Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Ashes of Blackrise

The road to Blackrise carved a jagged path through ancient volcanic cliffs, winding like a serpent through the belly of the Flameborn Mountains. It was not a path meant for the faint of heart it was a trial in itself, a pilgrimage undertaken only by those with purpose strong enough to brave the wilds, the cold, and the memories that lingered like ghosts along the blackened stone.

The journey from Ashmere had taken two full days. Days spent in silence, in thought, in anticipation.

The flamebeasts beneath us a rare breed born of ember and bone moved swiftly and tirelessly. Their hooves sparked as they galloped over hardened lava flows, their breath hissing like bellows, eyes glowing with sentient fire. We rode in formation: myself at the head, Dareth close to my right, and Kaela flanking our rear with the disciplined silence of a shadow.

No birds flew overhead. No beasts stirred along the ridges. Even the wind was cautious, rustling only to remind us that it, too, remembered what had once happened here.

Because Blackrise Pass was not just a location.

It was a graveyard of empires.

Memories in the Stone

As we climbed toward the higher ridges, I could feel the history pressing in from all sides the weight of countless battles etched into the cliffs. Long ago, during the War of Splintered Flame, this pass had been a bottleneck through which thousands of imperial troops attempted to pour into the heart of Flameborn territory.

They never made it.

The mountain swallowed them whole.

The Flameborn rebels those early sparkbearers who first dared to rise against their imperial oppressors used the terrain to their advantage. Traps of molten rock. Firestorms summoned by ancient chant. Avalanche spells. The screams from that battle were said to echo still on the wind.

And now we rode toward that same battlefield, seeking answers from its ashes.

I did not speak, but the Sixth Spark within me pulsed softly, as though aware of where we were going. A sense of dread crept into my chest. Not fear. Not panic. But a deep, silent knowing.

We were not riding to a place.

We were riding to a warning.

Arrival at Blackrise

It was near sundown when we saw the outpost.

Blackrise had once stood proud an obsidian fortress carved directly into the cliffs, protected by enchantments etched by the Flamebearers of old. From a distance, its high watchtowers looked intact. The main walls still rose proudly, outlined in red-gold by the falling sun.

But as we drew closer, the illusion of strength faded.

The leftmost tower had collapsed into a heap of scorched rubble. The gates once sealed by flame wards were bent and twisted inward like broken bones. Cracks ran across the courtyard walls, and runes that had once glowed bright and protective now flickered with the dimness of dying embers.

And worst of all there was no sound.

No soldiers. No voices. No flame.

Just the heavy stillness of a place that had been silenced by something greater than death.

We dismounted in the outer courtyard.

Kaela immediately moved to scout the perimeter, sabers drawn. Dareth joined me at the broken gates, eyes narrowed.

"Too quiet," he muttered.

"Which means it's speaking," I replied.

Searching the Ruins

We moved slowly through the outpost, our footsteps echoing through the stone halls. The barracks remained untouched beds still made, personal items folded neatly on shelves. A fire pit in the mess hall held cold ashes, as though the cooks had left in the middle of preparing a meal.

There were no signs of battle.

No blood.

No struggle.

Only… absence.

"This wasn't an assault," Kaela said, her voice low and cold. "It was a clean sweep. Silent infiltration."

Dareth ran his fingers over the surface of a broken ward stone.

"Arcane sabotage. These weren't just soldiers. They had mages."

I entered the command chamber and found the old ledger still lying open on the table. The last entry was dated two days before the reported attack. Routine patrol report. Nothing strange.

Except everything was strange.

It was too neat. Too perfect.

The enemy hadn't just removed people. They had scrubbed the place of presence.

The Vault of Echoes

We descended into the vault at the heart of the outpost where the Mirror of Ember Echoes had been kept.

The corridor was narrow, the walls reinforced with enchantments from a bygone era. The deeper we walked, the warmer the air became, until it felt like the very stone radiated heat from memories long buried.

The vault door was already open.

Its sigils dim.

Its protections undone not shattered by force, but delicately unraveled. As if the magic had been coaxed into silence.

Inside, the chamber glowed faintly, lit only by the embers of what remained. The pedestal where the Mirror had once rested was cracked, its core scorched black. Energy still lingered in the air flame magic, suppressed and broken.

And something else.

I felt it immediately.

A resonance.

A call.

The Vision

I stepped forward, knelt beside the pedestal, and placed my palm on the stone.

Flame erupted in my mind.

But it did not burn.

I saw flashes. Glimpses. Fragments.

A dark figure standing over the Mirror. Their hand wrapped in a frost-wrought gauntlet, glowing with runes of suppression. They murmured something a command in a language I did not recognize. The flames that had protected the mirror screamed.

Then fell silent.

The figure reached out and took the Mirror.

But they did not leave.

They turned.

And looked directly at me.

Eyes the color of starless night. A face obscured but familiar. Something deep stirred in my chest.

This was not a stranger.

This was someone who knew me.

And hated me.

Then the vision shattered.

Aftershock

I stumbled back, gasping.

Dareth caught me. Kaela was already watching the shadows.

"What did you see?" Dareth asked.

"Someone took it," I whispered. "They knew how to disable the wards. They subdued the flames. They took it to silence it. To keep it from speaking to me."

"Where did they go?" Kaela demanded.

"To the Frostlands," I said. "To the heart of silence. They want to bury the flame where even the wind cannot find it."

Dareth cursed. "That's deep into imperial territory. It'll be a suicide mission."

I looked up, resolve burning behind my eyes.

"Then let them send their executioners. Let them send their armies. Let them learn that the flame cannot be smothered."

Kaela straightened.

"We ride tonight."

"No," I said. "We fly."

They looked at me.

"Call for a Skyflare. I will meet them in the sky. And I will bring the flame to the Frostlands."

As we turned to leave the vault, I looked one final time at the cracked pedestal.

"I'm coming," I whispered.

Not as a slave.

Not as a child of ash.

But as the Flamebearer.