The wind screamed across the Brimwall Mountains like a wounded beast.
Each step forward was a struggle against nature itself — sharp gusts cut across jagged rock, and the narrow path hugged cliffs that dropped into mist-filled canyons. The sky was a blank sheet of white, the sun hidden, time meaningless.
Riven gripped a frost-lined boulder and pulled himself up onto a ledge. His breath came hard. The air here was thin and cold, biting through his cloak, chilling the fire that normally simmered inside him.
Behind him, Kael stumbled, gasping.
"Are you… sure this is the only way?" Kael wheezed.
"No," Riven replied. "But it's the fastest."
> "Brimwall was once sacred," Veyron murmured. "Before it was broken. This land remembers what was buried beneath it… and it resents being walked on."
Riven scanned the horizon. Mountains stretched endlessly in every direction, a cracked spine of the world. Far below, the forests of eastern Aetherra disappeared into the mist. Beyond these peaks lay Duskridge — and the seal Kael claimed the Eclipse Order was trying to breach.
They had two days. Maybe less.
At the next ridge, the wind fell still.
Too still.
Riven slowed. The air felt wrong.
"Something's here," he muttered.
Kael shivered. "I—I feel it too. Like something's watching."
They moved cautiously into a high plateau. Stone pillars jutted from the earth like the bones of some ancient beast. Strange symbols were etched into the rocks — runes in a forgotten language, glowing faintly blue in the snow.
> "These are warding marks," Veyron said. "And this place... this is a trial ground."
"For who?"
> "Your ancestors."
Suddenly, the runes pulsed.
The air shimmered.
And then, with a thunderous crack, the largest stone split in two — and something crawled out.
It was massive.
A hulking creature made of black stone and flame-bound chains, its body stitched together with rune-light and shadow. It had no eyes, only a jagged, open maw that dripped molten sparks with every breath. Around its neck hung the remnants of golden armor — old, rusted, but unmistakably royal.
Kael fell backward in terror. "W-what is that?!"
Riven stared in silence.
The creature raised its head — and spoke.
"Ashborn."
The voice was a rumble beneath the earth, a storm pressed into syllables.
> "It recognizes you," Veyron whispered. "But that doesn't mean it will spare you."
The creature stepped forward. The snow melted under its feet.
"State thy name," it growled. "And thy claim to the flame."
"I am Riven Caelthorn Valenhart," Riven said, voice steady. "Heir of Velmora. Last of the Ashborn line."
The creature paused.
Its molten maw curled into something like a smile.
"Then face the Trial of Flame."
Without warning, it lunged.
Riven leapt back as a stone fist slammed into the ground where he'd stood. The shockwave hurled Kael backward, and fire burst from the creature's chest, turning the snow to steam.
Riven rolled, drew his blade, and slashed — his sword met the beast's arm, slicing through rune-marked stone.
But the cut healed instantly.
> "It's a Warden," Veyron growled. "You can't kill it by normal means. You have to prove yourself. Survive."
"I don't need a lesson right now!"
The creature swung again. Riven ducked, rolled beneath the blow, and brought his blade across the creature's back. Sparks flew. The beast roared, spinning — a fiery chain lashed toward Riven's chest.
He raised his sword, but the chain wrapped around it and pulled him in.
He met the creature's molten gaze head-on.
"You are flame-born," it growled, "but fire alone is not enough."
With one hand, it slammed him into the ground.
Riven's vision blurred. The snow turned red around him. His body screamed in pain.
But the fire inside him — the Ashborn spark — refused to go out.
> "Let me in," Veyron urged. "You're not ready to win this alone."
"No."
> "Then die."
Riven's hand closed around the pendant at his neck.
He shut his eyes — and let the heat rise.
The fire didn't erupt outward this time.
It flowed inward.
His breathing slowed.
His pain dulled.
And then—
He stood.
The Warden raised a hand for a final strike.
Riven lifted his sword, now glowing softly — not white, but gold. A deeper, warmer flame. One that pulsed with memory.
The runes along the blade shimmered.
"Let's finish this."
The Warden struck.
Riven moved. Fast. Precise.
He didn't block — he redirected, using the momentum to sidestep and drive his sword into the creature's chest, straight into the golden armor where the runes glowed strongest.
There was a sound — like stone sighing.
The creature froze.
Then — it knelt.
The fire dimmed.
Its voice, now calm, rumbled low:
"Flame accepted."
---
Ten minutes later, Riven stood alone at the center of the plateau.
The Warden had crumbled into ash, leaving only the rusted royal insignia from its chest — a golden crest, shaped like a flame-wreathed crown.
Riven picked it up and placed it inside the book's folds.
And for the first time, the seal on the book cracked slightly.
Not fully open.
But enough.
> "One trial passed," Veyron said softly. "Eight remain."
"Nine bloodlines," Riven murmured.
> "Nine secrets. Nine keys. And when all are found…"
The wind picked up again.
Far below, hidden beyond the ridge and shadow, the cursed city of Duskridge waited.
And somewhere beneath it, something older than fire began to stir.
---