The voice wasn't a sound.
It was inside his head — deep, ancient, and impatient.
Kael stumbled back, nearly dropping the ember, but it floated in his palm like it belonged there.
The glow pulsed with every beat of his heart.
"You've been wandering for years," the voice said, smooth and sharp at once. "I've been waiting for you."
Kael's mouth went dry. "What… what are you?"
"I am what remains of the Eternal Flame. The last breath of magic in this cursed kingdom. You will carry me."
He shook his head. "No. I'm nobody. I can't—"
"You can. Or you will die here, like all the others who refused me."
The temple air shifted.
A gust of cold wind swept through the ruins, carrying the sound of heavy footsteps.
Kael spun toward the entrance.
Three men in black cloaks emerged from the shadows, their faces hidden behind iron masks etched with glowing runes.
They moved like predators who'd found their prey.
One of them spoke, his voice a growl.
"Boy. Hand over what you took."
Kael glanced at the ember in his hand. The warmth of it seeped into his bones, and for a heartbeat, the world around him slowed.
"They are Flamehunters," the ember's voice whispered. "Killers trained to take me back to the High Magister. If they touch me, you die."
The masked men advanced.
Kael's legs screamed at him to run, but his fingers tightened around the ember instead.
The moment he did, fire erupted from his palm — wild, uncontrolled, but enough to send the men staggering back.
Kael stared at the flames licking the air around him.
He had no magic. He had never had magic.
"You do now," the voice said, almost amused. "And it will either save you… or burn you alive."