446: The Price of Flame

Location: Sanctum of Echoes, Beneath Vatican Black

The sigil on Damien's palm pulsed like a second heartbeat, each throb sending whispers through the cavern. The Origin Flame was no longer just a relic; it had fused with him. The weight of it tightened around his soul like an oath written in blood.

As Nora reached for his hand, her fingers brushed against the burning sigil—and instantly, her mind flooded with visions not her own.

She saw Damien atop a throne of shattered crowns.

The world beneath him.

Alone.

"Damien?" Her voice cracked.

He looked at her, eyes glowing faintly. "I'm fine."

"You're not," she said, breathless. "That power—it's laced with something old. Cursed. You must release it."

"No," Lazarus interrupted, stepping forward. "This power was meant for him. The Flame doesn't curse—it judges. And it's chosen Damien."

"But at what cost?" Nora snapped. "He's still human. This… this could burn away everything else."

Damien clenched his fist, the sigil retreating into his skin. "Then I'll master it before it masters me."

From behind, the stone chamber began to tremble.

The wall at the far end cracked open, revealing a sealed passage. Wind howled from its depths, not with air, but whispers. Names, secrets, and the echo of a language that hadn't been spoken in ten thousand years.

"A final test," Lazarus said grimly. "It always ends with blood."

They entered the hidden corridor, steps echoing into the dark. The further they walked, the colder it grew. Not physically—but spiritually. The place reeked of unfinished stories.

Torches lit by unseen hands ignited one by one, illuminating ancient murals on the wall. Scenes of three chosen figures in every age—one of flame, one of shadow, one of healing. All bound by prophecy. All ending in betrayal.

They paused before a final mural—unfinished.

Damien frowned. "Why is this one blank?"

A low voice boomed behind them, "Because you have yet to finish writing it."

They turned.

An old man stood at the mouth of the corridor, cloaked in red and gray. His eyes were blind, yet all-seeing.

"I am the Scribe," he said, stepping forward. "I record the fate of those who pass the Trial. And you, Damien Kane… have rewritten destiny."

He pulled out a scroll, placing it into Damien's hand. "Read this before the Flame consumes you. It's your lineage. The true story of House Kane. The prophecy you were never told."

Damien hesitated. "Why now?"

"Because," the Scribe whispered, "the Flame demands balance. And balance always requires sacrifice."

The scroll began to unravel on its own, pages turning by invisible hands.

And what Damien read made his blood run cold.