Chapter 4: The Hollow Flame
Chapter 4: The Hollow Flame
Storms gathered over the northern hills as Kael left the Firepath behind. The air had grown thinner, the cold biting deeper into his bones. The land was harsher here—jagged rocks, twisted roots, and winds that howled like mourning spirits.
He trudged forward, guided only by the shard's glow and the ancient maps Maeryn had burned into his memory. The Shattered Peaks loomed ahead like broken teeth, and nestled between them, the Vault of Flame awaited.
On the third night, he found shelter in the ruins of an old waystation. There, the wind quieted—but Kael's dreams did not.
He saw a throne made of blackened bone, and seated upon it, a figure wrapped in shadows, a hollow flame flickering in its chest.
"Do you think yourself chosen?" the figure asked, its voice echoing like a dying star.
Kael tried to speak, but the fire in his throat turned to ash.
"All flames die, boy. Even you."
He awoke gasping, the shard searing against his skin.
Outside, something moved.
Kael drew the small dagger Maeryn had given him. A low growl answered. From the darkness, a pair of eyes gleamed—too wide, too hungry.
Then a creature leapt from the shadows. It was no wolf, no beast of nature. Its body was smoke and sinew, its claws dripping flame. A wight-born, summoned by the Hollow One.
Kael barely dodged its first strike. He rolled, sliced, missed. The pendant flashed, casting a burst of light that stunned the creature. In that instant, Kael thrust the shard forward—and it responded.
Flame erupted from his hand.
Not wild. Not destructive.
Controlled.
The fire struck the wight, unraveling its form in a scream of smoke and sparks.
Kael stood trembling, the shard dimming in his grasp.
The fire obeyed him now.
For the first time, he didn't feel like a boy running from fire.
He felt like a flame.
And far to the north, the Hollow One stirred.
"He is waking.
Kael did not sleep again that night. He sat in the waystation's ruins, the dagger in his lap and the shard glowing faintly at his chest. Outside, snow began to fall. Soft, steady, like ash.
By morning, he had resolved to move faster. The Vault of Flame was close—he could feel it, like a pull in his blood. He crossed the snow-laced valley beyond the ruins and entered the lower crags of the Shattered Peaks.
The landscape grew stranger the deeper he went. Rock formations twisted like frozen fire. Trees petrified by heat and time stood black and brittle. In one glade, he passed a ring of scorched bones and the remnants of ancient battle banners, untouched by wind or rot. The air crackled faintly, as if echoing some long-past war.
As he climbed, the sky darkened with unnatural clouds. Lightning rippled silently overhead. The shard began to vibrate—a warning, or a summons.
He crested a ridge—and saw it.
The Vault of Flame.
A massive stone gate, half-buried in the mountainside, its doors carved with spirals of fire and guarded by two statues of wingless dragons. Between them, a brazier burned with blue flame—cold and flickering, yet untouched by snow or time.
Kael stepped closer. The pendant warmed. The shard blazed.
He placed his hand against the gate.
The carvings shimmered. The statues stirred. The brazier flared.
Then the voice came again.
"Only the Kindled may enter. Only flame may pass."
Kael braced himself, closed his eyes, and let the shard guide him.
Fire wrapped around him—not to consume, but to transform. It wove through his limbs, into his breath, his blood. When he opened his eyes again, the world was cast in golden light.
The gates opened.
Inside was darkness.
But Kael walked forward, flame in his heart.
And behind him, far across the windswept valley, the Ashen Riders arrived.
Kael stepped beyond the threshold of the Vault of Flame and into a cathedral of shadows.
The air inside was dry and heavy, tinged with the scent of old smoke. Flame sigils spiraled up the walls, pulsing faintly like the last embers of a long-dead fire. The ceiling arched far above him, lost in a haze of heat and flickering light.
He walked forward slowly, the shard at his chest flaring in steady rhythm, guiding his steps deeper into the Vault. Beneath his boots, the floor shimmered with molten veins—silent rivers of dormant power.
At the chamber's center stood a pedestal of obsidian carved into the shape of a flame-crowned tree. Upon it lay a scroll bound in golden twine, and beside it, a circlet of blackened silver, etched with ancient runes.
Kael hesitated.
The voice came again, echoing through the chamber without sound:
"You who carry the ember, know this: fire remembers. It remembers the First Flame, and the Fall. It remembers the Kindled and their sacrifice."
The scroll unfurled on its own, revealing words written in shifting flame. As Kael read, images flashed in his mind:
A city of light crowned by a burning tree. A war between the Kindled and a vast, shadowed army. A betrayal that shattered the Ember and scattered its pieces across Avelor. The Hollow One rising from ash and ruin.
Kael staggered back.
"Why me?" he whispered.
But no answer came.
The circlet pulsed. He reached for it, and the moment his fingers touched the metal, searing heat raced through him. He cried out, but did not let go.
Visions overwhelmed him—a line of warriors crowned in flame, each one bearing the mark he bore. The last Kindled falling atop a burning peak, casting their ember into the wind. And then darkness.
But something new emerged: a spark. A rebirth.
Kael fell to his knees, the circlet now cool in his hand. When he stood again, he was changed.
The Vault's inner sanctum opened before him, revealing a hall of mirrors made from polished obsidian. Each reflected a different Kael—some older, some scarred, some robed in flame.
And in the farthest mirror stood a figure cloaked in shadow, its face a mask of soot and bone.
The Hollow One.
It raised its hand—and Kael felt a chill lance through him.
The shard flared in defiance.
And the mirrors shattered.
Kael stood in silence as shards rained down around him. One embedded itself in the stone at his feet, glowing faintly.
"Choose."
That was all the shard said.
Kael picked up the mirror shard and held it beside the one from the griffin's wing. They pulsed together—fragments of something greater. A weapon. A key. A crown.
His journey was not just about survival. It was about restoration.
And as the Vault of Flame sealed behind him, Kael stepped back into the world.
High above, the sky cracked with distant thunder.
The Hollow One was stirring.
And Avelor would burn if he failed.
