Episode 17
Ashrial burned.
Not with flame, but with memory. The city had once been the heart of an empire forged in fire, ruled by beings whose souls were bound to the very essence of magic. Now, its towers stood like gravestones—glowing faintly, echoing with silence.
Kael walked through the ash-strewn streets, his new blade pulsing in his grip.
The sword—Vael'Tharion—whispered with every step. Not words. Not yet. But emotion. Hunger. Power. And something stranger… recognition.
He wasn't just wielding the weapon.
He was chosen by it.
---
Echoes of the Past
As Kael wandered deeper into the spectral city, phantoms began to appear—wisps of memory playing like theater before him.
He saw the Flameborn, younger, proud, adorned in robes laced with molten gold.
He saw the Elders standing before a black sun, chanting in a language older than time.
And he saw her again—the girl with golden eyes.
She stood at the center of the citadel, arms bound in burning chains.
> "Kael..."
The voice called to him—soft and ancient.
He turned.
No one was there.
---
Outside: The Aftermath
Lira sat beside the smoking remains of the Whisper Sisters. Her arm was burned, and her blade shattered, but her eyes blazed with purpose.
Taron stood watch, his sword buried in the earth beside him.
"He's different," Lira said quietly.
Taron nodded. "He brought the sun down on them. That sword… it's not just forged—it's alive."
"Do you trust him?" she asked.
He didn't answer immediately.
"I trust the Kael I've fought beside. But whatever came through that gate… wasn't just him anymore."
---
The Citadel of Flame
Inside Ashrial, Kael approached the great citadel at the city's heart. Its gates, once sealed for a thousand years, swung open at his presence.
The sword responded—its glow brighter now, drawing Kael forward like a compass.
Inside, the throne room was carved from obsidian, its walls veined with cooling lava.
And on the throne…
A woman sat, eyes closed.
She looked barely older than Kael, but power radiated from her like heat from a forge.
Her eyes opened.
Golden.
Familiar.
"You came," she said. "Just like you promised."
Kael's breath caught in his throat. "Who are you?"
She stood, her chains falling away.
"I am Seris, last daughter of the Flameborn. And you… you are my oathkeeper."
---
The Oath Remembered
Kael staggered as memories not his own surged through him.
A battlefield.
A hand reaching out.
A vow spoken in fire.
> "If you fall, I will find you. If you burn, I will carry your flame."
He saw himself—or someone like him—kneeling before Seris, swearing loyalty before an altar of fire.
"You were reborn," Seris whispered, approaching him. "The gods shattered us. Scattered us across time. But your soul remembered."
Kael lowered his head.
"I don't know if I believe that."
"You don't have to," she said. "The sword does. And it chose you."
---
The Binding Flame
Seris extended her hand.
Flame ignited from her palm—not destructive, but warm. Welcoming.
Kael raised Vael'Tharion.
The flame met the blade, and the weapon absorbed it whole.
In that moment, Kael and Seris were bound—not in body, but in purpose.
An ancient rite completed. A forgotten prophecy awakened.
> "The Flamebound rise again," Seris said. "And the world shall burn or be reborn by our will."
---
Meanwhile: The Conclave Moves
Far away in the floating city of Nemoris, the High Conclave of Mages gathered.
The stars above flickered unnaturally.
"Something is stirring," Archmage Velar said, his fingers trembling. "The Gate of Ashrial has opened."
Another mage, cloaked in shadows, leaned forward. "If the Flamebound return, the bindings will break. The Whisper Sisters will fail."
"And the world," Velar said, "will once again belong to fire."
They turned toward the chained figure in the center of the room.
Her mouth was sewn shut. Her eyes burned red.
"The Witch of the First Flame," Velar said. "Unseal her. She will find the oathbearers."
---
Return to the Gate
Kael and Seris emerged from the ruins of Ashrial to find Lira and Taron waiting.
Lira stared at Seris, her eyes narrowing.
"Who is she?" she asked.
"She was the last queen of this place," Kael said. "And she's… part of what I am now."
Seris looked at Lira.
"You carry the Skyfire Mark," she said softly.
Lira stiffened. "What do you mean?"
"You were born under the comet," Seris explained. "Your flame is not of this world."
Lira took a step back, confused. Angry.
"What are you saying?"
"That you were not just chosen by fate," Seris replied. "You were made for it."
---
The Firebound March
That night, as stars flickered with unnatural rhythm, the three companions stood on a cliff overlooking the Scorchmirror.
Below, dozens of figures emerged from the glass—ancient warriors wrapped in molten armor.
Seris smiled.
"The Firebound Legion returns," she said.
Kael tightened his grip on the sword.
And far away, the Witch of the First Flame opened her eyes—and screamed.