The valley where Ethan landed had once been a wasteland.
Now, it shimmered with rebirth.
Where charred earth should have remained, the soil pulsed faintly with veins of red light. Flowers with ember-tipped petals grew among cracked stones, and the air was warm with a heartbeat — the same rhythm that thrummed inside Ethan's chest.
He crouched beside a bloom, brushing his fingers against its glow.
It didn't burn him.
It hummed — in recognition.
"The world… remembers me," he murmured.
But something in the distance disturbed that harmony.
The sound of footsteps. Dozens of them.
Ethan rose and turned. Figures moved through the haze — cloaked, masked, carrying torches that burned not red, but black.
They stopped at the valley's edge, their leader stepping forward. A tall man in silver armor, the mask covering half his face. His voice carried like wind over flame.
> "The Flamebearer returns," he said. "The one who ended the Rift."
Ethan's eyes narrowed. "You know me."
The man chuckled lowly. "Everyone knows the name Ethan Marlowe. The reborn fire. The man who defied gods. We are his consequence."
Ethan's hand tensed. "Who are you?"
The figure lifted his black torch. The fire flared — unnaturally cold.
> "We are the Order of the Hollow Flame," he said. "Born from the ashes you left behind. When you sealed the Rift, your power bled into the world — fragments of divine fire seeking hosts. Some became gifts…"
He leaned closer. "…others became curses."
Ethan's chest tightened. He remembered the Echo's warning: the fire spreads.
He took a cautious step forward. "If you're here because of me, I'll help you control it."
"Control?" The man's voice darkened. "You misunderstand. We do not wish to control it. We wish to finish what you began — the cleansing of the weak flame called humanity."
Ethan's jaw clenched. "You're twisting what the Stone was meant for."
The man raised his torch. "Meaning is forged by those who survive the fire."
The cloaked followers moved forward, their torches swirling with dark energy. The ground cracked under their steps — not from heat, but from absence, as if the fire they wielded devoured light itself.
Ethan drew a deep breath. The Red Stone's pulse thrummed beneath his skin, its warmth pushing back the chill. "If it's my fire you're using," he said, "then it listens to me."
He raised his hand.
The black flames shuddered. For a heartbeat, they flickered red — the true color of creation — before the followers gasped and fell back.
The leader staggered but recovered quickly. "Impressive," he hissed. "But even you cannot command what's been corrupted by the Hollow."
"The Hollow?"
The man smirked. "You'll see soon enough."
He slammed his torch into the ground. Black fire erupted, coiling into a spiral of smoke and symbols. Before Ethan could react, the Order vanished into the mist, their laughter echoing.
Silence returned — but it wasn't peace.
The air felt heavier, the warmth of the valley dimmed.
Ethan clenched his fists. "The fire's been divided again…"
He looked toward the horizon. Storm clouds gathered, tinted faintly crimson. Beyond them, he could sense movement — cities that had once been dark now glimmered with traces of his power. But not all glows were kind.
---
Later that night, Ethan camped near the edge of the valley.
The stars shimmered like molten gold, unfamiliar patterns dancing across the sky.
He held a small ember in his palm, letting it burn softly — his way of keeping the Stone's connection steady.
Ashara's voice echoed faintly in his memory: "Don't let the flame forget you."
"I'm still here," he whispered to the night. "Still burning."
A sound behind him broke his thought — a twig snapping. Ethan turned instantly, flame igniting in his eyes.
From the shadows, a young girl stumbled forward — barely sixteen, dirt-streaked, trembling. In her hands burned a fragment of red light, like a miniature Stone.
Ethan froze.
That same pulse. That same heat.
She looked up at him with wide eyes. "You… you're real. The flame in my dream said you'd come."
He knelt, cautious but gentle. "You have the fire."
She nodded, eyes bright. "It came when the sky broke. I thought it was a curse. But then I saw what I could do."
She opened her hand. The ember flared — transforming into a small red bird that perched on her palm, chirped once, then turned back into light.
Ethan's breath caught. "You shaped the fire into life…"
"I didn't mean to. It just listens when I feel."
He smiled faintly. "Then it chose you."
Before he could say more, the ground trembled. A low rumble echoed across the valley, followed by the distant sound of something colossal moving beneath the earth.
The girl gasped. "They said it sleeps — the Hollow Flame!"
Ethan's head snapped toward the mountains. Dark light seeped from their cracks, crawling upward like veins of ink.
"The Order," he muttered. "They woke it."
He turned to the girl. "What's your name?"
"Lira."
"Lira, stay behind me. No matter what happens."
He extended his hand, summoning the Red Stone's mark. The light flared across his arm — brighter than before, steadier.
From the mountains, a massive form began to rise — not a creature of flesh or stone, but pure fire. Yet where Ethan's flame glowed warm and golden, this one burned cold and hollow, eating the stars above it.
Lira whimpered. "It's coming for us."
Ethan stepped forward, calm but fierce. "Then it'll find the fire it's looking for."
The Hollow Flame's roar split the night, shaking the valley.
Ethan raised his arm, the Red Stone pulsing in answer.
One living flame, one empty shadow.
Two sides of the same origin.
He whispered, "Let's see which one remembers the true fire."
Then the valley exploded in light — red clashing against black, creation against void — as the war for the world's new dawn began.