Three days' ride beyond Valethar, the skies turned a deep rust color. The wind carried cinders, though no flame could be seen. Trees gave way to skeletal remains of once-living forests, petrified and warped by ancient fire. Birds did not sing. Even the sun, when it pierced the clouds, bled red.
Kael stood at the cliff's edge with his companions, gazing down into a vast crater.
At its center rose Hollowspire.
A city-turned-prison.
Stone towers bent like broken spears. Bridges hung shattered over a sea of ash. Faint red light pulsed at the heart of it all—an unnatural rhythm, like the beat of something long-dead... waking.
Ysera whispered, "This was once the stronghold of the Ember Pact. Before they turned on their own."
"They burned themselves to trap a greater evil," Thorne added. "And left behind ghosts to guard it."
Mira tightened her cloak. "So why do I hear... music?"
Indeed, a soft, haunting melody drifted up from the ruins. It sounded like a woman's voice, singing in a tongue older than the Flame Tongue. It echoed and looped, repeating the same seven words over and over.
Kael closed his eyes, letting the words wash over him.
"He who bears the flame shall burn…"
Ashreign hummed faintly. The Soulflame Blade responded too—its silver glow flickering like a heartbeat in distress.
"We're being summoned," Kael said.
They descended through the ashfall. Ghostflames hovered between ruinous buildings—white-blue phantoms that didn't give heat, only memory. The deeper they walked, the more the city reacted.
Statues turned. Shadows followed.
And then came the silence.
Not the kind one hears in peace—but the silence of a held breath, of something watching.
From beneath the cracked cathedral ahead, a gate of molten iron slowly opened.
A voice boomed from within—cold, feminine, and brimming with mockery.
"Another would-be Flamebearer. Another child come to wake the past."
Ysera gasped. "That voice—it's her. The Betrayer of Embers."
Kael gripped the Soulflame Blade.
"Let her come," he growled.
And from the shadows stepped a woman clad in embersteel, with a crown of ash and eyes like voidfire.
"Welcome to Hollowspire, Kael of Ashreign. Let us see what the third flame has truly awakened."
She stood amidst the ruin like a flame given flesh—tall, regal, and deadly. Her voice was velvet over razors, her presence suffocating. The Soulflame Blade in Kael's hand trembled.
"Who are you?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
She smiled.
"I was once Serithra Vael. Ember-Sister to the Flame Lords. Now… I am what your kind calls the Betrayer."
Mira stepped forward. "You sold out your own kin to the Hollowborn!"
"I freed them," Serithra replied, tone sharp as steel. "The Pact enslaved fire. I gave it purpose."
Kael didn't move, eyes locked on hers. "And what purpose does fire serve, if not to destroy?"
Serithra tilted her head. "To cleanse. To end the cycle of tyrants binding power to bloodlines. You bear three blades—what makes you different?"
Kael raised Ashreign in answer. "I don't seek power. I seek truth. And I'll cut through anything that stands in my way."
Laughter echoed through the hollow halls behind her. Dozens of ghostly figures appeared—ember-wrought warriors, long-dead but held together by will and fire.
The Ashguard.
Serithra's arms extended. "Then come, Flamebearer. Prove your truth."
With a scream of igniting air, her blade—Vaelthyr, the Dirge of Emberfall—appeared in her hands. Black and crimson, its edge shimmered with chained spirits.
Kael charged.
The battle exploded into light and ash.
Ashreign met Vaelthyr in a clash that shattered the cathedral's floor. Serana and Thorne flanked the Ashguard while Mira's spells carved sigils of light through the shadows. Ysera whispered old fire-wards, shielding them from the worst of Serithra's sorcery.
Kael fought like a man born of war—every strike a question, every parry a demand.
"Why did you fall?" he asked through gritted teeth.
Serithra's eyes flared. "Because the Flame lies!"
With one ferocious strike, she shattered the ground beneath them. The stone floor collapsed, sending Kael and Serithra tumbling into the undercatacombs.
There, in darkness, surrounded by the buried dead of Hollowspire, their duel resumed.
Vaelthyr struck deep—but Soulflame blocked it, glowing brighter with each blow.
Serithra hissed. "That blade knows me."
Kael's voice was ice. "It remembers what you cost."
He struck.
Light burst from the impact—silver fire and ghostflame merging. Serithra staggered, wounded, the souls bound to her blade screaming.
And for the first time, Kael saw fear in her.
But she vanished in a shimmer of ash, her voice trailing in a whisper.
"This is only the first verse, Flamebearer. The dirge has many stanzas…"
Kael stood alone in the catacombs, blade glowing, breath ragged.
Above, the others called his name.
He raised Soulflame. "She's not finished."
Nor was he.
The silence that followed Serithra's departure was not still—it listened. It waited.
Kael stood in the hollow catacombs, the silver glow of Soulflame barely pushing back the blackness. The dust here was thick, dry, and ancient, and every step crunched bones unseen beneath his boots.
"Serithra called this a dirge," he muttered. "So where's the next verse?"
As if in answer, the walls themselves began to whisper.
Not with sound—but with memory.
Images flashed in Kael's mind: the day Hollowspire burned; the Flame Lords turning against their sister; Serithra weeping fire as her blade struck them down; a great gate opening beneath the spire… and something stepping through, wrapped in chains of flame and shadow.
A name echoed through the vision, half-formed:
"Malgrith."
Kael fell to one knee, heart pounding.
The name didn't just echo in memory—it echoed in his blood.
Soulflame flared, then dimmed to a thin line of blue fire. It was afraid.
Footsteps echoed above—Mira's voice calling, "Kael! Are you down there?"
