The Ruins of Solvar

After days of grueling travel, Hestia arrived at the base of the Ashen Peaks, where the Ruins of Solvar lay hidden within the mountains. The path had been treacherous, with the constant feeling of being watched gnawing at her resolve. The closer she got to Solvar, the more distorted the world became—strange, swirling mists clung to the air, and the sun barely penetrated the thick clouds of ash and shadow.

The ruins themselves emerged from the landscape like skeletal remains of a once-great city. Crumbling pillars lined the entrance to what had once been a grand library, their carvings eroded by time and wind. The air was thick with a lingering magic, the kind that felt both ancient and uneasy, as if the very stones of Solvar remembered the power that had once been kept within its walls.

Hestia approached the entrance, a pair of enormous iron doors, now rusted and half-buried beneath layers of dust and vines. With a deep breath, she pushed them open, and a gust of cold, stale air rushed out, carrying with it the scent of old paper and forgotten secrets. The library beyond was vast, a labyrinth of towering shelves and fallen archways. Once, it must have been a place of immense knowledge, but now, it was a shadow of its former glory—silent, abandoned, and bathed in eerie twilight.

With a torch lit by her own flame, Hestia stepped inside, her footsteps echoing through the stillness. Her eyes scanned the broken shelves and scattered manuscripts, searching for anything that might lead her to the truth about the Sorcerer's Ember. She knew time was of the essence—she wasn't the only one seeking the Ember, and every moment wasted was a moment closer to catastrophe.

As she moved deeper into the heart of the library, Hestia found herself surrounded by books, scrolls, and artifacts—pieces of a long-forgotten era. Some texts were too worn to read, but others still held legible symbols, etched in languages older than any she had encountered before. She pulled down several ancient tomes, scanning their faded pages for any mention of the Ember.

Hours passed, the weight of Solvar's oppressive silence pressing down on her as she sifted through the scattered knowledge. Finally, she found what she had been searching for—a collection of scrolls, stored in a locked chest buried beneath a collapsed archway. With a blast of controlled flame, she melted the rusted lock and carefully unrolled the scrolls.

There, etched in ancient ink, was the name of the Sorcerer's Ember.

Her breath caught in her throat as she read through the scrolls. The Sorcerer's Ember wasn't just the source of all elemental magic—it was the first flame, born from the raw power of the cosmos, capable of shaping reality itself. It had been hidden away for millennia by a group of mystics who feared its immense potential, knowing that whoever controlled the Ember could bend the very fabric of the world to their will. But the scrolls told more than just the story of the Ember's origins—they spoke of a prophecy.

Hestia's heart pounded as she unfurled the final scroll. The words were haunting, their meaning all too clear:

"Should the flame be reignited by one with a heart of shadow, the world shall burn in endless night. The stars shall dim, and the land will fall to ash and shadow, consumed by the flame that knows no warmth."

A chill ran down her spine. The prophecy warned of the unimaginable—if the Ember were claimed by someone with darkness in their heart, it would not only destroy the balance of magic, it would plunge the world into an eternal darkness where neither fire nor light could survive. The chaos in Eldermist, the strange whispers, and the unnatural dimming of the flames—all of it had been a warning. The balance was already shifting.

Hestia sank onto a broken column, the gravity of what she had uncovered weighing on her. She wasn't just fighting to protect her village anymore—this was about the fate of the entire world. If someone, or something, sought to reignite the Sorcerer's Ember, the consequences would be catastrophic. The world could burn in an endless night, forever smothered under ash and shadow.

But it wasn't just fear that gnawed at her. There was something else—a sense of foreboding. If she didn't act quickly, the forces that sought the Ember could already be one step ahead. The whispers in the flames had warned her, but they hadn't revealed who was behind this dark pursuit. Who—or what—was searching for the Ember? And why?

Her mind raced with questions as she stood, ready to continue her search. She knew the answers she needed were still hidden within the library, buried somewhere within the ancient knowledge of the mystics. But as she moved further into the ruins, her torch flickering in the stale air, she felt it again—the sensation of being watched.

Hestia paused, listening intently. The library was still silent, but there was something… different. The shadows around her seemed to shift and ripple, as though something unseen was lurking just beyond her line of sight. She tightened her grip on her sword, her flames flickering brighter in response to her growing unease.

A sudden gust of wind blew through the library, snuffing out her torch. The room plunged into darkness, save for the faint, unnatural glow of the distant stars through the broken roof above. But even they seemed dimmer now, as if the prophecy was already beginning to take shape.

And then, from the darkness, she heard it—the unmistakable sound of footsteps, slow and deliberate, echoing through the ruins.

She wasn't alone in the Ruins of Solvar.

Hestia's flames reignited, bathing the library in a warm, golden light. Her eyes darted around, searching the shadows for the source of the sound. But there was nothing—just the endless rows of crumbling shelves and the oppressive weight of ancient knowledge.

But the footsteps persisted, growing louder, closer. Whoever—or whatever—was in Solvar with her wasn't hiding anymore.

With her heart pounding in her chest, Hestia prepared for whatever was coming next.