirth, now it whispered like a funeral dirge. Cold, dry, hollow. As if the world itself were holding its breath for something it had no words to name.
Serayah stood at the highest ridge, overlooking the vast ruins of what had once been the Citadel of Embers. Her wings of Equinox Flame flickered, dimmer now, as though even they sensed what was coming.
Below her, a gathering formed—warriors, mystics, seers, and survivors. All who had followed her through fire and time now stood beneath an uncertain sky, united not by victory, but by fear.
Lucien approached from behind, his armor gleaming faintly in the dying light. "The people wait for answers."
"They won't like them," Serayah said quietly.
"They never do."
The Scroll of Final Flame
They had uncovered it in the last vault beneath the Ember Citadel—a scorched scroll sealed in runes older than the world's written languages. Even the First Flame hadn't dared touch it without Serayah present.
Kai unfurled it on the obsidian altar, his eyes scanning line after line etched in a flame-touched dialect. The words shimmered as he read aloud:
"When fire knew fear, the Hollow was born.Not a flame, not a void—but the memory of both.It sleeps beneath ash, where hope dies.When all lights fade, it rises."
Serayah frowned. "It's prophecy."
The First Flame's voice was low, her expression pale. "No. It's record."
Amina stiffened. "You mean it's already happened?"
The elder nodded slowly. "Once. And it nearly undid the world."
Fragments of the Hollow
That night, Serayah entered the dream plane—guided by Kai and anchored by Amina's steady presence at her side. She walked through the mirrored corridors of fate, seeking the heart of the Hollow Flame.
What she found chilled her deeper than any void.
It was not a person. Not a beast. Not a god.
It was a wound.
A wound in the fabric of creation.
She saw memories that didn't belong to her—blazing suns collapsing into themselves, people whispering prayers that turned to screams, and a boy made of fire screaming as his body burned from the inside out, consumed by a hunger he could not control.
"They called him the Kindling," a voice murmured.
Serayah turned.
Vel'Zharan's phantom form lingered at the edge of the dream realm, fading like smoke.
"You think you've faced monsters, girl. But the Hollow Flame does not conquer. It consumes. He is not ambition, or revenge, or chaos. He is what's left when the fire forgets what it is."
"And he remembers you."
The Return from the Dream
Serayah jolted awake with a gasp.
Her skin felt scorched. Not from outside—but from within.
Kai steadied her. "What did you see?"
She looked up slowly, eyes glowing with residual flame.
"A child. Lost in fire. Burned by the gods' war. Forgotten by time. And now… he's waking."
Amina narrowed her eyes. "How soon?"
Serayah didn't answer. She turned instead to the horizon.
Because it was already happening.
A great crack split the distant sky, and from its depth, a soft ember-red glow pulsed like a heartbeat. Faint, but unmistakable.
Lucien cursed under his breath. "We're out of time."
The Divided Flame
In the following days, tensions rose among their allies. Some called for preemptive action—strike the Hollow before he fully emerged. Others believed they should evacuate the cities and seal the rift with the Equinox Flame.
But Serayah knew the truth. The Hollow wasn't in the world.
He was the world, unraveling.
And then came the final betrayal.
Cliffhanger: The First Flame's Choice
The First Flame summoned Serayah to the ancient hearth beneath the Citadel. There, in the flickering shadows, the truth came undone.
"I was the one who cast the Kindling into the Hollow," the elder admitted.
Serayah froze. "You… created him?"
"I thought I was saving the world. But I was saving myself. I tried to erase the boy's power—to suppress the chaos in his soul. I failed."
Serayah's hands trembled. "You knew this was coming and never said a word?"
"I hoped you'd never have to face him."
The ground trembled beneath their feet.
A sound like a thousand forgotten names echoed from the north.
And from the shadow of the broken flame altar… a figure stepped forward.
Small. Young. Eyes like coals left too long in the dark.
The Kindling.
"Hello, Serayah," he said, his voice calm and childlike."Did you come to finish what they started?"