The first light of dawn filtered through the shuttered window of Famed's humble cottage, painting the room in pale gold. Famed lay on a straw-stuffed mattress, listening to the familiar creaks of the timber walls and the muffled crowing of a distant cock.
He blinked, half-aware that last night's discoveries felt more like a imagine than a memory. He sat up abruptly when he remembered Østberg's determined face and the weight of the scroll he'd carried.
Meanwhile, across the narrow lane, Elara rose from her own bedroll. She moved with quiet deliberation, mind already on the tasks ahead. The secret archives still hummed in her thoughts those ruby-red gems, and the broken-eye symbol. She rubbed her temples, half-expecting to see sparks of that same red glow at her fingertips.
A few doors down, Østberg awoke to the sound of his uncle stirring in the next room. Sunlight slanted through the wooden slats, illuminating motes of dust that hung like drifting spirits. In his pocket, the small copy of Annals of Xar'Kairos pressed against his leg.
He slipped out of bed, careful not to wake his aunt, and stepped onto the cool floorboards.
Moments later, the three friends met at the edge of the village green, their breath visible in the crisp morning air. None spoke at first, words felt inadequate when measured against the enormity of what they'd uncovered.
It was Famed who broke the silence, his voice hoarse. "We can't keep running," he said, rolling his shoulders to warm up.
"We need to learn more about… whatever that energy is."
Østberg nodded. "Uncle Arvid owes me a favor," he replied. "He said he'd introduce me to someone who once worked for the Watchers. A teacher of the old ways." He glanced at Elara.
"Master Oscar, in her cottage by the edge of the Whispering Woods."
Elara's eyes brightened. "Then let's go. I've been itching to try something with the scroll's words fresh in my mind."
They made their way through narrow lanes lined with thatched cottages, the village stirring to life around them. Farmers led goats to pasture children chased chickens across dewy fields.
It felt almost ordinary, an uneasy contrast to the dark corridors beneath the castle where they'd risked everything to uncover those secrets.
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[On the Way to Master Oscar's Residence]
By mid-morning, they stood at the edge of the Whispering Woods. Tall pines formed a silent barrier between the village and the deeper forest. A narrow path wound its way through trunks heavy with moss. At the end of the path, a small, one-room cottage crouched as if hiding among the roots. Smoke curled from its chimney, carrying scents of pine needles and simmering broth.
Østberg knocked on the heavy wooden door. After a pause that felt like a lifetime, it creaked open to reveal an elderly woman with silver-streaked hair braided down her back. Her robe was a patchwork of forest greens and burnt oranges, and her eyes glowed with a subtle inner light.
"Master Oscar?" Østberg asked, voice trembling despite his best effort.
She regarded him for a moment before inclining her head. "So you are the boy who dared enter the castle's forbidden halls." Her gaze sharpened.
"And you bring… uncertainty with you. Enter."
Inside, the cottage was warm and cluttered. Shelves lined the walls, crammed with vials of glowing liquids, jars of strange roots, and books bound in skins of undetermined origin.
A low wooden table held a pentagonal stone engraved with concentric circles. Master Lyria motioned them to sit on three narrow benches.
"I have heard rumors," she said, settling opposite them.
"Of the Ancient Watchers, of the Red Moon, of one who would break fate's chain. Tell me what you found."
Østberg exhaled and described the scroll from the Secret Archives. He spoke of silver letters, the prophecy, the ruby chamber, and the carving of Zu'th'Nahr. Famed and Elara exchanged glances that spoke of both fear and excitement.
When he finished, Master Oscar leaned forward, hands clasped. "You have awakened the embers of magia, what we call energia." She tapped the concentric circles on the stone.
"This artifact shows the layers within every living being... the Core, the Conduct, and the Flame. Without understanding these, one risks being consumed by the very power one seeks to wield."
Famed fidgeted. "Can you… show us? Explain what that means?"
Master Oscar smiled gently. "Observe."
Master rose and stood in the center of the room. Raising her arms slowly, she inhaled deeply. Blue motes of light flickered around her fingertips, coalescing into a pinprick of luminosity that hovered in the air.
Famed's mouth fell open. "Is that… fire?"
Oscar shook her head. "Not fire. That is Flame-level energia, raw potential shaped by the will. At its most basic, Core energy keeps your heart beating. You perform that without thought. Above that is Conduct, the channels through which energia flows, akin to nerves carrying sensation. Only when you can guide energia through these channels can you unlock the Flame, the power to alter matter, bend light, or even speak to shadows."
It remain me about the man i met in chapter 2
Uh... I mean the man i met before.
Østberg felt his lungs tighten as he watched. Tiny sparks drifted from Oscar's palm, kissing the ground before vanishing harmlessly.
