The silence after power was always worse than the roar itself.
Aidan sat in the back of the cathedral, his back against the cracked stone wall. His body trembled—not from fear, but from the aftermath. The fire inside him had dimmed, yet left embers in every nerve, like electricity that refused to ground.
He watched the skin on his left hand—still faintly glowing, marked by branching veins of pale blue. The radial sigil had spread slightly across his wrist since the fight. It wasn't just growing.
It was rooting into him.
Elijah knelt at the altar, carefully unwrapping a bundle from beneath the corpse's ashes. The cloth was oil-black, burned at the edges. Inside it was a book—not large, but thick and bound in faded red leather, reinforced with brass corners. Its cover bore a symbol that made Aidan flinch before he even understood why.
A circle.
Split in two.
With fire drawn on one side, and a crown of thorns on the other.
"This," Elijah said softly, reverently, "is the Ash Testament."
He placed the book gently on the altar, wiping away the blood. It opened by itself, pages cracking like ancient bone.
Aidan rose slowly. "What is it?"
Elijah did not look up. "The first scripture ever burned by the Church."
"Written not in Rome, not in Antioch, but in Carpathian caves by those who remembered what came before. Before the gospels. Before the apostles. Before the crucified one claimed divinity."
"The Testament records the true shape of the Covenant… and those chosen to bear the Flame."
Aidan stepped closer. The pages were filled not with letters, but symbols—curved, flowing, alive. They shifted as he tried to read them, as though resisting comprehension.
And yet... his eyes followed.
He could feel the meaning, not in words, but in memory. Each page sparked a flicker: a red sky, a sword bathed in fire, a child standing on a battlefield of ash with a dead god at his feet.
He staggered. "I've seen these. In my dreams."
Elijah nodded. "Then the book remembers you."
One passage pulsed faintly, as if responding to his breath.
"In the time of the Hollowing, seven bloodlines shall carry the dying flame.
One shall be born from silence. One from violence. One from grief.
The Fourth shall burn alone.
The Fifth shall lead the Ashbearers.
The Sixth shall betray.
And the Seventh... shall awaken what lies beyond the flame."
Aidan's throat tightened. "What does that mean?"
Elijah's voice was colder now. Measured.
"You are not the only one bearing the Covenant's mark, Aidan. You are not even the first. There are others. Some walk this earth. Some sleep beneath it. One has already turned."
"The Ashbearers have begun to gather. Guided by fragments of this Testament, they seek to awaken the Old Fire... or smother it forever."
Aidan clenched his fists. "And what about me?"
"You?" Elijah turned to him. "You are the Fourth Flame. The one who must burn alone."
"The one who draws all others out of hiding."
A distant sound cut through the church—wheels on gravel. Heavy tires.
Aidan grabbed his Glock.
Through a cracked stained-glass window, headlights appeared in the distance—black vehicles with no plates, moving too quietly for any civilian engine. A drone buzzed overhead, scanning the ruin with an eerie blue lens.
"They found us," Elijah said.
"Who are they?" Aidan asked.
The priest smiled grimly.
"The Inquisition never died. It just changed uniforms."
Aidan stepped back into shadow, adrenaline rising.
He could feel the Flame stirring again, licking the edge of his soul.
Something was coming.
Not just soldiers. Not just guns.
But something hunting the Testament itself.
Something that knew the names in the prophecy.
He looked to Elijah. "Do we run?"
The priest shook his head, calm as stone.
"No. We burn."