Victory is a whisper.
But survival?
Survival must roar in silence.
š Ashes of a Victory
The battle chamber still glowed in hues of dying flame.
The scent of burnt chains, scorched stone, and fading magic clung to the air like grief.
We stood in a stillness that wasn't peaceābut aftermath.
Four of us, now. Alive. Whole. Changed.
I looked at Taren the fourth flameborn. He leaned against the cracked remains of the containment pedestal, chest rising and falling slowly. His face was drawn, eyes too bright for someone who had just escaped torture. But behind the painā¦ there was strength.
A flame rekindled.
Beside me, Eira ran her fingers across the length of her staff the Scorchspire her expression distant. I knew she was trying to understand what had just happened. The Nullborn's magic had drained her deeper than she admitted.
Rion cleaned his blades in silence, his brow furrowed in thought. The assassin-warrior rarely spoke much unless it mattered. But I could see in his eyes he was calculating. Planning. Preparing.
And I
I clutched the Pyra Compass in my palm.
Four lights now burned brightly within its core.
But a fifthā¦
Flickered.
š„ The Fifth Flame
The fifth ember was faint, as though buried beneath mountains, magic, or both. Yet it pulsed.steady, rhythmic. It wasn't calling for help.
It was calling us.
"There's another," I whispered aloud.
The others looked toward me.
"Another flameborn?" Eira asked.
"Yes," I said. "Alive. Far away. But not bound. They'reā¦ active."
Taren's head lifted at that, eyes wide.
"I thought I was the last."
"So did we," Rion muttered. "But clearly, the Circle's kept secrets even from itself."
I closed the Compass.
"We need to leave. Now."
š³ļø The Weight of Chains
Taren looked back at the shattered chains that once bound him.
"They'll come looking for me," he said. "And they won't send just one Nullborn this time."
"He's right," Eira added. "They'll know the moment their suppression field failed. The Circle doesn't allow escape. Not without blood."
Rion nodded grimly.
"They'll want to make an example of youāand us."
I turned to Taren.
"Is there a way out? One they wouldn't expect?"
Taren's eyes narrowed in thought, and then widened slightly.
"There's a route. I heard them whisper about itā¦ the guards. An old tunnel beneath the city. A catacomb. Forbidden, cursed, they said. But they used it once to smuggle someone in."
"Where is it?" I asked.
"Near the Songstone Wall. It's alive, they said. Hums when you're close. The Circle sealed it decades ago."
Rion grunted.
"Then that's our way out."
šÆļø The Singing Stones
Navigating Draventh's underbelly was like walking through the bowels of a dead god.
The stone was slick and warm, faintly humming with embedded flame-seals, some still active. Pipes channeled suppressed energy. Shadows moved like they had minds of their own.
We passed the remnants of a destroyed slave market charred and empty. No guards. No prisoners. Just blood-stained floors and discarded collars. It had been erased, not abandoned.
"They're covering their tracks," Eira said softly. "Getting ready for something bigger."
Finally, we reached a corridor lined with multicolored crystal veins that shimmered in green and violet.
When we stepped closer
They sang.
Not music. Not melody. But a resonance that trembled in our bones.
"That's it," Taren whispered. "That's the place."
He traced a hand along the crystal-laced wall.
It shifted beneath his touch.
Cracks formed.
A door revealed itself, opening with a long groan of ancient magic.
Beyond it: stairs spiraling downward into the dark.
š§ The Forgotten Tunnels
The deeper we went, the colder it grew.
Not a natural cold but one of memory and sorrow. The walls were marked with ancient runes, symbols of the First Flame Rebellion, the original uprising against the early Circle, before they became gods.
The tunnel stretched for miles.
Half-collapsed tombs lined the walls, marked with names long forgotten.
"This place was a sanctuary once," Eira whispered. "Before the Circle turned it into a grave."
Taren stumbled, clutching his head.
"Something'sā¦ wrong."
"What is it?" I asked, holding him steady.
"There's something down here. I feel it. It's not flame. It's something else."
Rion stepped ahead, weapons drawn.
"Then stay close."
š¾ The Beast in the Deep
We didn't see it at first.
We heard it.
A scraping sound.
A low, gurgling growl that echoed along the corridor.
When it emerged from the darkness, I nearly dropped my blade.
It was not a beast. Not fully.
It was a man twisted into flame-born ruin.
Runes were carved into its flesh active ones binding spells that forced its body to remain animated. Its eyes were glowing. Not with life. But stolen fire.
"What, what is that?" Eira gasped.
"They call it a Hollow Flame," Taren said hoarsely. "I saw one once. Created from a flameborn who resisted too long. They drain everything emotion, will, memory until only the flame remains. Then they turn the flame intoā¦ this."
It charged.
We fought.
But nothing we did worked.
Our fire only made it stronger.
āļø The Fire Without Soul
Eira's blasts bounced off its rune-skin.
My chains disintegrated as they touched it.
Rion's blades sliced deep but the creature didn't bleed.
Taren stepped forward.
His entire body began to glownwhite, fierce.
"Let me try," he said. "This was my friend. I knew him. I can reach what's left."
"Taren" I began.
But he didn't stop.
He walked straight into the creature's charge.
And whispered:
"You're not a weapon. Not anymore."
Then he placed a palm to the beast's heart.
And released a pulse of pure soulfire.
The creature froze.
Shook.
Then slumped to the ground, crumbling into embers and ash.
It didn't roar.
It sighed.
As if grateful.
šļø Graves of the Forgotten
We buried the creature's ashes beneath a wall marked with ancient fire glyphs. One of the runes responded to our presence lighting softly.
It translated to:
"May flame return to the source."
We stood in silence, heads bowed.
Eira took out a crystal bead and placed it among the ashes.
It pulsed once, then stilled.
"What is that?" I asked.
"A memory holder," she said. "Nowā¦ he won't be forgotten."
š Freedom... and the Flame Ahead
The catacombs finally led us to a large, rusted gate.
When we pushed it open, we stepped into the blinding light of dawn.
A field of ancient redwoods surrounded us, mist curling around their trunks like breath. Birds called overhead. The wind was clean.
We were out.
We were free.
But we were not safe.
Rion exhaled sharply, hands resting on his blades.
"Now what?"
I opened the Pyra Compass again.
The fifth flame pulsed stronger than ever.
Not desperate.
But beckoning.
I looked at the others.
"Nowā¦ we find the others."
"And then?" Taren asked.
"Then we raise the fire they tried to bury."