Hope, long buried, breathes again,
Awoken not by sword, but flame.
The silence ends, the oath returns—
And through one soul, a fire burns.
Elira could not believe it.
She stood a few paces from him, tears prickling her eyes—not of sorrow, but of reverence, of relief, of completion. After two decades of silent preparation, of studying scrolls, waking up in cold caves, decoding ancient prophecies written in languages no longer spoken—he stood before her. The Guardian of the Sealed Flame.
Jake Manchester.
The child of ash and blood. The boy hidden by time, raised in ignorance, now awakened in power.
"You're glowing," she said with a shaky laugh, unsure whether to cry or kneel.
Jake exhaled slowly. The rush of power inside him was unlike anything he had felt before. It didn't scream—it sang. It didn't burn—it beckoned. The shard that fused with his markings hadn't merely given him memories—it had unlocked instinct. His body remembered things his mind was still catching up to.
"I saw them," he murmured. "My parents. Fighting. Running. They weren't just hiding me… they were buying time."
Elira nodded, still staring at him as if she might blink and he'd vanish. "That's what they do. Guardians are never born into peace, Jake. Only fire brings you forth."
Jake stepped away from the platform and looked at the memory-crystals hovering around the dome's edges. He reached out to one—it zipped toward his palm. As his hand wrapped around it, his mind filled with images:
A younger Elira being trained by cloaked elders under the moons of Arxium.
A secret rebellion rising from within the Seers' Order.
A prophecy etched on stone: "When the Ashix awakens, the flame will choose. Light, or shadow. Life, or dominion."
He dropped the crystal. His hands trembled—not from fear, but the sheer weight of what was now expected of him.
"Elira," he said, voice steady despite the chaos within. "Why did they hide me for so long?"
Her face hardened. "Because they knew if the world found out what you were too early… it would either worship you blindly, or kill you before you learned how to defend yourself."
Jake paced in silence. The map carved into the wall, glowing now, showed more than just worlds—it showed veins connecting them. Each pulsing like lifelines through the universe.
One in particular caught his eye.
A jagged realm, shrouded in darkness and bound by chains of light. It pulsed not with life—but with hunger.
"The Gate of Mournfall," he whispered.
Elira followed his gaze. "Yes. Behind it is the one they locked away. The one who first sought the Flame. Your ancestor defeated him… but not completely. That being has waited centuries, feeding on whispers and shadows."
Jake touched the gate's sigil on the map. "And it's waking up now."
"Because you are."
There was silence then. Heavy. Thick. Real.
Jake turned back toward the statue—the one that had gifted him the shard. Now, in the chamber's full light, he could see the inscription at its base:
> To the bearer of the Sealed Flame—
If you read this, you are the last.
Guard not the power. Guard the choice it gives.
"I have to leave," he said suddenly.
Elira blinked. "What?"
Jake's jaw tightened. "My whole life has been lies and locked doors. I need to find out why. There's more to this—more than just fighting some ancient creature. My parents knew things. I need to find what they didn't tell me."
Elira stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Then I go with you."
Jake hesitated. "Your mission—"
"—was to awaken you," she said. "Now I serve the flame, not the scroll."
They looked at each other.
Something unspoken passed between them. Not romance. Not destiny.
Trust.
He nodded. "Then let's find the truth. Before it finds us."
As they turned to leave the sanctum, the platform rose behind them, sealing the gate, dimming the relics, resetting the chamber for whoever may come next—if anyone ever would.
Because the Guardian had returned.
But the war...
was just beginning.
_________________________________________________________________
Outside… in a very distant land, untouched by the soft calm of the sanctum beneath the mountains—chaos erupted.
The world, it seemed, had felt the awakening.
The oceans churned violently. For the first time in centuries, the ancient sea-creatures—those who lived in harmony with the deep—found themselves cast out. The waters rejected them, crashing in furious, unnatural tides.
The winds, once bearers of song and whispers of the earth, now howled like beasts in pain. They tore through cities, deserts, forests—grieving, gasping.
The fires, once sacred, once controlled by the Flame-Born Clans, turned wild. Their own blessed children were scorched by the very gifts they carried. Whole villages built around eternal flames burned with no warning—leaving behind only glowing ash and silence.
And the earth itself—that old mother—trembled, as if waking from a long and painful dream. Stones cracked, rivers shifted. The ground wept.
The believers knew what it meant.
For years, they had waited in secret, holding onto ancient scrolls, worshiping in hushed whispers, painting forgotten symbols into cave walls and mountaintops. Their stories spoke of a Guardian who would come not in silence—but in disturbance.
So they saw the signs…
And they believed.
They knelt in the storm. They sang through the flood. They raised their hands in the fire. They whispered only one name—
Ashix.
But as the believers rejoiced, so too did their enemies recognize the shift.
In the capital city of Kaer'Thar, under the blackened banners of the Dominion Flame, a horn was blown. Not in celebration, but in warning.
The dark temples echoed with a single phrase spoken in harsh tongues:
"He awakens."
Seated on a throne carved of obsidian and bone, cloaked in ancient runes, Kael-Thorne, the one they called the Eternal Flame, opened his blood-red eyes.
For seventeen years, he had ruled with unchecked power—bending nations, bending minds. His prophets had assured him the Guardian was gone, sealed, and lost to time.
They were wrong.
And he knew it now.
He rose from his throne, the fire around him recoiling as though fearing his wrath.
"They dare awaken the Ashix…" he growled, a voice like thunder breaking mountains. "They dare challenge me?"
A dark figure stepped forward, kneeling at his feet. "The believers have already begun to rise. They gather in the east. Should we act?"
Kael-Thorne raised his hand. The fire at the chamber's edge flickered to black.
"No," he whispered, a dark smile curving his lips. "Let them come. Let them believe. Let them hope."
He turned toward the great black spire outside the temple—his beacon of dominion—and closed his eyes.
> "When the Guardian is whole… I will break him myself."
Back in the Sanctum, Jake's heart skipped a beat. He didn't know why… but somewhere, far away, someone had just sworn to destroy him.
Elira turned to him, sensing the shift.
"Something's changed, hasn't it?"
Jake nodded slowly. His fists clenched.
"They know I'm coming."