Far below the drifting ruins of Aetherhold, beneath the veil of storm and silence, the Vessel Order gathered again. The Council of Ash stood in tense formation—none seated, all watching.
Malareth knelt once more, her chains scorched, her confidence gone.
"She has five," she said. "The Aeonsworn fell to her."
The Prime did not reply at first. Instead, he looked to the burning brazier in the center of the sanctum.
"The Sealed One failed," the Vessel of Silence hissed.
"She was never meant to succeed," the Prime murmured. "Only to awaken the flame within the girl."
"And it burns," came a voice from behind the flames. Deep, calm, but laced with heat that trembled with wrath.
A figure stepped into the light.
He wore no mask.
His skin was laced with ember scars, glowing faintly beneath the surface—like magma in a dying world. His eyes were black pits rimmed in gold.
Vaerion, called in older tongues The Ember That Walks—the first Flameborn made by the Vessel Order, and the only one who had survived the process.
He had not been summoned in over a decade.
"The girl carries judgment," he said, his voice like lava cracking stone. "The next shard will complete her."
"She must not reach it," the Prime said.
"She won't," Vaerion replied. "I will bring you her Heart."
---
The Path of Ash
Miles away, across broken valleys and windswept plains, Mara and the others descended from Aetherhold.
Serai was the first to feel it—the shift in the flame's current.
"They've sent someone new," she whispered, her eyes glowing faintly. "Not like before. This one… was born from the shard."
"You mean… like Mara?" Talon asked.
"No," Serai said. "Worse. He was made."
Mara's thoughts echoed like drumbeats inside her skull. The shards hummed louder. The fifth shard—Judgment—kept whispering names she didn't recognize. Cities that no longer existed. Lovers turned traitors. Children turned weapons.
"Where's the sixth shard?" she asked Tessara.
The knight unfolded a map, pointing toward the southeastern wastes. "If the Heart's direction is right, it's in the ruins of Vael'Rin."
Serai stiffened. "That's the Scorching Hollow. The desert that never dies. Emberstorms roam it like beasts. No one lives there. Not anymore."
"Then it's a perfect place to hide the shard," Mara said.
"But not from him," Serai whispered.
---
The Hunter Begins
That night, as they camped on the border of the Scorching Hollow, a dream took Mara.
But it wasn't a memory.
It was a warning.
She stood in a field of ash where the sky burned red. In the distance, fire walked—on two legs, cloaked in armor that bled smoke, his hands dripping with embersteel. Wherever his feet fell, the ground caught flame.
> "You carry my siblings," he said, voice like dying stars.
"Return them, or be consumed."
She faced him, heart hammering, shards glowing through her skin.
"I don't fear you," she said.
"You should," said Vaerion, and the world exploded around her.
---
She woke with a gasp.
The horizon ahead glowed faintly orange—not the sunrise, but something older, hungrier.
The Scorching Hollow waited.
And now—so did he.
---