Chapter 5: Ashes in the Wind
Kael emerged from the Vault of Flame with dawn cresting the peaks of the Daggerhorn Mountains. The air outside was sharp and cold, yet it carried a strange warmth, as though the Vault had kindled something deep inside him that would never truly fade.
He had not taken ten steps before a rustle from the trees drew his attention. A cloaked figure stepped into view—tall, wrapped in silver-threaded robes, with a staff carved from charwood.
"Kael of Emberwatch," the figure said, voice soft and knowing. "You've awakened the Vault. The world turns once more."
"Who are you?" Kael asked.
The figure pulled back their hood to reveal a woman with flame-orange eyes and hair that shimmered like moonlit coals.
"I am Lysari," she said. "Seer of the Ash Circle. And I've waited a long time for you."
Lysari beckoned him to follow. Together, they walked a narrow mountain path winding downward toward the valley. As they went, she spoke of the Ash Circle—an order of mystics and scholars who had preserved what little truth remained of the Kindled.
"They said the flame was gone," Lysari said. "But fire doesn't vanish. It sleeps. Smolders. Waits for one who can carry it again."
Kael fingered the shard at his chest. "It's not just a burden. It's… alive."
She nodded. "And it's only the beginning."
By evening, they reached a cliffside sanctuary. Fires flickered in braziers carved with old runes, and from the high perch, Kael could see the vast lands of Avelor below—forests, rivers, and distant cities cloaked in mist.
But shadows crept at the edges of the horizon.
"The Hollow One's influence is spreading," Lysari said gravely. "Night beasts move where light once held dominion. Towns vanish without word. Whispers say the Black Flame cult rises again."
Kael felt the weight of it settle on his shoulders. "And I'm supposed to stop all that?"
"No," Lysari replied. "Not alone. There are others who still carry fragments. The Flame is scattered, but not lost."
She led him to a chamber where ancient maps were pinned across stone walls, marking lost Kindled temples, sites of fallen battles, and mysterious sigils that pulsed with emberlight.
"You must find the others," Lysari said. "Before the Hollow One does."
Kael stared at the map. So many places. So much unknown.
But deep inside, the shard throbbed with steady heat.
"I'll find them," he said. "Whatever it takes."
Outside, the wind howled like a warning. Far to the north, beyond the reach of firelight, a storm of ash was rising.
And the flame within him burned brighter.
Chapter 5: Ashes in the Wind (continued)
Kael spent the night in the sanctuary under Lysari's watch. Strange dreams clung to his sleep—whispers of burning cities, silver-cloaked riders, and the Hollow One seated on a throne of cinders. But when he awoke, the dreams scattered like smoke.
Lysari waited by a fire with two traveling packs. "It's time," she said simply.
They set off at first light. Their first destination: the Ember Grove, an ancient woodland said to hide another fragment of the Flame. As they journeyed through forested hills and crystal streams, Lysari taught Kael the old flame-songs—chants once used by the Kindled to focus power, summon light, and push back shadow.
Kael struggled at first. The songs made his shard tremble but not ignite. Only when he let go of fear—when he sang with longing, with pain, with fire—did the ember stir.
By the third evening, they reached the Grove.
It was no ordinary forest. Trees twisted toward the heavens like frozen fire, their bark a dark bronze, their leaves faintly glowing in ember hues. The very air shimmered.
"This place is sacred," Lysari said. "One of the last untouched by the Hollow One."
Kael stepped into the Grove, feeling the shard burn hot against his chest. A presence stirred.
From the trees came a creature unlike any he'd seen—tall, antlered, robed in moss and flame. Its eyes were molten gold.
"I am Ashvyn, Flamewarden of the Grove," it said. "You seek what was lost."
Kael nodded, heart pounding.
Ashvyn studied him in silence, then motioned toward a pool of silver fire at the Grove's heart.
"Prove you are Kindled reborn," it said. "Step into the memory."
Without hesitation, Kael walked into the flame.
Pain seared his mind. He saw a battle from centuries ago—the Fall of Viremont, when the last Kindled stood against the Hollow One. He lived their desperation, their sacrifice, their final flare of defiance. And then he saw himself—not as he was, but as he could become. Cloaked in flame. Leading others.
When he stumbled out, the pool's light followed him, settling into the shard. Another piece awakened.
Ashvyn bowed. "The Flame remembers you."
Kael turned to Lysari, who smiled through tears.
"The Ember Grove is only the beginning," she said.
Kael looked beyond the trees, to the rising storm on the horizon.
"I'm ready."
They traveled east, toward the Drowned Hills—a place once rich with flame-crystals, now blackened and cracked, a ruin devoured by shadow.
The deeper they went, the colder it became. Not a physical cold, but a deadening of warmth and hope. Night beasts prowled the edges of their campfires, their eyes like coals in the dark.
Lysari grew quieter, her gaze always searching the night.
"We're being followed," she said one night. "Something twisted. Something that knows your flame."
Kael kept his hand near his shard. He felt it too: a presence, waiting just beyond the trees.
At dawn, they reached the mouth of an ancient mine where another ember fragment was rumored to lie. The mine was collapsed and cursed—but Kael pressed forward.
Inside, shadows whispered.
He saw his fears—visions of his mother's face turning to ash, of Emberwatch burning, of him standing alone before the Hollow One.
But then the shard blazed.
Light burst from his chest, burning away the illusions. The mine trembled. Beneath a pile of collapsed stone, Kael uncovered a piece of obsidian shaped like a feather—another fragment.
As he touched it, the walls began to cave.
Lysari dragged him out just as the mine collapsed behind them. Gasping, Kael stared at the feather.
Three pieces now.
Lysari smiled faintly. "The Flame is returning."
But her smile faded.
Because on the ridge above them, cloaked in smoke and bone, stood a figure watching.
The Hollow One had found them.
Chapter 6: The Shadow on the Ridge
The wind howled between the broken stones as Kael faced the figure looming above. Cloaked in swirling ash, its eyes burned like twin coals. The Hollow One didn't move, didn't speak—yet its presence pressed down like a storm.
