The fire no longer burned—it breathed.
Every step Lyra took echoed with its pulse. The Emberheart's glow shimmered beneath her skin, its light flickering in rhythm with her heartbeat. She could feel the mountain watching her, the stone walls alive with whispers of ancient voices.
The Sanctuary's great hall erupted with movement when she emerged from the Crucible. Dozens of torches flared to life as if bowing to her power.
Seris stepped forward first, eyes wide beneath her veil. "You survived."
Lyra held up the glowing crystal ember resting in her palm. "Barely."
Dareth fell to one knee. "The Emberheart has chosen its bearer."
The crowd of Keepers followed, murmuring in awe. Lyra felt a strange mixture of pride and fear. She had expected to feel powerful—unstoppable—but all she felt was heavy, as if the Emberheart had fused her soul with the weight of a thousand ancestors.
"I didn't come here to be worshipped," she said, her voice firm. "I came for truth. Tell me what the Hollow King is."
Dareth hesitated, glancing toward the braziers that burned in the center of the hall. "Then you must hear the story few live long enough to tell."
---
The Tale of the Hollow King
A long time ago, before Ardentia rose, the world was ruled by flame and shadow. The Flame was the source of life; the Shadow, its reflection. But one man sought to command both.
He was a Flamebearer once—King Thalen Ardent himself. He believed he could wield the Emberheart to unite the world's elements. But pride devoured him faster than the fire. When he tried to bend the Emberheart's light to his will, the shadow within it consumed his soul.
His heart turned black. His body became void. He crowned himself the Hollow King, ruler of nothing and everything.
When the old queen—Lyra's ancestor—rose against him, she sealed him beyond the mortal veil by sacrificing her life and the Emberheart's power. The world believed him dead, but his shadow endured. And now, with the Emberheart reborn in Lyra's hands, the veil was weakening.
---
Lyra's voice was quiet. "You mean… the Hollow King was one of us?"
Dareth nodded solemnly. "He was the first of us."
Seris spoke softly, "If he's stirring again, the old seals are breaking."
Korran grunted. "So let me get this straight—we've got a fire-queen in training and a ghost-king crawling out of the grave? Great. Can't wait to see what tries to kill us next."
Lyra ignored him. "How do I stop him?"
Dareth's expression hardened. "The Hollow King cannot be killed—not by blade nor fire. He must be bound again. To do that, the Emberheart must be complete."
"Complete?"
"The shard you carry is only half," Seris said. "The other half lies beyond the Frostveil Wastes, guarded by the Shadowbound—his disciples."
Lyra clenched her fists. "Then that's where I'm going."
Dareth shook his head. "You won't survive the journey alone. The Frostveil is death."
Lyra's gaze was steady. "Then I'll bring death with me."
---
That night, as the others slept, Lyra stood at the edge of the Sanctuary's overlook. The Emberheart pulsed faintly in her hand, its warmth comforting and terrifying all at once.
The Keeper's voice echoed in her memory: Seek the Emberheart before the Shadow finds it.
She realized now what that meant. If she didn't claim both halves first, the Hollow King would.
Footsteps approached behind her. It was Seris. "You don't plan to wait for morning, do you?"
Lyra smiled faintly. "You read me too well."
"Someone has to make sure you don't get yourself killed."
Korran's voice joined from the shadows. "And someone's gotta make sure she doesn't forget the food." He slung a pack over his shoulder, grinning. "I'm not dying hungry."
Lyra looked between them. "You're both insane."
"Probably," Seris said. "But you'll need us."
Lyra's hand tightened on the Emberheart. "Then let's go before the Hollow King gets a head start."
---
The Journey North
They traveled for three days through jagged cliffs and frozen rivers. The Frostveil mountains loomed larger with every mile—tall, white, and silent, as if the world itself had turned to stone.
Each night, Lyra felt the Emberheart's warmth fade slightly. The further north they went, the weaker the light became. The air grew colder, the stars dimmer.
On the fourth day, the wind began to whisper in strange tongues. Shadows moved across the snow even when no one cast them.
Eren, who had insisted on following despite his age, pointed toward a dark ridge ahead. "What's that?"
At first, Lyra thought it was a mountain. But then it moved.
A colossal figure rose from the mist—a creature of ice and bone, its chest glowing faintly blue. Its roar shook the sky.
"Frost titan," Seris hissed. "Run!"
They scattered as the beast struck the ground, sending waves of snow crashing down. Korran drew his sword, slashing at the creature's leg, but the blade shattered like glass.
Lyra raised her hand, summoning fire—but the Emberheart flickered weakly, its flame dim in the freezing air.
"Come on!" she shouted. "Don't die on me now!"
The titan swung again, its massive arm sweeping through the air. Lyra leapt aside, rolling through the snow. She could feel the cold leeching into her veins.
Seris hurled a blue sigil toward the beast, freezing its movement for a heartbeat. "Lyra—now!"
Lyra thrust her hand forward, pouring every drop of will she had left into the Emberheart. The flame blazed gold, cutting through the cold.
A pillar of light erupted from her chest, striking the titan's core. The creature screamed—a sound like cracking glaciers—and then shattered into a storm of ice and dust.
The light faded. Lyra collapsed into the snow, trembling.
Korran knelt beside her. "Remind me to never get on your bad side."
Lyra managed a weak smile. "You couldn't afford it."
Seris scanned the frozen remains. "That wasn't a random attack. The Frostveil's guardians are waking. The Hollow King's influence reaches even here."
Lyra stood, brushing frost from her cloak. "Then we're close."
---
They reached the mouth of a frozen canyon at sunset. Ancient pillars rose from the snow, each carved with symbols of flame entwined with shadow.
At the center stood a stone altar—and on it, half-buried in ice, a second ember crystal pulsed with faint crimson light.
"The missing shard," Seris breathed.
Lyra stepped forward. "We found it."
But as her fingers brushed the ice, a voice echoed through the canyon—cold, mocking, and familiar.
You've come far, little flame.
The air darkened. From the shadows between the pillars, a figure emerged—tall, cloaked in black smoke, his crown made of bone and embers.
The Hollow King.
The ground cracked beneath his feet as he approached, each step leaving frost and fire in his wake. His face was hidden by a mask of darkness, but his eyes—those burning white eyes—locked on hers.
You carry what is mine, he said. Return the heart, and I may let this world live a while longer.
Lyra raised the Emberheart, its glow answering his presence. "It's not yours anymore."
The Hollow King tilted his head. Then burn for it.
The world erupted in shadow.