Chapter 14 — The Whispering Flame
The crypts beneath Halbrecht Keep weren't meant for the living.
Seris walked deeper into them anyway.
The torch in her hand barely pushed back the gloom, and the air grew colder with each step. Dust rose in clouds as her boots crushed bone fragments and crumbled stone. This place had once been sacred. Now, it was hollow… echoing.
And yet the flame on her torch bent forward, pulling her.
It wanted her to follow.
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In the Shadows Above
Kael waited at the threshold of the catacombs. The sigil-burn on his chest still stung from when he'd pulled Seris out of the fire. She hadn't spoken of it, but he saw how the light obeyed her. The power wasn't consuming her.
It was choosing her.
He wasn't sure if that terrified him more than the Blood Hounds that now circled the keep like vultures.
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The Chamber of Forgotten Names
At the heart of the crypt, Seris found a room untouched by time.
Its ceiling arched high like a cathedral, with walls lined by cracked murals. A ring of statues stood in the center—robed figures with blank faces and hands outstretched toward a central altar.
On the altar: a mirror made of obsidian.
It pulsed.
As she approached, the sigil on her palm burned. Then the mirror came alive—not with reflection, but with flame. In it, she saw herself crowned in fire, kneeling before a woman made of ash and bone.
"Do you remember?" the voice from her dream returned.
Seris fell to one knee, breath caught.
Then—a whisper not from within but from behind her.
"You're not supposed to be here."
She turned. A figure cloaked in pale gray stepped out from behind one of the statues. No sound. No warmth. Just a presence like frost in her lungs.
His eyes glowed faintly blue. "You are not ready, Seris of Ashmark. And still, the Flame speaks to you."
"Who are you?" she demanded, stepping back.
The figure smiled faintly. "A Watcher. A fallen Seer. I see what might be, and what must not become."
She raised her hand, flame dancing at her fingertips. "You mean to stop me?"
"No," the Watcher whispered, vanishing into shadows. "I came to warn you…"
His voice echoed, chilling her to the bone.
"The Blood Hounds ride tonight."
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Hours Later — A Ridge Overlooking Halbrecht
Drennir stood atop the cliffs, cloak flapping like torn wings.
Below, the remains of Halbrecht Keep smoldered in twilight.
Beside him knelt his second-in-command, face painted with war-ash.
"She's in the crypt," the man growled. "Alone."
Drennir drew a curved blade from his back. It hissed against the wind like a serpent.
"Good," he said. "Then let her see what waits in the dark."
He turned to the assembled riders.
"No fire. No mercy. Tonight, we test the will of the Ash-Bearer."
And with a single gesture, the Blood Hounds rode.