The desert wind screamed across the dunes like a dying beast, flinging waves of sand into the air as Kael, Elara, and Lysaria trekked toward their next destination—Vael'tharyn, the hidden city beneath the dust.
According to Lysaria, it was once a thriving underground kingdom carved into a hollowed mesa, long buried by time and the Sovereign's wrath. It was also the last known location of the Flame of Echoes, one of the five core flames needed to challenge the Sovereign's reign.
"The entrance should be near," Lysaria said, her fingers dancing through the air as she read ancient runes etched on a crumbling stone arch partially buried in sand. "Vael'tharyn lies beneath. But the gateway is sealed with a sound key."
"A sound key?" Elara raised an eyebrow. "You mean, like music?"
Kael frowned. "I don't play instruments."
"You don't have to," Lysaria said. "You just need to remember the song of the city."
Kael stepped forward and placed a hand on the stone. The voices in his chest stirred—the memory flame reacting. He closed his eyes, allowing the memories of past Flamebearers to surge. A soft melody echoed in his mind. Not sung with words, but with heartbeats, rhythm, and longing.
He hummed.
The archway shimmered, resonating with the tune. Slowly, the sand parted like a curtain, revealing an ancient stairwell spiraling down into darkness lit with flickering amber runes.
"I'm never going to get used to this," Elara muttered as they descended.
The air grew colder the deeper they went, and the walls began to shimmer with fragments of mirrored crystal. Faint whispers filled the narrow corridor, but they weren't threatening—just echoes of laughter, conversation, daily life long gone.
At last, the stairwell opened into a vast subterranean city, cradled in a hollowed-out cavern. Towers of marble and quartz stretched upward like stalagmites, and glowing vines wrapped themselves around buildings in a soft, bioluminescent embrace.
"It's beautiful," Elara whispered.
"And abandoned," Lysaria added, her voice hushed.
They moved carefully through the silent streets. Statues stood untouched, frozen in time. But Kael could feel something watching them—dormant, patient.
"The Flame of Echoes is kept in the Hall of Resonance," Lysaria said. "It's guarded by the Echo Wardens—spirits bound to protect the city."
"Let's hope they're in a forgiving mood," Elara muttered, scanning rooftops.
They reached the Hall—an elegant structure of spiraling glass and black stone, its doors inscribed with flowing script. As Kael approached, the doors swung open with a low hum.
Inside, pillars lined the circular room. And in the center, floating above a dais, was the Flame of Echoes—a translucent flame that shimmered in and out of sight, like a heartbeat between worlds.
Kael stepped closer, heart pounding. But before he could touch it, the room trembled.
From the shadows emerged three figures—tall, ethereal, robed in tattered echoes of ancient attire. Their eyes glowed like stars, and voices overlapped when they spoke.
"Only one who carries the truth of many may claim the echo."
Kael stood his ground. "I carry the Flame of Memory. I've seen the truth of Aeltherra. I seek not to steal—only to restore what was lost."
The wardens regarded him in silence. Then one reached out a hand. "Then echo our sorrow… and endure."
A wave of energy struck Kael, dragging him into a memory not his own—one of betrayal, of a city swallowed by silence, of hope dashed by a flame corrupted.
Kael screamed, the sorrow tearing through him.
But he stood firm.
When the vision faded, he was back in the Hall. The Flame of Echoes hovered before him—calm, waiting.
He reached out and took it.
The wardens bowed their heads.
"You remember," one whispered. "Now carry us forward."