Chapter Nine: Dreaming in Flame

The dream was made of fire.

Not destructive—not yet. But waiting. Slow-burning. It coiled like a serpent around the soul of the one who slept at the heart of a ruined caldera, far to the north. Beneath layers of stone, ash, and time, the third Ashborn stirred.

His name was Theren, though he hadn't spoken it aloud in years.

Not since the Choir razed his village.

Not since he buried his voice to keep it from being stolen.

In the dark, he remembered.

Far away, beneath the stars of the sky now open, Kairo jolted awake.

His heart pounded. His skin steamed with heat.

"I saw him," he breathed.

Lira sat up across the fire circle. "Another one?"

Kairo nodded. "He's burning. Not physically—internally. He's holding the Song back. Keeping it locked inside so it doesn't destroy everything around him."

Yui was already preparing her bag. "Where?"

"North," Kairo said. "The Scorched Ring."

Aeska's face tightened. "You're sure? That place hasn't stopped burning since the Sundering. Nobody goes there unless they want to melt."

"He doesn't have a choice," Kairo replied. "Neither do we."

The journey took them through lands warped by fire and memory.

Villages made of scorched glass. Forests that bloomed with flameflowers. Rivers of cooled obsidian that shimmered with spectral images—phantoms of those who died singing.

Kairo could feel the heat from miles away.

Not just physical heat—but emotional. Grief. Anger. Containment.

Theren was keeping the Song bottled.

And it was killing him.

They reached the Scorched Ring after four days.

It was a circular rift in the world itself—miles wide, edges like fractured bone. The inside was a basin of smoking stone and glowing embers. And at its center sat a figure—cross-legged, bare-chested, unmoving.

Fire curled around him like a crown.

The air shimmered with suppressed magic.

"That's him," Kairo said.

"Theren," Lira whispered. "I can hear the rumble of his heart from here."

Kairo stepped forward.

The moment his foot touched the scorched soil, the flames around Theren flared.

A wall of fire rose between them.

Yui stumbled back, shielding her face. "It's not attacking us. It's… warning us."

A voice boomed from the caldera.

"GO. BACK."

Kairo didn't flinch. "I know what you are. What you're carrying."

"YOU DON'T. YOU CAN'T."

Then Theren stood.

Tall. Muscular. Scarred from head to toe, each scar carved in the shape of failed runes. His eyes were molten gold. His voice was smoke made flesh.

"I've kept it buried. Buried so it wouldn't burn everything."

Kairo took another step.

"You're not alone anymore."

The fire swirled violently.

"I have to be."

"No," Kairo said. "You were. But not now."

He extended his hand.

The flame licked his fingertips.

Then… softened.

Theren stared at it—then at Kairo's marks.

"You really are Ashborn."

"We all are."

Behind him, Lira added, "And together, we're not just voices."

Yui finished, "We're a choir."

For the first time in years, Theren smiled.

He stepped through the fire.

The Song within him stirred—deep and thunderous, like drums beneath mountains. As it joined the melody that had begun with Kairo, the sky darkened—not with storm…

…but with power.

Kairo turned to the others. "Three down."

Aeska unsheathed her blades, watching the distant stars flicker. "And the Choir's already trembling."

But far beyond, in the ruined spires of the Choir's inner sanctum, a new Cantor stepped from the shadows.

Her robes shimmered with stitched silence.

And her voice had never failed.