"Welcome home… Heir of Fire."
The voice in the wind chilled Rivan's spine, though the air around him grew warmer—dense with ancient heat. His boots crunched against centuries of ash as he stepped further into the ruins of Emberhold, heart pounding like a war drum.
Kael said nothing. His eyes swept the terrain—watchful, alert. But Rivan could feel it. The pulse beneath the soil. Like the bones of a sleeping beast—ancient, angry, and waiting.
"Did you hear that?" Rivan asked, his voice almost a whisper.
Kael's grip tightened on his sword. "No. But Emberhold speaks to those of the blood. Be careful. The past doesn't always whisper—sometimes, it screams."
Boom… Boom… Boom…
Rivan flinched. The thudding came from beneath the ground, faint but steady. He looked down. A glowing fissure snaked through the stone—embers alive beneath the ruin.
Kael led him toward the heart of the fallen keep. What was once a grand courtyard now stood broken, scorched black from an ancient siege. Vines crept along burnt stone, and statues of fire gods lay shattered, their faces melted in eternal agony.
They reached a massive obsidian door embedded into the mountain wall. Symbols glowed faintly across its surface—runes older than language. At its center, a hand-shaped indentation glowed bright red.
Kael stopped. "This is the Vault of Flame. Only your blood can open it."
Rivan stepped forward, hesitant.
"What's inside?" he asked.
Kael's voice dropped. "Secrets. Memories. Power. And possibly… death."
Rivan's throat tightened. He raised his hand—and pressed his palm into the searing mark.
Ssssss—KRAKKK!
The ground trembled. The symbols flared like molten gold. Heat exploded outward in a wave that knocked Kael back a step.
With a deafening grind, the door slid open, revealing a spiraling stairway descending into crimson-lit darkness.
"…Here goes nothing," Rivan muttered, swallowing hard.
Inside the Vault
The air was thick with heat and magic. With each step, the stone stairs hummed underfoot. Rivan's skin prickled. The fire within him stirred, answering the ancient call.
Torch sconces ignited spontaneously as they passed, illuminating murals on the walls—scenes of kings breathing fire, dragons made of ash, battles fought with flame and blood.
Rivan paused at one.
It depicted a boy—his age—crowned with flame, raising his hands as cities burned behind him.
"Is that me… or my future?"
Kael's voice broke the silence. "That's Elandor, your ancestor. The First Flame King. But it could be you too… if you're not careful."
As they reached the bottom, a massive circular chamber opened before them. In its center stood a pedestal of obsidian, and upon it—something pulsed with fiery light.
A gauntlet.
Black and gold. Ancient symbols etched into its surface. Flames danced inside the metal, trapped like a storm barely contained.
Rivan approached slowly.
Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.
The sound echoed. Mocking. Cold.
"Did you think it would be that easy?" a voice hissed.
Rivan spun around.
From the shadows emerged a man cloaked in smoke, face hidden behind a cracked iron mask. His robes flickered with embers, and around him, ash fell like snow.
Kael's blade was out in an instant. "Ashborn."
The figure laughed. "Hahaha… you call me that like it's an insult. But we are what you fear becoming, Heir. Fire… without mercy."
"Who are you?" Rivan demanded, fists clenched.
The masked figure stepped closer. "I was once like you. Chosen. Blessed. But the fire… burns all who embrace it fully."
Kael lunged, sword swinging in a blur.
CLANG!
Their blades collided. The sound rang like thunder.
Rivan watched, frozen, as Kael battled the Ashborn. Sparks flew. Flames burst on impact.
"Don't just stand there!" Kael growled mid-strike. "Get the gauntlet!"
Rivan turned back to the pedestal. The gauntlet called to him, humming in rhythm with his heartbeat.
He reached out—
FWOOOOOM!
Flames erupted around the pedestal, forming a barrier.
"Prove you're worthy!" the gauntlet whispered.
Rivan gritted his teeth, stepped through the fire—and screamed.
"AAAHHH!"
But the fire didn't burn him. It entered him. Memories not his own surged into his mind:
—A king crowned in fire.
—A battle against the Air Queen.
—A betrayal from within.
—A baby—him—smuggled away as Emberhold fell.
—His father's dying breath whispering, "Live… son. Live."
Rivan opened his eyes, gasping.
The fire receded.
He took the gauntlet.
It slid onto his arm perfectly.
Click. Clunk. THOOM.
Symbols lit up across its surface.
Power surged through him—hotter, heavier, but clearer.
He turned to see Kael faltering. The Ashborn raised a blade of pure flame for the killing blow.
"NO!"
Rivan raised the gauntlet—and punched the air.
FWWWWOOOOOOOSH!
A roaring jet of fire exploded outward, slamming into the Ashborn and hurling him across the chamber.
He hit the wall—hard—and crumpled.
Smoke hissed from his body. He turned his head slowly.
"Heh… impressive. But you've just started."
The Ashborn whispered something—and vanished in a swirl of smoke.
Kael limped toward Rivan, panting, wounded.
"You saved me," he said, stunned.
"I saved us," Rivan replied, arm still trembling.
He looked down at the gauntlet. The fire inside it danced like a living thing.
"I felt them," Rivan whispered. "My ancestors. My father. Their power. Their pain. It's… all inside me."
Kael looked solemn. "You've taken the first step. But fire is a hungry master. Don't let it consume your soul."
Rivan clenched his fist, the gauntlet glowing.
"No. I'll master it."
Back at Camp
They returned to a hidden chamber near the surface of Emberhold to rest. Rivan sat in silence, staring at the flame dancing on his gauntlet. It felt… alive. Waiting.
Kael tended his wounds quietly.
"You asked earlier what the Vault holds," he finally said. "Now you know. Not just relics. Truths."
Rivan's voice was low. "Why didn't you tell me the fire could speak?"
"Because I wasn't sure it would speak to you," Kael replied. "It speaks only to those strong enough to carry its memory."
Rivan looked away. "I don't feel strong. I feel like I'm pretending."
Kael nodded. "Then pretend until you don't have to."
Tsk tsk tsk…
Rivan looked around. The sound again. But this time… in his mind.
"We see you now…" a voice coiled inside his head.
"The Heir lives…" another whispered.
"You cannot run. Fire burns all."
Rivan clutched his head, groaning.
Kael rushed to his side. "What is it?!"
"The voices," Rivan hissed. "They're… inside me."
Kael looked grim. "Then the Ashborn have marked you. They'll come again."
Rivan opened his eyes. They glowed—like molten gold.
"I'll be ready."
To be continued...