The Sword of Embers
The following morning, Kael awoke to the sound of metal striking metal.
It wasn't a jarring clang, but a rhythmic harmony—almost musical. A distant forge song, echoing through the Sanctum's stone corridors. He sat up from his simple cot, drenched in sweat. The night had been plagued by strange dreams—flashes of fire, voices in forgotten tongues, and a blade pulsing with the same glow as his mark.
His body ached. Not from exhaustion, but from something deeper.
> "The Trial awakened something," he thought. "But it didn't tell me how to control it."
He barely had time to steady his breathing when a knock rapped sharply on the door.
"Get up. Flamewarden Seris awaits."
It was Thorne, his ever-stoic guide.
---
They walked in silence through the twisting corridors, past rooms where others trained—some shaping flame into weapons, others meditating under burning glyphs. Kael noticed the way they all looked at him: some with awe, others with suspicion.
He was no longer just "the abandoned one."
He was something they didn't know how to categorize.
Finally, they reached a heavy archway lined with runes that shimmered faintly. Thorne stopped.
> "Beyond this door lies the Chamber of Flamebinding. Seris will test your resonance with the Ember. If you pass… the forge will answer you."
Kael frowned. "And if I fail?"
Thorne's eyes didn't waver. "Then you'll burn. Not from fire—but from the power inside you that refuses to be tamed."
The door groaned open.
---
The chamber beyond was massive—lit by floating torches whose flames burned blue. In the center stood Flamewarden Seris, flanked by two silent guardians clad in obsidian armor. Behind them, an altar forged of blacksteel, and above it… hung a sword.
It wasn't grand in size, but it radiated heat unlike anything Kael had ever felt. The blade pulsed in sync with his mark.
> "That sword…" Kael whispered.
Seris turned.
> "It's called Ashrend. Forged during the Ember Wars by the first Flamebound. No one has wielded it since the Cataclysm."
Kael stepped closer, the heat intensifying with each stride.
> "Why me?" he asked. "Why now?"
Seris approached him, her gaze sharp.
> "Because Ashrend only answers to those touched by Orvane's Flame. And last night, it pulsed for the first time in a century—when you screamed during the Trial."
Kael felt a chill despite the heat.
> "So what do I do?"
> "You try to claim it," Seris said simply. "If you are worthy, it will bind to you. If not…"
She didn't finish the sentence.
---
Kael stepped toward the altar, each footstep echoing through the chamber. The air grew dense, heavy with old magic. His mark flared, glowing through the fabric of his tunic.
The sword pulsed in response.
He reached out.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then—fire exploded from the blade, swirling around him in a vortex. Kael's feet lifted off the ground, eyes wide as the flame coursed through him—not burning, but testing.
Flashes returned—memories not his own:
—A warrior surrounded by darkness
—Ashrend slicing through shadow-beasts
—A voice screaming, "Protect the Ember! Even if it kills you!"
Kael gritted his teeth. His veins felt molten, his bones vibrating.
> "I'm not him," he thought. "I don't even know what I am."
But deep within… something answered.
> "You are fire reborn."
Kael grabbed the hilt.
---
For a heartbeat, the world stood still.
Then the flames sucked inward—into the blade, into his mark, into him.
Kael dropped to his knees, sword in hand. It pulsed once… then settled.
Silence.
Seris stepped forward, her expression unreadable.
> "It has chosen," she said. "You are Flamebound in full."
The obsidian guardians bowed their heads. Even Thorne, ever-cold, nodded once.
Kael looked at the blade.
It felt natural in his grip.
Alive.
> "So… now what?"
Seris smiled faintly.
> "Now you learn how to use it."
---
Training began that very day.
And it was brutal.
Ashrend wasn't a sword to be swung carelessly. It responded to emotion, thought, intention. If Kael struck in anger, it resisted. If he fought with fear, it dulled. Only when he acted with purpose did it ignite, cutting through stone like silk.
Thorne became his combat guide—silent but ruthless. Every session left Kael bruised, bleeding, and more determined.
At night, he collapsed into restless dreams—always of fire.
Of war.
Of a woman's voice calling his name in the dark.
---
One evening, after an especially intense session, Kael sat by the Sanctum's inner spring, watching the water swirl with heat.
Seris approached quietly.
> "You're progressing faster than expected."
> "Feels more like dying slowly," Kael muttered.
She chuckled. "That means it's working."
Kael stared into the glowing water. "You said Ashrend was forged during the Ember Wars. What happened to the one who last wielded it?"
Seris grew quiet.
> "He died protecting the last Ember Gate. Alone. Betrayed by those closest to him."
Kael looked up sharply.
> "Betrayed?"
> "Not all Flamebound are loyal," she said. "And not all Emperors feared the Ember for the right reasons."
Kael's chest tightened. His thoughts returned to the capital—to his exile, to the strange silence around his mother's death.
> What else did they keep from me?
Seris stood.
> "Rest while you can. Tomorrow, you begin learning to channel the Flame."
> "And after that?"
She looked back.
> "After that, we find the
truth. About your past. And the war that's coming."
---
Kael watched her leave, fingers curling around Ashrend's hilt.
For the first time in years, he didn't feel powerless.
He felt like fire waiting to burn.