He could almost taste iron in the air,a memory of that ruby chamber, now echoing deep in his bones.
"Show me how," Østberg whispered.
"Patience," Oscar said softly. She clapped her hands and motioned to a shallow wooden basin on the table.
"First lesson: Sense your Core. Close your eyes. Place your palm flat over your heart."
Østberg obeyed, heart hammering. He closed his eyes and felt warmth beneath his palm. As he breathed in, that warmth spread through his chest.
He exhaled, and the heat receded like water draining from a pool.
"Good," Oscar praised. "Now, follow that warmth down your arm, through the wrist, to the palm. Feel each point of connection, elbow, forearm, wrist."
Østberg focused. At first, he felt nothing but muscle and bone. His vision behind closed lids fluttered as doubt crept in. Then, a tingling, like a faint hum against his veins.
He gasped and opened his eyes. On his palm, a single, trembling ember glowed red for a heartbeat before flickering out.
Elara clapped quietly. "You did it!"
Famed approached hesitantly. "Let me try." He placed a hand over his heart. Nothing happened. He frowned, rocking back on his heels. "I don't feel… anything."
Oscar's gaze was kind but firm. "hat do you feel in your chest?"
Famed frowned, closing his eyes. He felt his heartbeat, strong but steady. He felt the pulse in his throat. But beyond that. Nothing.
"Core is life," Oscar explained.
"If you cannot sense it, then your mind is too crowded. Let go of fear. Relax your grip on expectations."
Famed inhaled slowly, shutting out the world. Minutes passed in silence. Then his brows twitched. A faint glow flickered beneath his fingers, pale and wavering. It vanished almost immediately, leaving him blinking at the empty air.
Elara stepped forward. "My turn."
She placed her hands together at chest level, fingertips almost touching. She inhaled deeply, shoulders rising, and breathed out. For a moment nothing happened, then a thin ribbon of crimson light curled between her palms, wavering like a newborn flame. She held it a heartbeat before it snapped out.
Oscar nodded approvingly. "You have the spark. But you all have much to learn. Energia flows differently in each of you." She gestured to the concentric circles on the stone.
"Core, Conduct, Flame. You must train each stage in turn. Control your breath for Core; strengthen your focus for Conduct; and then channel your will for Flame."
Østberg's mind raced with possibilities. "How long until we can use it beyond simple embers?"
"Time and patience," Oscar said. "But know this, the danger of Flame is not its power, but your attachment to it. If you crave the heat of Ember too much, you will burn yourself out."
She turned and rapped on the table with the back of her hand. A hidden drawer slid open, revealing three leather-bound journals. Each bore a rune: a circle split by a wave, a spiral, and a broken eye.
"These belong to the Watchers. They documented their trials. The first scribbled notes on sensing Core, then their experiments with Conduct, and finally their rituals for Flame. Take them. Study them. Return at sundown tomorrow."
With that, Master Oscar returned to her seat, leaving the journals glowing softly in the lantern light.
Famed hefted his journal. "Thank you."
Østberg opened his volume carefully, revealing meticulous diagrams of muscle groups and energy lines overlaid with runic symbols. Every page whispered of secrets long buried beneath stone and secrecy.
Elara traced a finger along another page: sketches of flame patterns, swirling like living creatures. "This is… incredible."
Oscar rose again, her frame suddenly more imposing. "One more thing." She touched Famed lightly on the forehead.
"You felt fear at first. Good. Fear reminds you of your limits. But remember to meet fear with understanding, not suppression."
She turned to Østberg. "Your ember was strong, but uneven. Focus on steadying your Core. If you can hold a spark in your palm without it dying, you will ready yourself for Conduct."
Then to Elara, "You showed grace, but only briefly. Channel your emotion, hope, determination, into your Flame to give it form and purpose."
She paused, eyes over each of them. "And always, heed the warning of the Red Moon. Its blood-tinged glow will awaken energies older than humanity. Be ready for what stirs when the sky bleeds crimson."
Outside, the first birds began their morning chorus. Østberg, Elara, and Famed left the cottage clutching their journals like lifelines. The path back to the village seemed both familiar and new, every rustle of leaves, every shifting shadow held the promise of discovery.
As they passed beneath the arching branches of the Whispering Woods, they carried more than ancient texts. They carried the spark of possibility, and the weight of prophecy. Somewhere above them, hidden by dawn's haze, the faintest hint of red lingered in the sky.
And in that moment, each of them understood that their lives had been irrevocably changed. The world would never see them as children again.
They were no longer mere onlookers in a story written by others. They were the chainbreakers in the making, drinkers of whispers and weavers of light, bound by energia and driven by the promise lurking beneath the Red Moon.