Kael's shard pulsed, wild and hot. Beside him, Lysari chanted a flame-song under her breath, her staff glowing with runes.
Then, without warning, the Hollow One raised a skeletal hand.
Shadows tore from the rocks, twisting into shapes with talons and hollow faces. Nightspawn.
Kael barely had time to react. The shard blazed, forming a flaming arc around his arm. He slashed through the first of the creatures, the heat singing his fingertips.
Lysari's staff sent a wave of fire crashing through the second wave, but more came.
"We have to fall back!" she shouted.
Kael didn't argue. They turned and ran, the Nightspawn giving chase.
Through ruined trails and broken trees they fled, until they reached a narrow gorge lit faintly by ember-veined stone. Lysari spun and slammed her staff into the ground. A wall of flame roared up behind them, halting the Nightspawn—for now.
Panting, Kael stared at the three shards now bound to a leather strip across his chest.
"They're getting stronger," he said.
Lysari nodded grimly. "And they won't stop until they've taken the Flame or destroyed it."
A sound echoed behind them—not pursuit, but a horn. Low, mournful, ancient.
Kael turned. "What now?"
From the mist ahead, riders emerged. Armored figures on ember-steeds, their eyes glowing faintly. At their lead rode a woman in burnished plate, her cloak trailing embers.
Lysari stepped forward and bowed. "Flame-General Serana."
Kael blinked. "You know her?"
"She led the last embers of the Kindled army east, long thought lost," Lysari said.
Serana dismounted. "Not lost," she said. "Waiting. Watching. And now—we ride to war."
Kael felt the shard burn brighter at her words.
The Flame was gathering.
And so was the storm.
Kael stood face to face with Serana, the Flame-General. Her eyes, golden like molten steel, scanned him with wary approval.
"You carry three fragments," she said. "And you're still breathing. That alone is cause enough for council."
They rode together into the Ember Encampment, hidden deep in a canyon veiled by flame-mist. The camp pulsed with energy—Kindled descendants, outcasts, and ember-forged warriors trained in secret for generations. Kael had never seen so many gathered under the old sigils.
At the heart of the encampment stood a brazier known as the Sentinel Flame. It had never gone out, Lysari told him, lit by the last true Kindled before the fall of Avelor's Flame Court. Now, it burned brighter than ever, responding to Kael's presence.
That night, around the flame, Serana called a gathering.
"Kael Emberborn," she said, her voice carrying through the night air. "You have awakened the Vault and survived the Grove. You've been marked by Ashvyn and challenged by the Hollow One's gaze. We must now prepare for what comes next."
Kael rose, the shards glowing like stars across his chest.
"I didn't choose this," he said, "but I won't run from it. I'll find the rest of the Flame. I'll unite whoever's left. And I'll face the Hollow One—whatever it takes."
The warriors bowed their heads. A horn rang three times in the distance—once for war, once for mourning, once for the fire reborn.
In the far north, beyond frost and ruin, the Hollow One stirred.
And somewhere in the ashlands, the next ember called.
The Last Ember of Avelor
Chapter 4: The Hollow Flame (continued)
Kael stepped beyond the threshold of the Vault of Flame and into a cathedral of shadows.
The air inside was dry and heavy, tinged with the scent of old smoke. Flame sigils spiraled up the walls, pulsing faintly like the last embers of a long-dead fire. The ceiling arched far above him, lost in a haze of heat and flickering light.
He walked forward slowly, the shard at his chest flaring in steady rhythm, guiding his steps deeper into the Vault. Beneath his boots, the floor shimmered with molten veins—silent rivers of dormant power.
At the chamber's center stood a pedestal of obsidian carved into the shape of a flame-crowned tree. Upon it lay a scroll bound in golden twine, and beside it, a circlet of blackened silver, etched with ancient runes.
Kael hesitated.
The voice came again, echoing through the chamber without sound:
"You who carry the ember, know this: fire remembers. It remembers the First Flame, and the Fall. It remembers the Kindled and their sacrifice."
The scroll unfurled on its own, revealing words written in shifting flame. As Kael read, images flashed in his mind:
A city of light crowned by a burning tree. A war between the Kindled and a vast, shadowed army. A betrayal that shattered the Ember and scattered its pieces across Avelor. The Hollow One rising from ash and ruin.
Kael staggered back.
"Why me?" he whispered.
But no answer came.
The circlet pulsed. He reached for it, and the moment his fingers touched the metal, searing heat raced through him. He cried out, but did not let go.
Visions overwhelmed him—a line of warriors crowned in flame, each one bearing the mark he bore. The last Kindled falling atop a burning peak, casting their ember into the wind. And then darkness.
But something new emerged: a spark. A rebirth.
Kael fell to his knees, the circlet now cool in his hand. When he stood again, he was changed.
The Vault's inner sanctum opened before him, revealing a hall of mirrors made from polished obsidian. Each reflected a different Kael—some older, some scarred, some robed in flame.
And in the farthest mirror stood a figure cloaked in shadow, its face a mask of soot and bone.
The Hollow One.
It raised its hand—and Kael felt a chill lance through him.
The shard flared in defiance.
And the mirrors shattered.
Kael stood in silence as shards rained down around him. One embedded itself in the stone at his feet, glowing faintly.
"Choose."
That was all the shard said.
Kael picked up the mirror shard and held it beside the one from the griffin's wing. They pulsed together—fragments of something greater. A weapon. A key. A crown.
His journey was not just about survival. It was about restoration.
And as the Vault of Flame sealed behind him, Kael stepped back into the world.
High above, the sky cracked with distant thunder.
The Hollow One was stirring.
And Avelor would burn if he failed.
---
Chapter 5: Ashes in the Wind (continued)
Kael spent the night in the sanctuary under Lysari's watch. Strange dreams clung to his sleep—whispers of burning cities, silver-cloaked riders, and the Hollow One seated on a throne of cinders. But when he awoke, the dreams scattered like smoke.
Lysari waited by a fire with two traveling packs. "It's time," she said simply.
