Chapter 6: Echoes of the Emberheart

The wind was vicious—sharp enough to peel skin—while Kael and Lyra slogged over the ridge. Emberfall sprawled below them, dead and done, laid out in the valley like some gutted, half-eaten beast. The fires were out at last, just ugly coils of smoke dragging themselves into the sky. It looked like grief, you know? That kind that just sits there, refusing to fade, curling upward in the dirty morning light. The whole place smoldered under dawn's weak glare, shadows stretched long over shattered towers and walls. Not even the crows could be bothered.

Kael had his staff strapped tight to his back, swaddled in cloth, but he might as well have had it pressed to his spine bare. The thing throbbed with every step—like a hot coal jammed between his shoulders, alive, watching him. The battle had changed him. The fire hadn't left—not really. It simmered under his skin, second heartbeat tapping out old secrets and… something else. Destiny? Doom? Who knows.

They didn't talk. Just walked, boots crunching down the ruined Emberroad—used to be all shining sun-stone, apparently, now split up and half-eaten by roots. Nature was reclaiming the place, like it was trying to scrub away the whole mess. Every step made history groan.

Lyra limped along at his side, her walking stick ticking against the stone like a metronome. She barely spoke since they'd survived that Shadowbrand mess. Kael wasn't about to poke the bear. Silence was their thing now, no words needed. They'd seen too much. The fire had done a number on Kael, and Lyra wasn't the same woman who'd pulled him out of Emberfall. Guilt, regret, whatever—she wore it in her eyes, sharp but dulled, fixed on the road ahead.

But you can only hold out so long, right? Eventually, the quiet snapped.

"You said you knew somebody," Kael muttered, voice barely louder than the wind. "A real Flamebound."

Lyra didn't look at him, just nodded.

"Eiran," she said. "Last of the Emberheart Circle—or, that's what we thought. Figured he was dead. But three years back, I heard rumors in the border towns. Folks talking about a guy with fire in his veins and eyes like molten glass. If he's out there, he's hiding in the Emberfold Mountains."

Kael frowned. "Why's he hiding? If he's like you—like us—shouldn't he be fighting?"

"He's not a fighter," Lyra answered, voice almost lost in the wind. "He was a Seer for the Circle. Saw things other people couldn't. Knew stuff no one dared write down. The Empire gets their claws in him, they'll wipe him out. Finish the job."

Kael stared at the busted stones underfoot. "He knows about the Flameborn?"

"He knows about you."

Those words just… dropped, heavy as a stone. Somewhere far off, thunder grumbled. The wind shifted, cold and damp.

Kael tightened the strap across his chest. "How far to the Emberfold?"

"If the weather's kind, two days. Three if the mountain's in a mood."

Kael nodded. Didn't bother saying anything else. Heat flickered in his chest—fast, sharp, like a knife drawn across a live ember. He stopped dead, hand shooting out to block Lyra.

She froze. "What?" she whispered.

He didn't answer. Dropped to one knee, palm flat to the dirt. The fire inside him pulsed, humming through stone and earth.

Something was coming.

He looked up just in time to see a black arrow slice the sky.

It whistled past, thunking into a tree. Another. Then another. Everything exploded.

Figures swarmed out of the brush—dozens, moving with a practiced brutality. They wore leathers burnt and black, faces smeared with soot, weapons jagged and mean. Bone axes, warped swords, pikes stained dark. Not your average bandits. Soldiers—just a nastier breed.

Kael's staff was in his hands before he even thought about it, wrappings shredded, fire racing up the wood. He swung hard, caught the first guy low and sent him sprawling. The next one lunged—Kael ducked, twisted, cracked him in the ribs.

Lyra fought, but she was slower—her limp worse than before. Two of them boxed her in, moving sharp and tight.

Kael bellowed, slammed his staff into the ground. Golden flame erupted—boom—filling the clearing with heat and light. Some of the attackers stumbled back, a few dropped to their knees.

But then more piled in. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty.

