Episode 9
The echo of the shadowy woman's words lingered in Kael's mind long after she disappeared into the sigil.
> "Ask yourself—why did the Vault accept you?"
Sleep evaded him. Even as the sun crested the jagged peaks beyond Ember Bastion, bathing the citadel in golden firelight, Kael remained in the archives, staring at a mural etched into the stone wall. It depicted the Great Flame, a primordial inferno from which the Flameborn drew power. The Vault of Whispers shimmered faintly in the background—an ancient doorway, said to be older than memory itself.
"Kael," Lira said, approaching cautiously. "You didn't rest, did you?"
He shook his head. "She knew things… things no outsider should."
"She could've lied."
"She named the hidden chamber beneath the Bastion. The one even the Elders deny exists. How would she know that?"
Lira crossed her arms. "You think your father kept secrets from everyone?"
"I think he kept one from me."
Without another word, Kael pushed the mural. To Lira's shock, it shifted—revealing an old passage cloaked in dust and darkness. A whisper of air, dry and cold, flowed out.
Lira blinked. "You knew how to open it?"
He hesitated. "I've seen it… in dreams. The shard—it shows me things."
"Kael, that's not a good sign."
"Maybe not. But it's the only lead we have."
With a flare of flame from his palm, Kael lit the path ahead. The narrow stone stairs descended deep into the belly of the Bastion. The air grew colder with every step, the walls lined with murals that changed style the further they went. First came the Flameborn art—sharp lines and phoenix motifs. Then older, rougher carvings of figures bowed before a burning mountain. Finally, the last layer—etched with chaotic spirals and strange runes that pulsed faintly when touched.
"This predates the Flameborn," Lira whispered.
"I think this was built by the First Ones."
They reached a chamber with a massive circular seal on the floor—half-buried under dust and debris. In its center: the same sigil the masked woman had burned into the archive wall.
Kael stepped toward it.
"Wait," Lira warned, pulling him back. "What if it's a trap?"
Kael knelt, pressing his palm to the seal. A pulse of heat surged from his chest—the shard responding.
The seal came alive, rings rotating with mechanical precision, glowing symbols aligning into a pattern that resonated with a hum.
Suddenly, the ground trembled.
With a groan, the seal split open, revealing a spiral staircase plunging even deeper.
"We should bring backup," Lira said, eyes wide.
"No time. If the Order is searching for this too, we can't let them find it first."
They descended.
This time, the darkness was unnatural—it swallowed light. Kael had to summon twin orbs of flame just to see a few feet ahead.
At the bottom, they found a cavernous hall. Statues stood along the walls—cloaked figures with hollow eyes and hands extended in supplication.
At the center, an obsidian altar. And behind it, a throne.
It wasn't majestic or ornate. It was bone. Polished, fused, shaped from the skeletons of creatures Kael couldn't name.
"What… is this place?" Lira breathed.
Kael stepped toward the altar. Etched into its surface was an inscription in a language neither of them recognized. The shard in Kael's chest began to glow brighter as he approached.
"I think this was where the Order began," Kael whispered.
Suddenly, a whisper echoed through the chamber. Soft. Insidious.
> "Flameborn… why do you seek the truth you fear?"
Kael turned. The air shimmered, and a figure materialized atop the throne—a spirit, draped in shadow, face masked in silver.
Lira instinctively raised her daggers, but Kael motioned for her to hold.
"What are you?" he asked.
> "I am memory. I am warning. I am the echo of fire betrayed."
Kael felt the shard in his chest burn—not painfully, but insistently.
"You speak in riddles."
> "Because truth burns. Just as your kind burned the truth to cinders."
Lira stepped forward. "Speak plainly, or fade."
The spirit's voice deepened. > "You were never meant to bear the Flame, Kael. You are a child of balance—born of fire and shadow. Your father knew. That is why the shard accepted you. You are not Flameborn alone. You are Void-marked."
Silence crashed over them.
Kael reeled. "No. That's not possible."
> "It is written in your blood. In the shard. In the Vault's choosing. Only a hybrid could withstand its truth. You were forged for war—a bridge between two realms."
Kael dropped to a knee, the revelation shattering the foundation of everything he believed.
Lira knelt beside him, gripping his shoulder. "Kael… it doesn't change who you are."
But Kael wasn't sure anymore.
"Why reveal this now?" he asked the spirit.
> "Because the Order awakens the Gate of Remembrance. If opened, it will bleed memory into the world. All forgotten pain. All ancient sorrow. And you—only you—can close it. But only if you accept both halves of your soul."
With that, the spirit vanished, the chamber dimming.
Kael stood slowly, eyes hard.
"Then we find this Gate—and we seal it. I don't care if I'm part flame, part shadow, or something in between. I will not let the world burn."
---
Meanwhile, deep within the Ebonwood…
A circle of robed cultists stood around a massive rune etched into the earth. Above them floated a crystal obelisk, pulsing with the same red-and-black energy as the sigil in the archive.
At its center knelt the silver-haired woman—Elira, as she was called—hands raised in ritual.
The Obsidian Flame ignited around her.
"Our time has come," she chanted. "The Gate will open. The Flameborn will fall."
She looked toward the distant Bastion, her crimson eyes narrowed.
> "And Kael… you will lead us, whether you want to or not."
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