The Flame of Memory still pulsed in Kael's chest, warm yet heavy—like a second heartbeat trying to find rhythm with his own.
They stood in silence as the light faded from the amphitheater. The Vale of Shattered Glass grew dim again, but Kael saw differently now. Each broken spire, every fractured crystal bore traces of what had once been—a thriving civilization erased not by time, but betrayal.
Kael stumbled slightly. Elara was at his side in an instant. "Are you alright?"
He nodded slowly, fingers pressed to his chest. "It's… a lot. I can hear them. Voices. Thousands of them."
Lysaria stepped forward, awe dancing in her silver eyes. "You carry their essence now. You're not just a bearer of flame—you're the vessel of remembrance."
"What does that mean, exactly?" Elara asked, ever practical.
"It means," Lysaria said, "Kael can summon more than fire now. He can call upon the knowledge and abilities of those who held this flame before him."
Kael blinked. "That sounds… overwhelming."
"It is," Lysaria replied. "But it may be our only chance to survive what's coming."
As they made their way out of the Vale, Kael felt stronger—but also more burdened. Memories flitted behind his eyes: ancient warriors wielding fire like dance, children laughing in the amber-lit streets of Aeltherra, the sound of mourning songs carried by desert winds.
Then a new image—one that did not belong to the past.
He saw fire raining from a blood-red sky. Cities turned to ash. And at the center of it all, the Sovereign, seated on a throne of bone and obsidian, eyes like twin suns.
Kael staggered. The vision hit him so hard he nearly collapsed.
"Elara!" Lysaria caught him as he fell to one knee.
"I saw it," Kael gasped. "The end. The Sovereign is preparing something—something catastrophic. He's drawing power from all the ley lines. And he knows we're coming."
Lysaria paled. "Then we must move faster. The other groups need to be warned."
Suddenly, the sky darkened—not from weather, but from shadow.
Shapes descended—winged creatures with twisted bodies and burning eyes. Wraithravens, servants of the Sovereign. Dozens of them.
"We've been tracked!" Elara shouted, drawing her daggers.
Kael's flame surged to life, hotter than before. The voices inside him stirred, and with them, muscle memory not his own.
He raised his palm, and a wall of golden fire erupted from the ground, shielding them.
"Go!" he yelled. "Head for the ravine—we'll lose them in the cliffs!"
They sprinted through the crystalline valley, glass crunching underfoot and arrows of shadow raining down. Kael turned, hurling orbs of searing memory-flame that struck true, vaporizing the closest wraithravens.
But more came. Endless, like a storm of black wings.
They reached the edge of a narrow ravine, and without hesitation, Kael leapt, landing hard on the other side. Elara and Lysaria followed close behind. He raised his hand again, and with a roar, sealed the ravine entrance with molten flame.
The creatures screeched in fury behind them, unable to pass.
They collapsed behind a boulder, gasping for breath.
"That was too close," Elara panted.
"They know," Kael said. "The Sovereign knows about the Flame of Memory."
"And now," Lysaria added, "he'll stop at nothing to extinguish it again."
Kael looked up at the distant horizon, where a faint glow hinted at dawn. The road ahead was treacherous, but now, more than ever, he understood what he carried.
Not just flame. Not just hope.
But every forgotten voice that had once dared to fight.