The chamber trembled.
That voice—low and ancient, smooth as molten glass yet brittle as ash—echoed in every corner of the sacred archive. Ember turned slowly, eyes searching the darkness. The crystal on the pedestal no longer glowed softly. Now, it pulsed—furious, alive—its flames flickering in sync with a presence far greater than any in the room.
"You cannot destroy what you do not understand," the voice repeated, closer this time, as if whispering from within Ember's own mind.
Orin drew his sword. "Show yourself!"
But Niall raised a hand. "He won't. Not in flesh." His face had gone pale. "The crystal is a conduit. A remnant of the First Flame. He speaks through it."
Ember's eyes locked on the artifact. The swirling fire inside twisted upward, forming vague outlines—fingers, a hooded face, burning eyes. A figure. Not fully formed, but undeniable.
"You carry the Flameborn's mark," the voice said to Ember. "But you do not yet know what that means."
"I know enough," Ember answered, stepping between the pedestal and her companions. "That you used the flame to enslave and destroy. That your time is over."
Laughter—cold, amused—echoed in response.
"You know what you've been told. Legends. Warnings. But the truth, Ember Solara, is far older than your bloodline. You are not its first bearer. You will not be its last."
Lysra's fingers crackled with summoned light, but she held her ground. "Then tell us. Why appear now?"
The figure's flame-eyes turned to her. "Because the Flame stirs. It awakens in her. And when it does, our bond will be complete. There is no stopping it. There is only choosing how the world burns."
Ember clenched her fists. "You speak as if I have no will, no choice."
"You have every choice," the Ashen voice said, more gently now, eerily persuasive. "The others fought it. Denied what they were. And they were devoured. But you… you could master it. You could forge a new world."
Ember stepped closer to the pedestal, eyes blazing. "You fear me."
"I fear what you might become," the voice admitted. "You are not ready. But the flame calls to you… and you will answer. One way or another."
Suddenly, the crystal cracked—just slightly—but it was enough. The room exploded with light. The flame within the artifact flared outward in a shockwave, throwing Ember and the others backward.
When the smoke cleared, the crystal was dim once more. The voice was gone.
But its message remained.
---
They left the hidden chamber shaken.
Back in the upper halls of the Archives, Niall barred the door behind them with a whispered incantation. "You've made contact now," he said. "He knows you. He can follow your flame."
"So we're hunted," Orin muttered, sheathing his sword.
"We always were," Ember said, her voice quiet. "Now we just know it."
Eryssa stood with arms crossed, watching Ember carefully. "What did it mean by 'our bond will be complete'?"
Ember hesitated. In the moment of contact, she'd felt something—a pulse, like a tether tightening inside her chest. The flame inside her had responded to the voice. Not with fear. With recognition.
"I think… I think there's more of them in me than I want to admit."
The others fell into a heavy silence.
Niall knelt beside Ember. "There is still a way forward. If you understand the flame's true origin, there may be a way to sever it from them. But it lies beyond Iralith. In the ruins of Iskaran Thul."
Lysra looked up sharply. "That place is cursed."
"No," Niall said, "it's forgotten. The cradle of the first fire. If answers exist anywhere, it is there."
Ember looked at her friends. All of them worn, wary, yet still by her side. She nodded.
"Then that's where we go next."