Chapter 14 – Echoes Before the Flame

Chapter 14 – Echoes Before the Flame

Scene: Setting the Stage – After the Seawatch Summit

The tide had receded, but the weight of decisions remained.

Don Adraels stood atop the ridge overlooking the ocean path, the Seawatch Temple a silhouette against the darkening sky. Wind whipped at his cloak as waves crashed far below, churning with storm-touched foam. Behind him, the flicker of torches announced the Griffor delegation's departure—silent, but no longer estranged.

Caria stepped beside him, silver pauldrons glinting in the dusk.

"You won them," she said softly.

"I gave them something to believe in," Don replied. "That is more dangerous than swords."

Dvrik kicked a loose stone into the abyss. "Griffor talks like prophecy's in his blood. All riddles and half-answers." He squinted into the horizon. "Still... He pledged steel. We'll need it."

Leinara returned from below with her cloak soaked and her brow furrowed.

"A ship," she said. "No sails. No sigils. Just drifting at the reef line. I sent ravens."

Don nodded slowly. "Storms leave wreckage. Sometimes it drifts closer than expected."

He turned, eyes hardening. "We ride at dawn. Thornshell must know what was forged here."

******

Elsewhere that night, in the outer cliffs of Seawatch...

In the dark, a lone figure traced a circle into the sand with a gloved finger. The sea wind hissed through her veil. A whisper—impossible and cold—brushed her thoughts.

The voice did not come in words. It was a presence.

He bears the flame again. Let him blaze. Let the chains rattle.

The figure bowed her head as her eyes turned entirely black. The Pale Wraith had seen the summit. And it would answer, in kind.

******

The sun barely pierced through the southern mists as the gates of Thornshell City groaned open for Don's procession. Banners of House Adraels fluttered beside the tiger-crested standards of House Thornf. The mood was not celebratory.

Caria felt it first—the air crackled not with magic, but unease.

Within the outer courtyard, townsfolk gathered, eyes shadowed with suspicion. Their whispers spread like kindling.

"Why do we send sons to the Mire now?"

"The Hailch are refugees, but the Tidors gather soldiers."

"Why must we bow to the boy who walks with fire?"

Don dismounted calmly, flanked by Dvrik, Leinara, and a small Griffor envoy. Caria stepped forward to meet her father, Earl Jhesarwan Thornf, who awaited at the steps with arms crossed.

"We heard word of your success," the Earl said. "And of the Griffor accord."

"Yes," Don replied evenly. "But success breeds attention. The Pale Wraith has moved again."

Jhesarwan's brows furrowed. "And so have the factions within this city."

Lady Velyra Thornf—Caria's eldest sister—descended from the tower, robes flowing like ink.

"Your arrival stirred not just allies," she said coolly. "The Hailch presence causes unrest. Our merchants whisper of spies and strange tokens found in the market. And now… sightings of black-winged things near the cliffs."

Don exhaled. "It begins."

Leinara drew closer. "The Wraith's influence spreads faster than our blades."

Inside the war hall, the lords of Thornshell gathered for the first full council since Don's engagement. Debate rose quickly—some feared reprisal from House Tidor, others demanded retribution. The younger Thornf mages favored action, but the elder circle urged caution.

Then Don stood, and the hall stilled.

He spoke not of vengeance, but vigilance.

Not of flame, but of unity.

"The Pale Wraith thrives on fear and fracture. But if we hold to each other—if Houses Thornf, Griffor, and Adraels stand as one—we do not simply resist. We begin to shape what comes next."

Jhesarwan stared at him for a long moment. Then nodded.

And the tide, again, began to turn.

The night deepened over Thornshell, yet Don could not sleep.

He stood alone atop the Moonspire balcony, the sea roaring beneath the cliffs. Around his neck hung the Flamebound Medallion, the relic left behind in the Gorgon's Mire—the legacy of a forgotten Adraels conqueror.

It had been dormant since the trial.

Until now.

A faint warmth pulsed against his chest. Then came the whispers—not voices, but echoes, like forgotten embers stirring in an old hearth.

"Heirs of the flame do not follow—"

"—they blaze."

Don gripped the medallion. It burned suddenly, not with pain, but clarity. Images flashed in his mind's eye—fragmented visions of black-armored warriors wielding flame-shaped blades… a city swallowed by light… a crimson banner planted atop a mountain of ash.

He staggered back. The pendant flared once more—and a sigil appeared across the floor beneath him, ancient and spiraled like a coiled serpent of fire. The very stone of Thornshell trembled.

Moments later, Caria burst into the chamber, staff in hand.

"What happened? Your aura—Don, I felt it like a thunderclap!"

Don turned to her, his eyes now glowing faintly ember-orange.

"I think… it's begun."

He opened his hand, revealing the pendant had changed. Now etched upon it was an ancient rune—the mark of the First Flamebearer.

Behind them, shadows stirred. Dvrik and Leinara entered, both alert.

Leinara's breath caught. "That mark… That's from the forbidden texts my father sealed away. Don, this isn't just a relic. It's a summons."

Caria nodded grimly. "To what?"

Don looked to the horizon, where dawn just began to bleed through the clouds.

"To the next trial. Not of stone or magic. But legacy."

He turned to them.

"We leave at first light. The Sealed Archives of Thornshell hold answers. And if I'm right… the flames are not just awakening in me."