The wind over the Ashmoor Plains was sharp enough to bleed.
Each gust carried dust, fragments of charred bone, and whispers — not from the living, but from what had once lived here, before the gods blinked and burned it all to ruin.
Elliot tightened his cloak as he stepped through the shattered arches of the forgotten temple. His boots crunched over glasslike sand. Kaelith walked behind him, silent, her blade drawn — not out of fear, but reverence.
> "The Oracle doesn't lie," she said. "But he doesn't spare the truth, either."
Elliot gave a small, dry laugh. "At this point, I'd take truth over prophecy."
The Temple of Whispers loomed ahead. Crumbled spires leaned like tired shoulders against the dark sky. Firelight flickered from within, though there were no torches.
The Oracle was waiting.
---
He was old — not in years, but in spirit. His face was melted, his skin a tapestry of fire scars and divine runes. Where his eyes once were, only black flame remained, flickering but never consuming.
He did not rise when Elliot entered. He simply breathed.
> "Child of Vaelion," he rasped. "I felt you the moment the flame chose you. You burn… differently."
Elliot approached slowly. "I need answers. About the Hollow Flame. About the gods. About me."
The Oracle turned toward him. "No. What you need… is to decide who you are before the gods do it for you."
A long silence passed.
Then the Oracle raised a trembling hand. The flames in his sockets flared, and with it came visions — not visions Elliot saw, but felt. Like memories from a life he hadn't lived.
He saw a woman screaming in a void of light.
He saw the gods fall from the sky like stars — burning, weeping, cursing mortals with their last breath.
He saw himself, not as he was, but as something vast, golden-eyed, cloaked in flame… a godkiller.
And then the Oracle whispered the words Elliot would never forget.
> "You are not just a bearer. You are a fragment… of Vaelion himself. The flame chose you because it remembers you. And that… is why the gods will fear you."
---
Elliot's knees gave out. He dropped before the Oracle, heart racing.
Kaelith reached him — too late to stop the vision but soon enough to see the fear in his eyes.
"What did he show you?" she asked softly.
Elliot looked up, broken and breathless.
> "My end. And theirs."
---
As they left the temple, the winds carried a new sound — not whispers… but footsteps.
Far off in the Ashmoors, a host moved.
Not men. Not demons.
But something far worse:
The Messengers of Flame, god-born soldiers, awakened from divine sleep.
And they were marching toward Eldraya.
---