The morning sun barely pierced through Ashenhold's thick mist, casting long, eerie shadows across the city streets. Ren woke on the cold cobblestones, the aftertaste of ash still on his lips. His body ached, but his mind raced faster than ever.
The Last Flame pulsed faintly in his palm—a reminder that its power was alive, waiting.
Ren knew he couldn't stay hidden. Word of the shadows would spread, and if the city's leaders discovered the attack, they might blame him—or worse. But there was no time for hiding. He had to learn about this power before the darkness returned.
He made his way to the outskirts of Ashenhold, where the old ruins of the mage guild still stood. Once a place of learning and magic, now a crumbling relic of the past. But legends said those ruins held ancient texts, secrets of the Last Flame. And Ren had no other choice.
As he stepped inside, dust and cobwebs filled the air. Broken tomes littered the floor, their pages yellowed with age. A faint glow caught his eye. On a pedestal in the center of the hall lay a small, metallic orb, etched with symbols that shimmered faintly in the light.
The moment Ren touched it, visions exploded in his mind.
He saw the world centuries ago, a time when the Last Flame had been wielded by the Flamebearer—an ancestor of his own bloodline. Cities rose and fell under the power of fire, and for every victory, there had been a terrible cost.
And he saw them—the shadows, the ones who attacked him last night. They were not mindless beasts. They were soldiers of the Shadow King, a dark entity seeking to reclaim the power of the Last Flame.
Ren staggered back. "The Shadow King… he's real?" he whispered.
The orb pulsed, answering without words: Yes. And he knows you exist now.
A chill ran down Ren's spine. He realized the fight he thought was over had only just begun.
Suddenly, a shadow flickered across the ruined hall. Ren spun, flame erupting in his hand. A figure stepped forward—tall, cloaked in black, eyes glowing like molten gold.
"You survived," the figure hissed. "Impressive… for a boy."
Ren gritted his teeth. "Who are you?"
"I am a messenger… of the Shadow King," the figure replied. "And you have something he wants. That flame in your hand… it belongs to him. Give it willingly, or he will take it by force."
Ren's eyes burned as hot as the flame he held. "Never. I don't belong to him. And I will protect this city… no matter what it costs."
The shadow lunged. Ren reacted instinctively, hurling fire at the attacker. The room erupted in a storm of sparks and shadows, flames illuminating the darkness like daylight. Every strike pushed Ren closer to the edge of his power, the Last Flame threatening to consume him entirely.
But he fought. Every movement precise, every strike fueled by fear, anger, and determination. The shadow screeched, dissolving into smoke, but not without a warning.
"You will not stop what is coming. The Shadow King knows your name now, boy. And soon… the world will burn."
The figure vanished into the ruins, leaving Ren trembling, exhausted, but alive.
Outside, the city remained peaceful, unaware of how close it had come to destruction. Ren looked at his hands, the flame now dim and flickering, warning him that he could not rely on it forever.
He made a silent vow: he would train. He would master the Last Flame. And when the Shadow King came… he would be ready.
Because this was no longer just about surviving. It was about protecting everything he loved—and learning the true power of the flame within him.
The shadows were rising. And Ren was ready to face them.
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