Chapter 17
The city of Tir Envala was no longer asleep.
The moment Nezutsu spoke the ancient oath, the roots of the Skyroot Tree lit up with violet veins, pulsing with something older than mana—older than time itself. Statues crumbled into ash. Runes sparked awake across the broken towers. The city wasn't ruins anymore.
It was waiting.
Waiting for him.
Velgrim stood frozen, eyes wide. Kaelith gripped her blades tighter, whispering words in a tongue that hadn't been spoken since the Celestial Accord was signed.
"This… this shouldn't be possible," Velgrim muttered. "The Final Seal was just a myth."
"And yet he stands in it," Kaelith said, "with flames older than the stars whispering his name."
A City That Breathed
Tir Envala responded to Nezutsu like a body reacting to its heartbeat.
Pathways unfurled from the ash.
Torches lit with flame that held no heat.
Even the Soulbrands—those feared warriors of the High Council—halted. They had seen many horrors. But never a Forgotten Flame that stared back.
One of them stepped forward. Her mask was made of glass, her armor etched with moving script.
"You are the Voidborn," she said. "The boy with no mana."
"Not anymore," Nezutsu replied. "Tell your masters. The Final Seal is cracking."
She threw a black crystal at the ground.
Smoke burst.
And the Soulbrands vanished—retreating, for now.
Velgrim exhaled. "They'll be back. With worse."
Kaelith narrowed her eyes. "They'll send a Fragment next time."
Nezutsu didn't ask what that meant. He could feel it.
Whatever a "Fragment" was… it would hurt.
The Fire's Memory
As they descended deeper into the throne chamber, the air changed. It didn't blow—it whispered.
Walls around them showed moving murals—stories trapped in glass and flame.
One showed the Ash Sovereign, cloaked in smoke, holding a staff that bled stars.
Another showed seven vessels, each filled with a flame of a different color—red, gold, blue, white, silver, black… and violet.
"These are the Emberbearers," Velgrim said, tracing the mural. "Each one was made to hold part of the Sovereign's essence."
Kaelith frowned. "But there are only six others. What happened to the seventh?"
The mural shimmered.
Nezutsu stepped closer.
And suddenly—
He saw himself.
Drawn in violet lines. Eyes closed. Trapped in a glass cradle. And above him, written in an ancient script, the words:
"The One Who Must Never Wake."
Not Alone
That night, they lit no fire. Not out of fear. But because the city itself glowed.
Nezutsu sat by a broken root, watching the stars flicker in the hollow sky dome above.
Kaelith approached and sat beside him.
"You're quieter now."
"There's too much noise inside."
"Do you regret it? Opening the seal?"
He thought.
Then shook his head.
"No. I needed to know why I was born empty. Why the world felt like it wanted me gone. Now I know. I'm not broken. I was made this way—for a reason."
"And what will you do with that reason?"
Nezutsu looked down at his palm.
The Eye Mark given to him by the Celestarch Warden still burned.
But now, seven tiny sparks floated above it—one for each of the Emberbearers.
"I'll find the rest. And when I do… I'll burn down the lies that built this world."
Kaelith stared at him like she was seeing someone else.
"You're not the same boy from the Hollow."
"I never was. I just didn't remember."
Elsewhere… in the Marble Deep
Far from Tir Envala, deep beneath the ocean floor, a tower stood encased in black marble. No door. No window. Just a pulse—like a heartbeat waiting to break.
Inside, a man in golden chains opened his eyes for the first time in centuries.
His voice cracked the stone.
"The Violet One stirs."
Another voice answered—this one dry, whispering like wind on bones.
"Then it is time."
"Shall I wake the others?" the chained man asked.
"Yes. Wake the Fragments. The Flame must be returned to its cage."
"And if he resists?"
"Then burn the world."
The Dream That Wasn't a Dream
That night, Nezutsu slept for the first time in days.
And he dreamed.
But this time, he didn't just see the battlefield of stars. He walked through it.
He passed gods pierced by arrows of glass.
He touched skies cracked like mirrors.
He followed the child version of himself—barefoot, crying, aflame—and found him standing before a mirror that bled.
"Why did you forget?" the child asked him.
"Because they made me forget."
"Will you let them do it again?"
"No."
"Then take it."
Nezutsu reached out—
—and grabbed the mirror.
Pain. Fire. Memory.
He awoke gasping.
Velgrim rushed over. "Another vision?"
Nezutsu's voice was calm.
"Not a vision. A memory. The next flame is near."
Kaelith frowned. "Where?"
Nezutsu stood, eyes glowing faintly violet in the dark.
"In the Stormspire Isles. Where the sea eats magic and the sky rains bone."
Velgrim groaned. "Of course it is."
Kaelith smirked. "Then we better start walking."
As they left the hollow city of Tir Envala, the roots closed behind them.
And far above, high on a distant mountaintop, a boy no older than Nezutsu sat in a glass chair, eyes sewn shut.
He smiled.
"Flame awakens," he whispered.
"Let the hunt begin."
[TO BE CONTINUED...]