The fire had changed him.
Torian didn't understand it—not yet. But something deep in his chest pulsed with every step he took
now, as if a second heartbeat had rooted itself in the hollow behind his ribs. It wasn't painful. It
wasn't comforting. It was simply… present. A quiet thrum of heat and memory that refused to fade.
They left the ember chamber behind at sunrise. Skarn moved ahead, more alert than usual, his
massive head low, ears twitching at the slightest shift in the wind. The tunnel they'd followed
opened into a narrow pass lined with stone columns—crumbled, weather-worn, and half-swallowed
by the surrounding cliff face.
When they emerged into daylight again, it was not the world they had left behind.
The forest had changed.
Not in the way it had shifted before—this was not the creeping mystery of ancient roots or the eerie
calm of enchanted wilds. This was different. Sharper. More final.The trees were blackened. Not burned recently, but long ago—so long the ash had settled into the
bark, the trunks twisted in place as though frozen mid-scream. Branches hung like broken limbs.
The ground beneath them was hard and glassy in places, fused by unimaginable heat.
Skarn stopped at the edge of it, sniffed the air, and let out a low growl.
Torian placed a hand on the beast's shoulder. "It's like something ripped through here."
Skarn didn't move.
They stepped forward together.
The quiet here was not natural. It was deliberate.
No birds. No insects. Not even the distant rustle of wind. The silence clung to everything like soot.
The path narrowed into a wide clearing—a circle of scorched earth so perfect in shape it could not
have been an accident. The trees surrounding it were ringed in black, their edges jagged and
inward-facing, as if a great force had burst from the center and left only charred outlines in its wake.
At the clearing's heart, a spiral had been burned into the stone.
Not carved. Not painted.
Burned.
Torian felt the ember in his chest stir.
It wasn't just reacting—it recognized the mark.
He stepped forward slowly, boots crunching on brittle ash, and knelt before the spiral. His fingers
trembled as he reached for it.
"Wait," he said aloud.
But it was too late.The moment his skin brushed the edge of the spiral, the ember inside him flared.
Not an explosion—just a rush. A flash of heat that surged through his veins, blooming outward like a
breath held too long and finally exhaled.
And his hand ignited.
A thin stream of flame curled up his palm—brief, unstable, flickering like a candle in a storm. It didn't
hurt. It didn't consume. But it was real.
He yanked his hand back, heart pounding.
The fire vanished.
Skarn stepped forward, growling low.
Torian stared at his hand. His skin wasn't burned. There wasn't even a mark.
"What is this?" he whispered. "What am I becoming?"
The spiral pulsed once, faintly—like an echo answering a question he didn't want to hear.
They left the clearing in silence.
⸻
They traveled eastward through the dead woods for hours.
Torian kept glancing at his hands, half-expecting them to ignite again.
They didn't.
But the ember continued to hum.
It was stronger now. Not wild, not unstable—but insistent. A presence behind his thoughts.
Watching. Listening. Sometimes, when he blinked too long, he swore he could feel someone—or
something—looking through his eyes from the other side of the fire.He didn't tell Skarn.
He didn't know how.
The land began to rise. The scorched ground gave way to hard rock and shallow ridges. At one
point, they crossed the remains of a shattered stone road—ancient, overgrown, crumbled into ruin.
Pillars lay broken along the sides, their inscriptions worn smooth.
Beyond the road was another clearing.
Smaller.
Worse.
This one was littered with bones.
Not fresh. Not animal.
Human.
Torian froze at the edge.
Skarn growled softly.
The skeletons were half-buried in ash, their armor fused to their remains. Some bore weapons still
clutched in skeletal hands—blades warped by fire, shields melted to slag. But none of them were
intact. Every body had been blasted apart, broken mid-motion.
He stepped forward, breath caught in his throat.
At the center of the clearing, a blackened banner still hung limply from a shattered pole. The spiral
was carved into its metal top.
Fire-bearers.
Torian knelt beside one of the fallen, brushing ash from the crest on the chestplate.
"What killed you?" he whispered.The silence answered.
But it wasn't empty.
It was watching.
That night, they made camp beneath a rock shelf halfway up a ridge. The stars were faint overhead
—blurred by mist and smoke. Torian lit a fire, more out of ritual than warmth. Skarn lay nearby,
curled in a tight circle, head resting on his forearms. His eyes never closed.
Torian watched the flames, hand outstretched toward them.
Nothing happened.
He didn't try to force it.
He simply waited.
Let the ember speak.
It didn't.
But something else did.
From the edge of the trees, just beyond the firelight, a figure stood.
Torian's breath caught.
Skarn snapped to his feet, wings flaring, a guttural roar building in his throat.
The figure didn't move.
Torian rose slowly, hand on his sword.
It was tall, wrapped in robes that shimmered faintly like dying starlight. Its face was obscured
beneath a hood, and its hands were clasped before it. It radiated no heat. No malice. Only presence.It spoke without speaking.
"You carry the flame."
Torian stepped closer. "What are you?"
"A voice. A memory. A witness."
Skarn growled, stepping forward.
"He is not your enemy."
Torian hesitated.
The figure raised its head slightly. Its face was not human—but not monstrous either. A blank mask,
like carved bone, smooth and ageless.
"You are not the first. You will not be the last."
"I've seen that," Torian said. "In the fire. I saw the others."
"They burned. As you will."
The words weren't a threat.
They were a truth.
Torian clenched his fists. "Then why test us? Why choose us?"
"Because the world remembers its burns. And the ember remembers who caused them."
It turned away, pointing toward the eastern horizon.
Lightning flickered in the clouds—red, unnatural.
"It awakens there. And it waits for you."
"What does?"The figure didn't answer.
It simply vanished—gone in a shimmer of light, as though it had never been there at all.
Skarn stood frozen for a long moment.
Then lowered his wings and looked to Torian.
"I don't think we have a choice anymore," Torian said.
Skarn huffed.
Not agreement.
Not denial.
Just understanding.
Torian sat back by the fire, pulled the sword across his lap, and stared at the flames.
The ember flickered in his chest.
And for the first time, he whispered to it.
"I don't want to be what they were. I don't want to burn."
It didn't answer.
But the fire leaned toward him.
And he understood that it had begun to listen.