The Fold did not celebrate.
Even as the flames on Kael's skin faded and the Codex sealed itself once more, the ashen-robed figures remained solemn. They had waited centuries for a Flameborn, and now that one stood before them… they offered no praise, only purpose.
Varek stepped forward. His voice was calm, but the weight it carried made Kael's spine tighten.
"The rite has confirmed your blood. The Codex is yours. But knowledge alone means nothing. Flame must be tempered in conflict."
Kael stood straight. "What do you want me to do?"
Varek's hand extended toward a crude map carved into the stone wall of the chamber.
"You will travel east. To a place called Velcrath's Hollow. It was once a sanctum of the Ember Scholars—keepers of pre-collapse flame lore. Now, it is silent. Dead. Sealed by the Temple long ago."
Kael frowned. "Why go there if it's dead?"
Elira stepped in. "Because there's something inside that still burns."
Varek nodded.
"A shard. A piece of your ancestor's soul. The last king of Ardarion fractured his spirit to hide secrets from the Temple. One shard lies beneath Velcrath."
Kael felt the Codex vibrate faintly at the mention. The flame inside him stirred like it recognized the name.
"And what happens if I retrieve it?"
"You reclaim memory. And with it—power."
Kael nodded slowly.
"Then I'll go."
They left the Fold at dawn.
Kael and Elira rode swift flamebound stags—creatures summoned from ember glyphs that shimmered like coals and left trails of smoke in their path. Their hooves made no sound on the snow-covered stones.
The road was long and winding, taking them through ash-coated forests and blackened ruins. They passed through villages abandoned to fear and superstition—places where the very air seemed to reject warmth.
On the third day, they reached a valley choked by dead trees and shattered spires. At the center, a sunken structure loomed—a black stone ziggurat half-buried in frost.
Velcrath's Hollow.
Kael dismounted, the Codex pulsing at his back.
"Something's awake in there," he whispered.
Elira drew her dagger.
"We expected that. Flame doesn't sleep. It watches."
They descended the broken stairs into the Hollow. The air grew thick, hot, and choking. The moment they crossed the threshold, the outside world vanished—no wind, no snow, only darkness and heat.
Flames lit along the walls, unbidden.
"It remembers us," Elira murmured.
The first chamber was a tomb.
Hundreds of stone coffins lined the walls—embers flickering within some, cold darkness in others. Glyphs glowed faintly, reacting to Kael's presence. Every step felt heavier, like the weight of centuries pressed on his shoulders.
Then—voices.
Not spoken. Whispered in flame.
"The king has returned."
"The blood calls. The spark answers."
Kael turned in a slow circle. "Where is it?"
Elira pointed toward a sealed archway at the far end of the chamber.
"Beyond that gate lies the shard."
Kael approached. His pendant glowed, burning brighter with each step. The Codex opened in his satchel, turning to a page that read:
"To enter memory, one must offer truth."
Kael placed his hand against the gate. Fire surged from his palm, etching words into the stone:
"I am Kael of Ardarion. I seek what was broken, not to destroy, but to remember."
The gate cracked open, not with sound—but with heat.
Inside was a vast, hollow chamber. At its center, suspended in a sphere of crystallized flame, floated a single ember—no larger than a fingertip.
Kael stepped forward, but Elira held him back.
"The shard isn't passive. It tests. You touch it—you relive what it remembers. And if you fail, you burn."
Kael didn't hesitate.
He stepped into the circle.
The world turned to fire.
He stood now in another time, another place.
The sky was black with smoke. The walls of a once-great city crumbled under a storm of golden fire. Soldiers screamed. Children cried. And at the center of it all—stood the last King of Ardarion, cloaked in flame, his blade soaked in blood.
Kael saw through his eyes.
Felt his rage. His pain. His betrayal.
The king was surrounded—six Temple Archons, their wings of light cracking the sky. They shouted accusations:
"You defied the pact!"
"You dared teach mortals divine fire!"
"You will burn alone!"
The king raised his sword, shouting:
"Then let me burn. But I will not burn for you."
He plunged his blade into the ground.
A rupture of fire exploded outward—so vast it split the horizon.
And in that moment, Kael understood.
The king had not died. He had become flame itself. But before surrendering to it, he scattered his soul—nine pieces—each hidden where no Temple hand could reach.
Kael fell to his knees, gasping.
He was back in the Hollow.
The shard hovered before him—its flame now stable, calm.
Kael reached out and took it.
The ember vanished into his chest.
He didn't feel pain this time.
He felt… memory. Resolve.
Power.
Elira helped him stand.
"You passed."
Kael nodded. His voice came out stronger.
"I saw what he saw. Felt what he felt."
"Then you understand why the Temple fears you."
Kael looked toward the broken gate, the silent tombs.
"They don't fear the flame. They fear that we might remember what it truly is."