They set off at first light. Their first destination: the Ember Grove, an ancient woodland said to hide another fragment of the Flame. As they journeyed through forested hills and crystal streams, Lysari taught Kael the old flame-songs—chants once used by the Kindled to focus power, summon light, and push back shadow.
Kael struggled at first. The songs made his shard tremble but not ignite. Only when he let go of fear—when he sang with longing, with pain, with fire—did the ember stir.
By the third evening, they reached the Grove.
It was no ordinary forest. Trees twisted toward the heavens like frozen fire, their bark a dark bronze, their leaves faintly glowing in ember hues. The very air shimmered.
"This place is sacred," Lysari said. "One of the last untouched by the Hollow One."
Kael stepped into the Grove, feeling the shard burn hot against his chest. A presence stirred.
From the trees came a creature unlike any he'd seen—tall, antlered, robed in moss and flame. Its eyes were molten gold.
"I am Ashvyn, Flamewarden of the Grove," it said. "You seek what was lost."
Kael nodded, heart pounding.
Ashvyn studied him in silence, then motioned toward a pool of silver fire at the Grove's heart.
"Prove you are Kindled reborn," it said. "Step into the memory."
Without hesitation, Kael walked into the flame.
Pain seared his mind. He saw a battle from centuries ago—the Fall of Viremont, when the last Kindled stood against the Hollow One. He lived their desperation, their sacrifice, their final flare of defiance. And then he saw himself—not as he was, but as he could become. Cloaked in flame. Leading others.
When he stumbled out, the pool's light followed him, settling into the shard. Another piece awakened.
Ashvyn bowed. "The Flame remembers you."
Kael turned to Lysari, who smiled through tears.
"The Ember Grove is only the beginning," she said.
Kael looked beyond the trees, to the rising storm on the horizon.
"I'm ready."
---
They traveled east, toward the Drowned Hills—a place once rich with flame-crystals, now blackened and cracked, a ruin devoured by shadow.
The deeper they went, the colder it became. Not a physical cold, but a deadening of warmth and hope. Night beasts prowled the edges of their campfires, their eyes like coals in the dark.
Lysari grew quieter, her gaze always searching the night.
"We're being followed," she said one night. "Something twisted. Something that knows your flame."
Kael kept his hand near his shard. He felt it too: a presence, waiting just beyond the trees.
At dawn, they reached the mouth of an ancient mine where another ember fragment was rumored to lie. The mine was collapsed and cursed—but Kael pressed forward.
Inside, shadows whispered.
He saw his fears—visions of his mother's face turning to ash, of Emberwatch burning, of him standing alone before the Hollow One.
But then the shard blazed.
Light burst from his chest, burning away the illusions. The mine trembled. Beneath a pile of collapsed stone, Kael uncovered a piece of obsidian shaped like a feather—another fragment.
As he touched it, the walls began to cave.
Lysari dragged him out just as the mine collapsed behind them. Gasping, Kael stared at the feather.
Three pieces now.
Lysari smiled faintly. "The Flame is returning."
But her smile faded.
Because on the ridge above them, cloaked in smoke and bone, stood a figure watching.
The Hollow One had found them.
---
Chapter 6: The Shadow on the Ridge (continued)
The wind howled between the broken stones as Kael faced the figure looming above. Cloaked in swirling ash, its eyes burned like twin coals. The Hollow One didn't move, didn't speak—yet its presence pressed down like a storm.
Kael's shard pulsed, wild and hot. Beside him, Lysari chanted a flame-song under her breath, her staff glowing with runes.
Then, without warning, the Hollow One raised a skeletal hand.
Shadows tore from the rocks, twisting into shapes with talons and hollow faces. Nightspawn.
Kael barely had time to react. The shard blazed, forming a flaming arc around his arm. He slashed through the first of the creatures, the heat singing his fingertips.
Lysari's staff sent a wave of fire crashing through the second wave, but more came.
"We have to fall back!" she shouted.
Kael didn't argue. They turned and ran, the Nightspawn giving chase.
Through ruined trails and broken trees they fled, until they reached a narrow gorge lit faintly by ember-veined stone. Lysari spun and slammed her staff into the ground. A wall of flame roared up behind them, halting the Nightspawn—for now.
Panting, Kael stared at the three shards now bound to a leather strip across his chest.
"They're getting stronger," he said.
Lysari nodded grimly. "And they won't stop until they've taken the Flame or destroyed it."
A sound echoed behind them—not pursuit, but a horn. Low, mournful, ancient.
Kael turned. "What now?"
From the mist ahead, riders emerged. Armored figures on ember-steeds, their eyes glowing faintly. At their lead rode a woman in burnished plate, her cloak trailing embers.
Lysari stepped forward and bowed. "Flame-General Serana."
Kael blinked. "You know her?"
"She led the last embers of the Kindled army east, long thought lost," Lysari said.
Serana dismounted. "Not lost," she said. "Waiting. Watching. And now—we ride to war."
Kael felt the shard burn brighter at her words.
The Flame was gathering.
And so was the storm.
---
Kael stood face to face with Serana, the Flame-General. Her eyes, golden like molten steel, scanned him with wary approval.
"You carry three fragments," she said. "And you're still breathing. That alone is cause enough for council."
They rode together into the Ember Encampment, hidden deep in a canyon veiled by flame-mist. The camp pulsed with energy—Kindled descendants, outcasts, and ember-forged warriors trained in secret for generations. Kael had never seen so many gathered under the old sigils.
At the heart of the encampment stood a brazier known as the Sentinel Flame. It had never gone out, Lysari told him, lit by the last true Kindled before the fall of Avelor's Flame Court. Now, it burned brighter than ever, responding to Kael's presence.
That night, around the flame, Serana called a gathering.
"Kael Emberborn," she said, her voice carrying through the night air. "You have awakened the Vault and survived the Grove. You've been marked by Ashvyn and challenged by the Hollow One's gaze. We must now prepare for what comes next."
Kael rose, the shards glowing like stars across his chest.
