Chapter 10 — The Eyes Behind the Flame
Far beyond the scorched walls of Halbrecht Keep, past frost-cloaked valleys and forgotten ruins, a silence reigned so complete it crushed even thought.
In a subterranean sanctum carved from obsidian and bone, the seers of the Flamebound Circle stood in a perfect ring. Thirteen hooded figures, each faceless beneath shrouds of shadow, watched the flickering pillar of blue fire that danced without smoke. Within its light, images formed and faded—of Seris, of Kael, of the mark now burning on her palm.
"She bears the sigil," rasped the oldest of them, her voice like leaves scraped across stone. "The Forgotten Flame answers her."
"Too soon," another whispered. "We have not prepared the vessel. The ritual was never completed."
"She is not the vessel," a deeper voice spoke. "She is the thief. The conduit was meant for another."
The fire trembled, and a face emerged in its depths—not Seris's, but a younger one. Male. Scarred. Chained. His eyes blazed with a contained fury, and the same mark shimmered faintly on his chest.
"He still lives," murmured the first seer. "The true host."
A hush fell over the circle.
Then came the voice of the Thirteenth, the one who never spoke unless decree was needed. "Awaken him."
The blue fire flared. And far beneath a mountain monastery sealed since the Age of Collapse, iron locks cracked and the earth shuddered.
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Elsewhere — The Blood Hounds
In the shadows of the Obsidian Wastes, the Blood Hounds moved like wraiths.
Masked in black leather and silent as death, they camped beneath shattered columns of a forgotten temple. Their leader, a man called Drennir, sat alone before a blood-slicked altar, reading from a tome bound in human skin. His voice was low, reverent. Each word shimmered in the air and burned into the stone.
When the chant ended, one of the younger Hounds approached.
"She bears the mark," the youth said.
Drennir's eyes lifted—one was blind, milky and useless. The other burned gold.
"She's not ready," he said. "But she's chosen. And that makes her dangerous."
The youth hesitated. "Do we kill her?"
"No," Drennir said, rising to his full height. "We test her. If she survives the coming night, perhaps she is what the flame intended."
He turned to the others. "Prepare the revenants. Tonight, the Queen of Ashes meets her first trial."