The fireway was narrow and winding, carved through layers of crystalline rock that glittered faintly in the glow of Kael's newly ignited flame. The air inside was warmer here, tinged with a scent like burnt amber and ancient wood—a scent that whispered of old power sleeping just beneath their feet.
Elara moved silently ahead, her blade drawn and eyes sharp. Lysaria's hands hovered near her own magic, fingers twitching as if to grasp invisible threads of energy. Therin lagged slightly behind, his crossbow ready, but his gaze was fixed on the shadows.
Kael's heart pounded, not just from the urgency of escape but from the weight now resting on his shoulders. The Phoenix Crown burned faintly against his chest beneath his shirt, a constant reminder of the legacy he had accepted—and the enemy that hunted him.
"This path," Lysaria murmured, tracing the crystalline wall, "leads beneath the Spire itself. The Phoenix Guard used these tunnels to retreat and regroup. If the Sovereign's forces are approaching, this is our best chance to avoid them."
Kael nodded. "We need every advantage we can get."
They pressed deeper into the labyrinth. The walls seemed to pulse, alive with flickers of fire that danced just out of reach. Occasionally, ancient runes glowed to life beneath Kael's feet—symbols of protection and warning, left by the Flamebearers long ago.
Suddenly, the passage opened into a vast cavern. Stalactites dripped molten crystal, casting prismatic reflections on the floor. In the center stood a massive forge, its fire long extinguished but the anvil still gleaming, etched with the same winged flame emblem Kael had seen at the Hollowlands.
"This forge," Therin said, awe heavy in his voice, "was where the Phoenix Guard reforged their weapons—infused with flame and spirit."
Kael stepped forward, fingers brushing the cold metal. A sudden surge of energy pulsed through him, connecting his flame with the forge's lingering power. Images flashed behind his eyes—warriors crafting blades of fire, spells woven into steel, a pledge to protect the light no matter the cost.
Lysaria's voice was soft but urgent. "This place holds more than history. There's power here, Kael. You can wield it."
Kael hesitated. The burden of the Crown felt heavier in this sacred place. But the fire inside him stirred, hungry for the strength to face the Sovereign.
He reached into his pack and pulled out his sword. As the blade touched the forge's surface, a blaze erupted—golden and fierce, yet pure. The runes on the blade ignited, their light reflecting in Kael's determined eyes.
Elara smiled grimly. "Looks like you're ready."
From the shadows, a chilling voice echoed through the cavern. "Ready? You barely understand what you've unleashed."
The group spun toward the voice. Emerging from a dark crevice was a figure cloaked in midnight blue, face hidden beneath a hood. His eyes gleamed like shards of obsidian.
"I am Malric," he said, voice dripping with disdain. "Once a Flamebearer like you, Kael. But I chose the shadow over the flame."
Kael's grip tightened on his sword. "Why do you oppose us?"
Malric's laugh was cold. "Because the Sovereign's darkness is inevitable. The flame burns too bright—it blinds, it destroys. I embraced the truth of shadow to survive."
Lysaria stepped forward, magic crackling at her fingertips. "You're a traitor."
"A traitor?" Malric smiled. "No. I am the necessary balance. Without shadow, there can be no light. The Sovereign will rise, and the flame will be consumed. Join me, Kael, or be destroyed."
Kael's flame flared in response, warmth and fury intertwining. "I will never surrender to darkness."
Malric's eyes narrowed. "Then prepare to be extinguished."
With a flick of his wrist, shadows surged forward, twisting into black serpents that lunged at them.
Elara raised her sword, Lysaria's hands glowed, and Therin readied his crossbow. Kael stepped into the center of the forge, flame blazing, sword glowing with fiery runes.
The battle beneath the Spire had begun.