The Pilgrimage of Fire
They followed the sword's pull.
Down, deeper than any mortal had ever gone. Past roots made of bone, past runes etched by forgotten kings, past time itself—until they reached the Pilgrimage of Fire.
A massive cavern opened before them, lit not by flame—but by memories that burned.
Floating above a shattered dais was a fire, blue and eternal, coiling in the air like a living thing. It did not flicker. It spoke.
Thousands of whispers danced in the air—some joyous, some pleading, some screaming. And Kael could hear them all.
"That's it," Rael whispered. "The Whispered Flame. It holds the names of the gods who have died. This... is the record of extinction."
"Not just extinction," Kael murmured. "Judgment."
Echoes of a Forgotten Prophecy
Kael approached the flame. The sword on his back vibrated—hungry, or afraid.
As he stepped onto the dais, a name rose from the fire, spoken not in words but memory:
"Kael."
The others froze.
Ash drew his axe. "That flame just spoke your name."
Rael's voice trembled. "But it only records dead gods..."
Kael stared at the flame, unmoving. In its depths, he saw visions—not of the past, but of futures. Possible ones.
In one, Kael sat on a throne of ash, a crown of bone on his head, gods kneeling—or burning—before him.
In another, he was impaled on a pike, eyes hollow, his curse unleashed upon the world.
In all of them, he was no longer mortal.
"You are the echo," the flame whispered."The abandoned one who will either remake the heavens... or silence them forever."
The Mark of the Flame
Suddenly, the fire leapt forward—straight into Kael's chest.
He didn't scream. He simply collapsed.
The world vanished into flame.
In the void, he met a version of himself—not cursed, not wounded. But divine. Cloaked in silver, eyes glowing gold, wielding the same sword with mastery Kael had never imagined.
"You don't understand it yet," the echo said, "but this world was never yours to save. It was always yours to end."
"I'm not you," Kael spat.
"You will be. When you make the choice."
"What choice?"
"Who lives. And who deserves to be forgotten."
Kael awoke, gasping.
The Flame's Gift
The Whispered Flame was gone.
But on Kael's palm was a new mark—shaped like a burning eye.
Rael was pale. "You didn't just survive it. You took its blessing."
Ash looked around, axe raised. "Blessing? From a flame that speaks to corpses?"
Kael stood, unshaken. "It showed me the future."
Iris stepped forward. "And what did you see?"
He met her gaze.
"Fire. Gods bleeding. Worlds breaking. And me… standing at the center of it all."
Rael touched the hilt of his dagger. "Then we need to decide now—do we keep following you, Kael… or stop you?"
Kael didn't answer.
Because deep inside, something ancient stirred—and it smiled.