Western Fold Mountains – Deep Below the Obsidian Veil
Beneath the charred cliffs of the Fold Mountains, where light had not touched the rock in a thousand years, the Unbound Conclave gathered in silence. Torchlight flickered along runes carved into living stone, casting ghostly sigils across the wide chamber.
Twelve mages stood in a circle, their robes and auras all different—fire, frost, shadow, and storm—yet each carried the same weight of exile and ambition. These were not court magicians or scholarly wizards. These were the Unbound—mages cast out from the Arcane Assembly for refusing to chain their power to the Empire's laws.
At the center stood Aramon Vire, the last of the Dawnbreakers and once a prodigy of the Sunspire Academy before he vanished into forbidden studies. His face was lined with burn-scars that never healed—reminders of a power touched too early.
He held his hands above a levitating orb of molten crystal. It pulsed violently.
"The Flameborn stirs," Aramon spoke, his voice rasping through the chamber. "I felt it yesterday, then again tonight. The ley lines shiver. The southern seals hum with instability. He walks among us once more."
A murmur went through the circle.
"You're sure it's him?" asked a scarred woman with glowing ice-eyes—Mara of the Hollow Vale, mistress of entropy spells. "The old legends spoke of his fall."
"I'm sure," Aramon said. "The world can lie. The stars cannot."
He swept his hand over the orb—and images flickered in the flames: Kael standing in the bistro, Lyra glowing faintly in his arms, Aeris at his side, a faint aura around her that twisted the arcane with every breath.
"He lives quietly now, perhaps even unknowingly... but the flame is waking. And if he remembers what he was, the seals will not hold."
The old dwarf mage, Bolgrim, pounded his staff. "Then we must kill him before he becomes another tyrant!"
"Kill him?" snapped Mara. "We don't even understand what he is! That power—Flameborn, yes, but altered. Touched by something divine. No, we watch. We learn."
Aramon said nothing for a moment. Then he turned, and the orb showed something no one expected—a shadow moving beneath the world. A void-serpent, coiling through shattered realms unseen, hungrily drawn toward the light of the flame.
"If he dies now, the bindings will collapse," Aramon said. "And something far worse will rise to take his place."
Silence followed.
Mara nodded slowly. "Then what do we do?"
Aramon lowered his hands. "We send a seeker. One of ours. Not to kill or convert—but to speak. To offer him truth. If he listens… he may yet be the ally we need."
"And if he refuses?"
"Then we pray the gods were wrong about him."
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Elsewhere – An Abandoned Tower near Emberlight
In the ruins of a forgotten watchtower surrounded by ash trees, a lone mage sat meditating. Her robes were ragged, her hair short, eyes like polished garnet. She was young, but the magic around her thrummed with raw chaos.
Her name was Selai—a war-orphan raised by arcane storms and taught by exiles.
A bird landed on the windowsill, whispering words only her mind could hear.
She opened her eyes. "The Flameborn is awake."
She rose, gathered her staff, and walked toward the east. "Then it's time I meet the man who broke the sky."