The journey westward led them through the heart of the Hollowlands—a barren stretch of twisted trees and scorched soil, once vibrant, now left skeletal under the weight of old wars. The silence was unnerving. No birds. No wind. Just the crunch of footsteps over ash and brittle roots.
Lysaria wrapped herself in her cloak. "This place wasn't always dead."
Kael glanced at her. "You remember it?"
"Only fragments. Songs carried from traveler to traveler. The Vale was once a sanctuary… until the Court bled it dry."
They moved quietly, avoiding open paths. Elara walked slightly ahead, ever watchful. Her eyes flicked to every shadow like a blade ready to unsheathe.
As they passed a toppled monument—half-buried in soot—Kael paused. Carved into the stone was a symbol: a flame cradled by two wings. Beneath it, barely visible, an inscription.
> When the flame falters, the wings will carry it home.
Kael brushed ash from the words. They glowed faintly at his touch.
Therin joined him. "The mark of the Phoenix Guard. Protectors of the Spire of Solance."
"So it's real," Kael said quietly. "All of it."
Therin nodded. "And more dangerous than you know."
Suddenly, Lysaria stopped. Her head tilted slightly, as if listening.
Kael turned. "What is it?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she dropped to one knee, pressing her hand to the scorched earth. A pulse of blue flame surged from her fingers and vanished into the ground.
A beat passed.
Then—
The ground shook.
Cracks split the earth. Ash flurried. From beneath the soil, massive stones shifted. A ring of old pillars slowly rose, dragging dust and decay with them. At the center, a circular platform shimmered with strange markings—runes unlike any Kael had seen.
Elara drew her blade. "That's not natural."
Lysaria stood. "It's a Flamegate."
Therin's eyes widened. "Those were lost centuries ago."
Kael stepped forward. "What does it do?"
"It's a portal," Lysaria said, brushing soot from the platform. "But not like the Court's. It's older. Wilder. It doesn't just take you somewhere—it tests you first."
Kael narrowed his eyes. "Test us how?"
Therin grunted. "Flamegates were built to keep enemies out. Only those worthy of the Spire could pass through."
"And if we're not worthy?" Elara asked.
Lysaria didn't respond.
Instead, the air above the platform shimmered. Light bled through the cracks in the rune circle—rays of fire weaving into a doorway of shifting heat.
Kael could feel the pressure in his chest.
The flame in him stirred, eager and cautious.
He stepped onto the platform.
A hum began, soft but growing—like a heartbeat. The world around him melted away, shadows pulling inward like smoke drawn to a flame.
Then—
Darkness.
Total, suffocating, unnatural.
He stood alone.
No Elara.
No Lysaria.
No sound.
Just the void—and a voice that came from nowhere and everywhere at once.
> "What will you become when the world forgets your name?"
Kael turned. "Show yourself!"
Flame flared at his fingertips—but it burned cold, unstable.
> "You are not ready."
Kael's jaw clenched. "I don't care."
> "You burn for vengeance. For truth. But not yet for the world."
The flame inside him trembled. "I'll carry the fire if no one else will."
Silence.
Then the voice whispered—
> "Then walk through the flame, and be changed."
Suddenly, Kael's body erupted in searing light.
Pain. Memory. A thousand voices screaming and singing at once.
And then—nothing.
When he blinked again, he was back on the platform.
Elara, Lysaria, and Therin were staring at him, stunned.
His eyes once ember-gold now burned with twin rings of phoenix fire.
Lysaria whispered, "The Spire will see you now."