"I'm here," he called, voice rough.
Within moments, Mira, Thorne, Ysera, and Serana climbed down the shattered stairway. Their faces were grim. "The Ashguard withdrew when she vanished," Thorne said. "But the sky's turning dark again. Wrong kind of dark."
"Like a storm?" Mira asked.
"No," Kael said. "Like something is waking."
He relayed what he saw. The betrayal. The name. Malgrith.
Ysera's face turned pale. "That was the name of the god the Ember Pact bound beneath this city. A being made of flame and hunger. It was said to burn thoughts—to erase memory where it passed."
Serana narrowed her eyes. "And Serithra intends to unleash it."
"No," Kael said, rising. "She already has."
Behind them, the floor cracked. The entire catacomb shuddered.
Then came a low, guttural chant—in no language the living should know. It echoed from beneath the bones.
Chains rattled. Walls bled embers.
And from the center of the floor, a pillar of black flame burst forth—twisting, roaring, filled with eyes that blinked and wept ash.
Malgrith… was not bound anymore.
Kael stepped forward, Soulflame in hand, and said only one word:
"Run."
They ran, but the fire followed.
Not as flame should—but as something alive, something seeking. The black inferno spilled like liquid through the catacomb's broken stone, chasing Kael and the others up the spiral staircase with unnatural speed. Every torch they passed went dark. Every rune on the wall cracked and bled cinders.
Ysera whispered as she climbed, "It shouldn't be free. The ancient seals—"
"Broken," Kael growled. "Serithra meant for this."
When they reached the top, Mira slammed the stone gate shut and carved a glyph with her dagger. A ward ignited—brief, flickering, but enough to slow the flame.
Just enough.
Outside, Hollowspire groaned. Its great towers—once majestic and ash-white—now glowed faintly red beneath a sky gone rust-colored. Winds carried heat like breath from a forge.
And above them all, suspended in the sky like a wound in the world, was a rift of burning shadow.
Kael stared. "That's not just fire."
"No," Serana said. "That's forgetting."
Kael turned to her. "What?"
She pointed to Thorne. "Ask him what his sister's name was."
Kael blinked. "Thorne doesn't have a sister—"
Thorne looked stunned. "I… wait. I did. She—she taught me how to hold a sword. She wore a braid with black thread. Her name was—"
His eyes went blank.
"I can't remember."
Ysera inhaled sharply. "Malgrith burns memory. It's not a weapon—it's corruption. The more you fight it, the more of yourself you lose."
Kael gripped Ashreign tighter. "Then we'll stop it before it spreads."
But Soulflame pulsed strangely in his hand… and whispered:
"You carry a flame, Kael. But something else burns in you. Something older than this god."
"What?" he muttered aloud.
"You do not remember… but you have met Malgrith before."
Lightning crashed across the crimson sky.
Kael staggered as a vision slammed into his skull: a battlefield of glass, a tower of molten gold, a black flame chained in his chest, and a voice—his own—screaming:
"I bind you, Malgrith, in my name—Kaelrion of the Ashborn Line!"
He collapsed to one knee.
Mira caught him. "What did you see?"
"I… think I've already fought this thing."
Ysera stepped back, eyes wide. "That would mean—you're not just a Flamebearer. You're—"
Kael stood slowly.
"I was the one who sealed it."
Everyone fell silent.
A wind passed that carried no sound—just absence.
And Malgrith, in the distance, began to sing.
It wasn't a song meant for ears.
It clawed into minds.
Kael staggered as the melody swept through the air—no instruments, no lyrics, just a dissonant hum that unraveled. Around him, stones began to tremble. Letters etched into ancient carvings blurred and vanished. A tree nearby forgot how to be a tree, its bark dissolving into soot.
Mira clutched her head. "It's in my thoughts—it's tearing through them—"
"Hold the runes!" Ysera shouted. "Ground yourselves! Memory sigils, now!"
Thorne slammed a rune-stone into the earth and drove his dagger through his palm. "Blood remembers!"
The moment the blood touched the stone, the air around them cleared, slightly—just enough to breathe, to think.
Kael pressed Soulflame to his forehead. "Ashreign, bind me to what was. Anchor me."
The blade pulsed, and a ring of fire traced around him—a halo of memory.
The Song howled louder, now aware that its prey resisted.
From the rift in the sky, Malgrith began to descend.
A shape formed in the clouds—towering, faceless, its body made of chain-link flame and mouths that sang not words but eras. Where it passed, history buckled. Entire towers in Hollowspire fell, and no one remembered building them.
Serana turned to Kael. "If you sealed him once, you can do it again."
"I don't remember how."
"But he does," Ysera said, pointing at the sword. "That blade has tasted his fire. Let it guide you."
Kael raised Ashreign.
The flame split into seven distinct hues—colors of memory: sorrow-blue, oath-silver, blood-red, joy-gold, betrayal-black, dream-violet, and truth-white.
And beneath them, Kael heard a different song. Not Malgrith's.
His own.
A memory of another life:
Standing before a great gate with ten thousand soldiers behind him.
Raising Ashreign in both hands.
Speaking the words:
"In the name of the Ashborn, I bind you. Flame to flame. Shadow to ash. Memory to memory."
Back in the present, Kael whispered those same words aloud.
A shockwave burst from Ashreign.
The Song faltered.
Malgrith shrieked.
And the world remembered itself for one brief instant.
Kael turned to the others. "I can hurt him. I just need time—"
But the god of forgetting was no longer in the sky.
Malgrith stood before them now, a towering mass of heat and erasure, his first true word blooming from a hundred mouths:
"Kaelrion."