"I didn't choose this," he said, "but I won't run from it. I'll find the rest of the Flame. I'll unite whoever's left. And I'll face the Hollow One—whatever it takes."
The warriors bowed their heads. A horn rang three times in the distance—once for war, once for mourning, once for the fire reborn.
In the far north, beyond frost and ruin, the Hollow One stirred.
And somewhere in the ashlands, the next ember called.
..
---
Chapter 7: Emberbound
The days that followed were filled with urgency. Kael trained beside the ember-forged warriors of the Flame Encampment, each morning more grueling than the last. Serana drilled him in flame-formed weaponry—blades summoned from burning air, shields woven from heat. He was no master, but the shards responded to him, eager to be whole again.
Lysari watched him in silence, noting how his aura had shifted. "You're not the same boy who entered the Vault," she said one evening.
Kael nodded. "I don't feel like him anymore."
"Good," she whispered. "Because the world doesn't need that boy. It needs the Kindled reborn."
The Ember Council convened in a stone amphitheater lit by ever-burning braziers. Maps were unfurled, scouts reported dark omens—burned-out villages, tainted forests, signs of the Hollow One's reach spreading faster than anyone had feared.
"There is no more time to hide," Serana declared. "We must strike before his strength becomes absolute."
The target: an old Kindled fortress swallowed by the Shattered Wastes, rumored to house another ember shard—and possibly, a prisoner who had survived since the Fall.
Kael volunteered without hesitation.
The mission party was small: Kael, Lysari, Serana, and two flamewalkers named Renn and Corra. By the second day, the Wastes stretched endlessly before them—desolate, cracked lands under a bruised sky. Nothing grew there. Even the wind sounded hollow.
It was there they first heard the Emberbound.
Voices in the wind—chanting, distorted and eerie. Shapes flickered in the heat—figures wrapped in chains, eyes burning with stolen light.
"Bound souls," Lysari whispered. "Once Kindled. Now cursed."
As they neared the fortress gates, the Emberbound attacked. They came without sound, blades like obsidian lightning.
Kael stood firm, flame gathering in his palms.
This time, he didn't flinch.
He met them head-on, shards glowing, a sword of fire forming in his hand. Every strike carried memory—of Emberwatch, the Grove, the Vault. Of those he had lost and those who still believed.
One Emberbound broke ranks and charged directly at Kael. Their mask cracked mid-strike—and Kael saw a face beneath. A young man. Terrified. Crying flames.
The shard in Kael's chest pulsed once—then flared.
A wave of cleansing light burst outward.
The Emberbound fell back, staggered. Some screamed. Others dissolved into ash, freed.
When the light faded, Kael stood trembling, his sword gone, the shard dim.
Lysari caught him before he collapsed. "You didn't just fight them," she said. "You redeemed them."
They pressed forward.
Inside the fortress, the air was cold and thick with silence. Runes lined the walls, flickering weakly. At its heart, they found a sealed chamber of flameglass.
Serana placed her hand on it.
"It's her," she whispered.
"Who?" Kael asked.
"The Emberqueen."
The chamber hissed and glowed as ancient glyphs awakened. The flameglass cracked like ice under pressure, then dissolved into motes of light, revealing a woman suspended within—a figure tall and regal, skin glowing with the soft luminescence of starlit coals.
She opened her eyes.
"Who… calls the Flame?" she asked, her voice like wind over embers.
Serana knelt. "Your Majesty. The world burns without light. The Hollow One returns."
The Emberqueen looked to Kael. Her eyes widened as she saw the shard.
"The Last Ember lives," she breathed. "Then hope has not perished."
Kael stepped forward. "We need your help."
The Emberqueen extended her hand, and Kael felt the shard within him stir to meet her touch. A surge of warmth flowed between them.
"You are the Flamebearer," she said. "And I am its memory. Together, we may yet ignite the world."
Outside, the wind shifted. For the first time in an age, the Wastes felt the whisper of fire reborn.
Chapter 8: The Emberqueen's Oath
The Emberqueen stepped from her chamber with slow, deliberate grace, her presence radiating warmth and command. Where her bare feet touched the fortress floor, old sigils reignited, glowing with ancient flame. Her eyes—twin suns—swept over the gathered companions.
"Much has been lost," she said. "But the Flame remembers."
Kael felt a strange comfort in her words, as if the Ember itself had begun to trust him. Still, he could not ignore the weight pressing down on him.
"You said the Flame lives in me," he said. "But how do I wield it without losing myself?"
The Emberqueen nodded. "All fire consumes. But it also illuminates. Your task is to burn only what must be turned to ash."
She raised her hand and summoned a tongue of fire that danced across her palm. With a breath, it twisted into the shape of a phoenix.
"This is Velion," she said. "The Flame's guardian spirit. Bound to the crown of the Kindled—but now, to you."
The fiery bird flared, then vanished into Kael's chest, merging with the shard.
Kael gasped as a flood of memory surged through him—battles fought in skies ablaze, temples lost beneath waves of darkness, and the moment the Emberqueen gave her last breath to preserve the final spark.
He dropped to one knee.
"You are not alone," she said softly. "Velion will guide you. As will I."
Serana stepped forward. "Then it's time. The Hollow One gathers his army. He moves toward the city of Kareth Tal. If he claims its Ember Gate…"
"He won't," Kael said, rising. "We'll stop him."
Lysari unrolled a new map. "The path to Kareth Tal winds through the Whispering Vale. It's dangerous—filled with memories twisted by shadow. But it's the fastest way."
Kael looked at the Emberqueen. "Will you come with us?"
She shook her head. "I must rekindle the Watchfires across Avelor. Hope must return to every corner if we are to endure."
She turned to him, her expression fierce and solemn. "But I give you my oath, Flamebearer: you will not fall alone."
She placed a burning kiss on Kael's forehead. When she stepped back, a faint crown of light shimmered above him.
"You now carry more than the shard," she said. "You carry the right to lead."
Outside, the wind roared. Ash rose like a veil across the sun.
The road ahead was fraught with peril.
