The road to the south was a graveyard of kings.
They rode for days through lands where no birds sang, where old banners still fluttered on rusted spears. The air itself felt heavy — thick with the memory of battles that had burned too long ago to name.
At last, the horizon cracked open, revealing the thing they had sought and feared alike:
The Obsidian Spire.
It rose from the earth like a blade driven through the heart of the world — black stone that swallowed light, etched with veins of crimson fire. Clouds circled its peak like chained storms, and lightning crawled along its edges without sound.
Eira dismounted first, her boots sinking into ash. "It feels wrong," she whispered. "Like the ground itself is breathing."
"It is," said the Archivist. "The Spire was built upon the tomb of dragons. The earth remembers what sleeps beneath."
Reika drew her sword, every muscle tense. "Then let's not wake it."
But Kaito's eyes were fixed on the top of the tower. The mark on his hand pulsed in rhythm with the lightning — calling, commanding. "We're already too late," he murmured.
As they climbed the Spire's winding path, the wind began to whisper. Not words — names.
Thousands of them. Some ancient, some recent.
The dead were calling to be remembered.
At the first gate, two statues guarded the entrance — dragons carved from black crystal, wings spread wide, mouths open in eternal roar. As Kaito approached, their eyes flared red.
The air burned.
A voice echoed between the walls:
"Who carries the Flame of the Forgotten?"
Kaito lifted his palm, showing the mark. "I do."
The statues bowed their heads, stone cracking, and the gate opened.
Inside, darkness poured like smoke.
The first chamber was a hall of mirrors — each one reflecting not their faces, but their pasts.
Eira saw herself as a child, clutching a broken sword beside her fallen father.
Reika saw the corpses of her comrades — the soldiers she had failed to save.
The Archivist saw nothing at all.
Kaito stopped before his own mirror.
In it, he saw Yù Lóng — chained, bleeding, her scales dimmed. She looked straight at him and whispered,
"Find the Heart, before it remembers me."
The glass shattered.
A figure stepped through the fragments.
He was tall and lean, wrapped in torn scholar's robes blackened by ash. His hair was white, his eyes dark as the void. Symbols burned faintly across his skin — the marks of a man who had written truths too forbidden to die.
"I knew someone would come," he said softly. "But I prayed it wouldn't be you."
Kaito froze. "You… know me?"
The man nodded. "Once. Before your name was rewritten. I am Ardyn, keeper of the lost tongues, last survivor of the First Fire."
Eira raised her sword. "Survivor of what?"
"The birth of the Null Flame," he said. "I was the one who recorded it — and in doing so, became cursed to remember what the world forgot."
The Archivist stepped forward. "Then you know where the Eternal Heart lies."
Ardyn's gaze flicked toward Kaito's palm. "It lies within him. The mark he bears — it is not the call of the Heart. It is the Heart, broken and bound to mortal flesh."
Silence fell.
Kaito's breath caught. "No… you're lying."
Ardyn smiled sadly. "I wish I were. But tell me, boy — when you close your eyes, do you hear the heartbeat that isn't yours?"
Kaito said nothing.
He didn't have to.
The Spire trembled. The mirrors shattered one by one.
From the ceiling, molten dust began to fall, glowing red like tears of fire.
"The Spire awakens," Ardyn said. "She knows you've come."
"She?" Eira echoed.
Ardyn turned toward the great stair that led deeper into the tower. "The guardian of the tomb. The last daughter of Yù Lóng. She has waited centuries to burn the world that betrayed her."
As he spoke, a low, melodic hum filled the air — a song that wasn't of this earth.
The ground split open.
From beneath, a figure rose — wings of silver flame, eyes like molten sapphire, her hair flowing like a river of smoke.
Lyra.
The last of the dragonblood.
Her gaze locked on Kaito.
"So," she said softly, her voice both human and divine, "the thief of hearts returns."
Kaito stumbled back. "I've never met you."
Lyra's smile was sad, almost tender. "No. But the fire within you has. It once loved me — before it forgot."
The Spire groaned, stone cracking, symbols lighting up across the walls like veins of fire.
Ardyn shouted over the rising wind, "If she merges with the Null Flame, the world will burn backward — time itself will collapse!"
Eira drew her sword. "Then we stop her!"
Reika's eyes narrowed. "Or die trying."
But Lyra only raised her hand, and the flames bent toward her, swirling into a storm that glowed like the sun.
Her wings unfolded, filling the chamber with blinding light.
"Then burn," she whispered. "As my ancestors did. As my love once did."
Kaito reached out — not in hate, but in recognition. "Lyra, wait—!"
She hesitated. Just a moment.
Long enough for Yù Lóng's voice to echo from the flame within him:
She is not your enemy. But she will become one if you don't remember who you are.
And then — light.
The world exploded into white fire.