Chapter 8: The Century Flame
The road to Elyar was carved from bone and memory.
Darien traveled westward, through dead rivers and forgotten ruins. The scroll burned faintly against his chest, the wax seal never melting, yet always warm.
He passed a shrine shattered by time, where ravens watched him without blinking. He crossed bridges over chasms filled with mist. With each step, he felt the mark on his skin grow heavier, as if the world itself was watching him now.
Three nights passed before he saw it: the Pillar of Light.
It rose from the horizon like a blade of fire, splitting the sky in two. Beneath it, the ruins of Elyar glowed faintly, bathed in silver and red.
He camped beneath a broken statue, and in the silence, the Seer's words returned.
> "Every hundred years, the blood stirs. And the Century Flame rises. A signal, a wound, a gate."
At dawn, he walked into the ruins.
The city was silent—no wind, no life. Statues of long-forgotten gods lined the streets, their faces melted by time. At the center stood the Flame: a tower of pure light, humming like a heartbeat.
Darien stepped closer.
As he reached out, the mark on his forehead blazed. The light reacted—pulling him in.
And suddenly, he wasn't in Elyar anymore.
He was standing in a memory.
Flames roared around him. A battlefield. Armored giants clashed with beasts made of shadow. Screams. Smoke. Sky torn in half.
At the center of it all stood a man—with Darien's face—older, colder, crowned in fire.
He turned.
And spoke.
"The world doesn't end in blood. It ends… when you stop choosing."