But the Flame had chosen.
The Emberqueen led Kael and his companions into the Hall of Binding, a vast chamber deep beneath the Emberfort, where roots of the Flame Tree coiled through the stone like veins of fire. The walls shimmered with light that pulsed in rhythm with Kael's shard.
"I brought you here," the Emberqueen said, "because this place remembers."
She knelt and touched a rune-etched stone at the chamber's center. Flames spiraled out in a radiant pattern, revealing the full symbol of the Kindled—a blazing circle split by wings and blade.
"Before Avelor fell, this hall was where Flamebearers were bound to their purpose. The ritual is ancient. Dangerous. But you must be Emberbound if you hope to resist the Hollow One's corruption."
Kael swallowed hard. "What does it mean to be Emberbound?"
"It means the Flame will test you," she said. "Mind, body, and spirit. Only then can it trust you fully."
Lysari stepped beside him. "You don't have to do this alone."
But Kael nodded. "I must. This is my fire to carry."
He stepped into the center of the circle. At once, flame rose around him—not burning, but searing away all pretense. He felt the Ember dive into his thoughts, his fears, his memories. He relived his father's last breath, the night Emberwatch fell, the moment he chose not to run.
Then he saw his future—uncertain, fractured. But one vision held: Kael atop a spire of glass and flame, wielding a sword of living light. Behind him, a legion of fire-touched warriors. Before him, the Hollow One.
The vision broke.
Kael collapsed to his knees, sweat pouring down his brow. The flames retreated.
"You endured," the Emberqueen said. "You are Emberbound."
When Kael rose, a new mark burned along his forearm—a flame entwined with a phoenix.
"You've taken your first step as a Kindled," she said. "But there is more yet to come."
Suddenly, the chamber trembled.
A scout burst into the hall, breathless. "The Hollow One's forces march on Kareth Tal. They've breached the outer hills."
The Emberqueen's face turned grave. "Then we march at dawn."
Kael tightened his grip on the ember-shard. "Let them come."
The Flame within him surged.
---
As dawn broke, Emberfort stirred with purpose. Armored riders gathered in the lower courtyards, their pauldrons aglow with emberlight. Banners bearing the mark of the Kindled snapped in the wind, casting long shadows across the walls.
Kael stood among them, newly armored in the flame-forged mail of the Emberbound. It was light, yet strong—an echo of the fire within.
Beside him stood Lysari and Captain Verrin, a grizzled war-leader with half a face scorched by shadowflame. He offered Kael a nod. "You ride with the Flameguard now. Don't flinch when the dark comes."
Kael's heart pounded—not from fear, but from the weight of what was coming.
Kareth Tal was a border stronghold, one of the last between the Hollow One and the heartlands. If it fell, the way to Aelthar—the capital—would lie open.
The Emberqueen rode at the head of the vanguard, flame coiling from the mane of her ember-steed. "We ride not to defend," she cried, "but to reignite!"
The ground shook as they descended from the mountains. Kael felt the shard in his chest pulse to the rhythm of the charge.
Ahead, dark smoke rose from Kareth Tal.
The war had truly begun.
Kael rode hard with the others, the wind screaming in his ears, the sun breaking like fire over the high peaks. As they crested the final ridge, the battlefield opened before them—Kareth Tal's outer walls under siege, its towers wreathed in shadowflame. War-beasts clad in soot-iron lumbered through the ranks of the Hollow One's army, while twisted creatures surged at the gates.
Kael's shard flared with urgency.
"Flameguard! For Avelor!" Captain Verrin bellowed.
The battle cry echoed across the ridges as the Flameguard descended like a storm of fire. Arrows streaked from behind Kael, glowing with emberlight. The first clash rang out as steel met shadow.
Kael leapt from his steed, landing amidst the chaos. The shard on his chest blazed, and from his hands poured ribbons of fire, carving through darkness. The ember mark along his forearm pulsed, guiding him through the carnage.
In the distance, Kael saw a figure wrapped in blackened mail—an Echo of the Hollow One, a lieutenant steeped in ash magic. Their eyes met.
Kael advanced, fire swirling around him.
The real war was only beginning.
Chapter 9: The Ashen Echo
Kael stood in the heart of the battle, fire lashing from his hands as he pushed toward the Echo. The creature was tall, clad in jagged black mail, its form constantly shifting, like smoke barely held in human shape. From its helm, twin embers flared where eyes should have been.
"You are not ready," it growled, voice like breaking coal.
Kael didn't respond. He surged forward, flames erupting from his gauntlets, striking the Echo with raw fury. But the fire bent around the creature's form, absorbed into the abyss of its shadow.
With a gesture, the Echo sent a wave of darkness crashing into Kael. He flew backward, slammed against a stone wall, the wind knocked from his lungs.
Pain flared, but the ember within him flared brighter.
Lysari appeared beside him, weaving protective sigils into the air. Arcs of fire and light danced around them. "That's no ordinary shadowspawn," she shouted. "It's bound directly to the Hollow One!"
"We have to break its tether," Kael gasped.
Captain Verrin rallied the Flameguard nearby, carving a path through the corrupted beasts swarming the gates. "Hold the line!" he bellowed. "Don't let the bastards breach!"
Kael rose, eyes burning. He hurled his flame not at the Echo, but at the earth beneath it. A circle of fire erupted, searing away the dark fog. The Echo hissed and recoiled.
Lysari seized the moment. "Now!"
Together, they focused their power—Kael's fire and Lysari's light. A beam of radiant flame struck the Echo's chest. It screamed, form unraveling, tendrils of shadow retreating into the air.
Then came silence.
The creature collapsed into a heap of ash and blackened steel. In its place lay a glowing shard—like Kael's, but darker, pulsing with residual corruption.
Kael picked it up carefully. It trembled in his hand, resisting his flame. But as his shard glowed in response, the darkness receded slightly.
"A fragment," Lysari murmured. "But twisted."
"It might still be purified," Kael said. "Or it might show us what we're facing."