This wasn't just a lucky ambush.

They wanted him.

From the trees, a woman stepped out—tall, wiry, eyes burning red, skin wrapped in twisting flame tattoos. They slid down her neck, coiled over her collarbone, licked along her arms. She didn't bother with a weapon.

She was one of them.

"Flameborn," she said. Not a question—more like a curse.

Kael's grip tightened on his staff, knuckles white. "Who the hell are you?"

She gave him this half-smirk, sharp as broken glass. "You woke the ash, boy. Kicked up ghosts better left dead."

Lyra's voice cut through, brittle and hard. "Ashmarked."

The woman just nodded, not giving much away.

Kael edged closer, heat prickling his throat. "I've done nothing to you."

She just stared. "That fire in your gut? Same fire that burned us out. Same blood, same stubborn pride."

He almost laughed—almost. "Like I asked for any of this."

"We didn't either," she shot back, voice flat.

Silence stretched, tight as a drawn bow. Then she lifted her hand, and her crew melted back, forming this loose ring around them.

"You're green. Untaught. No mask yet. That's...interesting." Her eyes flicked to his staff. "Come on. Seer'll decide if you're trouble."

Lyra bristled, fists clenched. "You lay a hand on him—"

"Chill, exile," the woman cut in, not even looking at her. "You bailed on the Circle. Don't act like you speak for it now."

Kael glanced at Lyra. Her jaw flexed, but she just gave the tiniest nod.

So yeah. They went.

The walk was a blur—trees, rocks, shadows shifting, the whole group moving like ghosts through the woods. After what felt like ages, the trees fell away, and there it was: a hollow squeezed between cliffs, houses carved right into the stone. Smoke curling up like lazy snakes. Kids peeking from behind faded cloth, eyes burning like coals. Pretty clear—this wasn't some bandit camp.

No, this was something older. Deeper.

Ashmarked.

With every step, the fire in Kael's chest stirred, but not afraid—more like it was sniffing the air, recognizing something. Family, maybe. Or at least...something close.

Down they went, into a cavern lit by stones that glowed like embers. Strange runes everywhere. And in the middle—an old man, skin pale as bone, flames inked up his arms, eyes burning amber and unblinking.

The Seer.

"You brought him," the old man said, hauling himself upright.

The woman bowed, stepping back.

The Seer shuffled over to Kael. "You carry the Emberbrand."

Kael blinked. "Uh. The what?"

He nodded at the staff. "One of the Flamebound relics. Seven in all, lost since the Burning War."

Kael stared at it. "Didn't ask for it. It just...showed up."

"Or maybe it waited for you," the Seer mused. "Things like this remember."

Kael's hands shook. "I don't remember anything. Not my name, not this fire, not why I'm being hunted. I almost died out there."

The Seer just studied him for a beat, then put a hand right over Kael's chest.

And bam—visions hit like a gut punch.

Fire everywhere. Sky ripping open. Mountains toppling. Cities melting to glass. A woman on a pyre, crowned in flames, and beside her—Kael, maybe, but twisted, eyes like burning pits, grinning while everything burned.

Kael staggered, gasping for air. "What the hell was that?!"

"A future," the Seer said, voice grave. "Not the only one. Just one."

Kael's voice shook, but he forced the words out. "I won't let that happen."

"Then learn," the Seer said. "Or the fire'll eat you alive."

He turned to Lyra. "Take him to Emberfold. The old sanctum's still breathing."

Kael steadied himself, nodding. "That's where we were headed."

The Seer handed him a strip of burnt cloth—a map, marked in flickering ink. "This'll get you to Emberheart Gate. But don't get cocky. The mountain judges everyone."

Kael tucked the cloth away, heart still racing.

As they got ready to move, the tattooed woman caught his eye one last time.

"Flameborn," she said quietly, "you'll either torch the world or save it. Never both."

He didn't answer. Just turned and walked out.

In the darkness, the fire in him whispered, restless and hungry.