The Gathering Flame

The storm broke over the Varnish grasslands as the Circle departed from Solareth. Lightning thundered across the sky like drums of war. Rain pounded down in sheets, wet and dripping, wetting sodden cloaks and cold, clammy bones, but not a murmur of complaint was heard.

Kairo led the way, his mind burning with purpose.

The vision had changed everything. The Ash King was no longer a memory—it was a promise. A storm waiting to drop. And if they did not reunite the Awakened, there would be no one to stop him.

They set their first stop the outpost town of Rynmere, situated along the edge of the mountain. Once a city of scholarship, it was now a broken stronghold—a sanctuary for outcasts and travelers. The perfect place to start the search.

Virella took the lead in the markets, speaking in hushed tones to old contacts. Sera slipped into the guard barracks under the guise of a mercenary. Elin moved through the streets unnoticed, eyes sharp for signs of magic—flashes of light, subtle gestures, a tremble in the air.

Kairo, meanwhile, felt the city like a heartbeat.

Something was pulsing beneath the surface.

"You're looking for Awakened?" a voice said behind him.

He turned to find a boy—about twelve—gazing up at him with wide eyes and soot smeared on his cheeks.

"They call her Emberwitch," the boy said. "She lives in the underpass. The guards are afraid of her."

Kairo dropped to one knee, extending a piece of dry fruit from his satchel. "What's your name?"

"Laz."

"Well, Laz… bring me to her."

The Emberwitch lived in shadows.

Down below Rynmere, through forgotten tunnels and rusted gates, Kairo found her. She stood amid flickering lanterns and piles of books, fire curling around her fingers like tame serpents.

She looked… tired.

Not old, but worn.

She saw Kairo and her flame flared briefly, then dimmed. "You're like me."

He nodded. "You were called, weren't you?"

"I was cursed," she said bitterly. "Born to burn. Raised to hide."

Kairo stepped closer. "Suppose I told you we're not alone. That Solareth stays, and the flame burns again?"

She laughed—coarse, almost shattered. "You'd be the first light I've seen in years."

Kairo extended his hand. "Come with me. Let us build something new."

She glanced at his hand, unsure. And then finally, slowly, took it.

Word traveled faster than flame.

By the time the Circle left Rynmere, three more had joined their ranks: the Emberwitch, an Eastern Spires wind-bender, and a stoneforged warrior who claimed to have heard the mountains speak.

They each bore a unique mark. They each held a unique gift.

But they shared the same eyes.

The Awakened eyes.

Westward they brought them to war-torn lands—fields with no harvest, rivers that frothed at dusk. And as the Circle grew, so did the danger.

The Order deployed their scouts to the edges of their path. Spies. Shadowcreatures. One evening, in the depths of darkness, they found an abandoned village—one where everyone was gone, no corpses, only ash.

"Stirring is the Ash King," Virella breathed. "Calling up the dark things."

They reached a ruined temple, long buried in dust and vines. Kairo stepped inside first.

On the wall, a mural—one so worn away it was barely visible.

But under the grime, there was one definite picture: a man surrounded by flames, standing before a light throne.

Kairo stepped ahead.

The words below read: "The Flamebringer shall rise in the era of Ash."

Elin followed him, her tone soft. "That's you, isn't it?"

Kairo looked at the mural. "I don't know who I am yet."

"But you're becoming him," she said.

And he believed her.

The following morning, they were attacked.

Ashen Blades fell from the cliffs, black robes flying, blades in hand. The Order had found them.

The battle was brutal.

Sera brought down two before they touched the ground. Virella's arrows burned like lightning, but still, the enemy pushed on—more than ever. Stronger. Faster.

The Emberwitch unleashed a fire that melted steel, but a spear struck her in the ribs.

Kairo roared, flame erupting from his body like a sunflare. The earth cracked where he stood. Every strand of him screamed with power.

He didn't hold back.

For the first time, he let the flames speak.

He flamed.

The Blades faltered, blinded by flame.

Kairo moved like a storm, slaughtering five, six, ten in a span of seconds. The air was shaken by power. The fire inside him didn't devour—it guided.

And when the final of the Order fled, the Circle stood left breathless, scorched, and alive.

No one spoke for some time.

And then Jorran, the stoneforged, spoke, saying, "I pursued a vision here. I thought it madness. But now I have seen the flame."

They each knelt in succession.

Not in worship—but in faith.

In belief.

"You are not just the Flamebringer," Virella said. "You are the spark that will light the world anew."

That night, Kairo stood alone, gazing up at the stars.

The fire within him had stabilized—but it still burned true.

He had remembered his mother. The village. The crystal. The Ash King.

He was not ready.

But he was becoming.

And elsewhere other fires were being lit.

The fire had returned.

And war was coming.