Trumpets sounded from the high towers. Reinforcements from Emberfort had arrived, pushing back the remnants of the Hollow One's forces.
Kareth Tal stood.
But barely.
As the sun set, Kael stood atop the ramparts, watching the last of the smoke rise into the evening sky.
Verrin joined him. "You fought like one of the old Kindled today."
Kael didn't look away. "I'm not one of them. Not yet."
"No," Verrin said. "But you're becoming more than legend."
Behind them, Lysari approached with news. "The shard… it shows us a place. A mountain wrapped in storms. The Whispering Crag. I think another piece is hidden there."
Kael turned, eyes narrowing. "Then that's where we go next."
The fire had only just begun to burn
That night, the halls of Kareth Tal glowed with low firelight. The city licked its wounds and buried its dead, but within the embers, hope flickered.
Kael sat in the chamber of the Emberwatch, staring at the corrupted shard on the table before him. It pulsed like a wounded heart.
"I felt something," he murmured. "Not just hatred. Memory. Pain."
Lysari sat across from him, her gaze distant. "The Echo was once a Kindled. A guardian who fell when the Ember shattered. The Hollow One twists the fallen into weapons."
Kael clenched his fist. "Then we can save them."
"Some, maybe," she replied. "Others may be lost beyond recall."
He picked up the shard again. This time, it didn't resist as fiercely.
"I won't let the past die in silence. I'll rebuild it."
Lysari smiled faintly. "Then we'd best be ready for the Whispering Crag. Storms guard its peaks. And worse."
Far to the north, beyond valleys cloaked in shadow and snow, the Crag waited.
And beneath it, something stirred
Chapter 10: The Whispering Crag
The journey to the Whispering Crag was as treacherous as the legends foretold. Snow fell in heavy sheets, veiling the sky in a storm-born shroud, and winds howled through jagged passes like the voices of the dead.
Kael rode at the head of their caravan, cloaked in a fur-lined mantle, the Ember shard warm against his chest. Beside him rode Lysari, her staff pulsing with protective wards to keep the worst of the mountain spirits at bay.
Behind them, Verrin led a small party of Emberguard, while two twin scouts, Marek and Elira, ranged ahead, their knowledge of forgotten paths the only thing preventing them from freezing or falling.
As they neared the Crag's base, the storm broke just enough to reveal the towering spire above—a black rock column veiled in mist and lightning.
"That's it," Lysari murmured. "The Crag watches. The storm is no accident—it's the guardian."
Kael nodded. "Then we'll face it."
They set up camp beneath an overhang carved into the cliff. The fire crackled with blue-tinged flame, fed by strange, dry roots Marek had gathered. That night, Kael dreamed of fire.
But it was not his fire—it was wild, ancient, and untamed.
He stood in a chamber deep beneath the mountain, before a throne of molten stone. Upon it sat a being of smoke and ember, neither man nor beast, crowned in antlers of obsidian.
"You seek what was broken," the being said. "But can you bear the truth of what shattered it?"
Kael awoke with a gasp, heart hammering. The shard burned at his chest.
Morning came gray and cold, but they began their ascent. The Crag's paths were narrow and ever-shifting, shaped by old magics and buried sorrow. Whispers trailed on the wind—faint voices, some calling Kael's name.
By midday, they reached a cave opening beneath a curling ridge. Lysari's eyes narrowed. "This is it. The Hollow One's corruption reaches even here. Be ready."
Inside, the cave shimmered with veins of emberglass, reflecting fragments of memory. Kael saw flashes—battlefields, fallen Kindled, fire bleeding into snow.
Then came the Warden.
It burst from the depths of the cave, half-stone, half-spirit, its eyes like lightning trapped in crystal.
"You who are bound to flame," it boomed. "Prove you are not the echo of the one who failed."
Kael stepped forward. "I am Kael of Emberwatch. I carry the shard, not as a weapon—but as a promise."
The Warden roared, and the mountain shook.
The trial had begun.
Chapter 11: The Trial of Stone and Flame
The Warden of the Crag towered before Kael, its body a shifting mass of stone plates and flickering fire, as if the mountain itself had taken form to challenge him.
"You carry the Ember," it rumbled. "But do you carry its memory?"
Kael stood his ground. The air around him shimmered with heat, his shard glowing with a pulsing flame.
"I carry more than memory," he said. "I carry the will to restore what was lost."
The Warden's eyes flared. "Then show me."
The cave was consumed in roaring light as the Warden attacked. Lava erupted from fissures in the ground, and Kael leapt aside, sending waves of fire in return. But this flame did not harm the Warden—it was absorbed, dissipated.
Lysari shouted from the entrance, "It feeds on raw flame! Temper it—bind it to your intent!"
Kael centered himself, drawing on the ember not for destruction, but for clarity. He remembered the village he'd left behind, the friends he'd lost, the promise of the Kindled.
He raised his hand, and instead of fire, a golden arc of emberlight formed—a chain of radiant flame shaped by resolve.
He struck the Warden not with fury, but with focus.
The blow rang true. The Warden staggered, pieces of glowing stone falling away to reveal a core of molten crystal.
Kael stepped forward. "I don't seek to conquer. I seek to unite."
The Warden knelt.
"Then take this shard," it said, revealing a sliver of radiant ember wrapped in volcanic glass. "It is memory, and judgment. Use it wisely."
Kael reached out. As his fingers touched the shard, a burst of light flooded his mind.
He saw the First Flame in its glory, the Kindled in their unity—and the moment they fell to division. He saw the Hollow One not as a monster, but a fallen hero—twisted by grief and vengeance.
When he opened his eyes, the shard had joined the others. The storm above the Crag cleared.
Lysari approached. "You passed."
"No," Kael said softly. "We all did."
Far below, the valley shimmered in morning light. But shadows still moved on the edge of the world.
And Kael knew—his greatest trials were yet to come.
Chapter 12: Echoes of the Fallen
The path from the Whispering Crag led Kael and his companions into the Wyrmbane Vale, a place once sacred to the Kindled, now twisted by corruption and time. The trees there bore no leaves, only ash-gray bark, and the wind carried voices—fragments of the past caught in the veil between worlds.
Lysari moved warily. "This valley remembers pain."
Kael's shard pulsed with unease. As they ventured deeper, the whispers grew louder, forming words:
"Betrayer… Kindler of ruin… Flame unworthy…"
Kael gritted his teeth. "They know me."
Verrin, ever grim, drew his blade. "Or they know what you carry."
In the heart of the vale, they found a ruined altar, surrounded by charred statues—figures of the Kindled, their faces eroded by time and bitterness. One statue still stood tall, its eyes hollowed but posture noble.
"It's her," Lysari said softly. "Seraphine of the Dawn Flame. The last Kindled captain before the fall."
Kael approached. As he touched the altar, the world changed.
A vision seized him—a memory of the past:
The Vale was once vibrant, filled with golden trees and flowing light. Kindled warriors knelt before Seraphine as she addressed a gathered host.
"The Hollow One was once our kin," she said. "But he turned from unity to vengeance. We stand now not to destroy—but to defend what still holds hope."
Kael saw Seraphine turn to face… himself. No—someone like him. A boy, younger, frightened, holding a fractured ember.
"You are the last," she said. "You must carry this forward."
The vision broke.
Kael gasped and fell back. The others steadied him.
"She knew," he said. "They knew I would come."
At the base of the altar, he found another shard—smaller, more delicate, but still warm with ancient fire.
Lysari knelt beside him. "You're gathering more than pieces. You're awakening memory."
Kael looked up at the ashen sky. "And if I awaken too much?"
Verrin sheathed his blade. "Then let it burn. Let it all burn away, and leave only truth."
Behind them, the altar glowed softly. The statues no longer looked mournful—but at peace.
Far in the distance, lightning arced across the heavens. The Hollow One had felt the shift.
And he was watching.
Chapter 13: The Emberforge Pact
Beyond the Wyrmbane Vale, Kael and his companions reached the Emberforge—a mountain citadel built into the caldera of an extinct volcano. It was here the Kindled once tempered their flame, forging weapons and armor imbued with living fire.
Now, the forges were silent. The gates stood broken, twisted by war and decay. But deep within, a spark still lingered.
"Only the Emberbound may pass," Lysari whispered, tracing the runes at the archway. "You must enter alone."
Kael nodded. The others waited as he stepped into the forge hall. The air inside pulsed with forgotten heat. Shadows danced along soot-streaked walls, and blackened anvils stood like sentinels of a lost age.
In the center of the hall, a single forge still glowed faintly—its coals untouched for centuries, yet still alive.
Kael approached.
"Speak your intent," a voice boomed, ancient and echoing. "And let the flame judge you."
Kael bowed his head. "I am Kael of Emberwatch. I seek to restore what was broken—to forge unity from ruin."
The forge blazed, and a figure emerged from the flame—a ghostly blacksmith clad in embersteel, their face hidden behind a helm of smoke.
"The Emberforge does not give freely," the smith intoned. "What will you offer?"
Kael hesitated, then removed the circlet he'd taken from the Vault of Flame. "This bound me to the past. I offer it to the fire—to shape something new."
The smith reached out. The circlet dissolved in flame.
"Then strike," the smith said, revealing a glowing hammer and a shard of emberglass.
Kael stepped forward, gripping the hammer. As he struck the shard, it sang with power. Visions returned—of Kindled warriors forging their blades, of Seraphine and the last stand, of the Ember's scattering.
He forged through pain. Through grief. Through hope.
When the hammering ceased, a new weapon lay before him—a blade not of steel, but of woven flame and memory. It was not meant to kill—but to awaken.
The ghost-smith bowed. "The Emberbound has spoken. The pact is sealed."
Kael emerged from the forge, the blade at his side. Lysari looked at him with quiet awe.
"You carry more than fire now," she said. "You carry legacy."
But in the farthest horizon, a darkness stirred. The Hollow One had felt the pact—and the flame was no longer hidden.
Chapter 14: Flames in the Fog
The blade forged in the Emberforge—Aurelia, named by Lysari in honor of the first Flamekeeper—gleamed with inner light as Kael and his companions descended from the mountain citadel. But the warmth it carried did little to comfort them as they entered the Misted Reaches.
The forest was silent. Not with peace, but with dread.
"This place was once sacred to the Druan," Verrin muttered, eyes scanning the twisted trunks. "Before the Hollow One poisoned it."
The mist coiled like fingers through the branches, thickening with every step. Lysari lit a flame at her staff's tip, but it only illuminated a few feet ahead. Strange whispers floated around them—echoes without form.
Kael tightened his grip on Aurelia. "We're being watched."
From the fog emerged shadowed figures, their eyes glowing amber. They bore Kindled markings—but they were no longer living. The Hollow One's corruption had claimed them.
"Wraithkind," Lysari hissed. "Guardians twisted into hunters."
The first wave attacked.
Kael moved with purpose, Aurelia cutting through darkness not with brute force, but with radiant pulses that turned shadow to dust. Verrin's blade flashed in tandem, and Lysari's flames kept the fog at bay.
Still, they were outnumbered.
Kael felt the ember within him react—not in fear, but with purpose. He reached into the flame, not to destroy—but to call.
A shockwave burst from his chest. For a moment, the mist cleared, and golden light streamed from the forest floor. From within it rose shapes—not Wraithkind, but ember-spirits, remnants of fallen Kindled.
"They answer you," Lysari said in awe.
Kael did not command them. He stood with them.
Together, they pushed the Wraithkind back into the fog. One by one, the corrupted fell—or were released.
When silence returned, Kael dropped to one knee.
The ember-spirits bowed and faded.
Verrin placed a hand on Kael's shoulder. "You didn't just survive that. You turned the tide."
But Lysari looked grave. "This was only the edge of the Hollow One's reach. He knows what you carry now. He will come."
Kael stood, his voice steady. "Then let him. But he'll find we're no longer running."
From the heart of the forest came a faint glow—the next shard waited.