The journey to the Flamewell began in silence.
Kael and Ashen moved through the narrow canyons outside the Hollow, where stone pillars jutted out like ribs from the bones of a long-dead god. Dust clung to Kael's skin. The sky overhead had turned crimson—not from sunset, but from something unnatural, like the world itself was bleeding.
The wound on Kael's forearm pulsed with every step, and the Chain coiled tighter around his wrist, as if guiding him.
"How far is it?" Kael finally asked.
Ashen didn't look back. "Farther than memory, but closer than truth."
Kael frowned. "Could you speak in riddles a little less?"
Ashen chuckled. "Apologies. Old habits."
Kael stared ahead. He hadn't stopped thinking about what the Priestess—Seraphine—had said.
"Why do they fear memory?"
Ashen paused on a ledge, their cloak flapping in the harsh wind. "Because memory is power. Real power. Not brute strength, not magic. Truth. And the Chains remember what the world tried to forget."
They stepped onto a narrow bridge of obsidian stone, suspended over a chasm of darkness.
Kael followed cautiously. "And the Flamewell?"
"It's the first wound. The place where the Chains were forged from thought and shadow. It listens, Kael. It judges."
Kael glanced down. Far below, faint red light shimmered like fireflies drifting in a sea of ink.
As they reached the other side, the world changed again.
The canyon opened into a circular basin.
At the center stood a monument—an ancient forge carved into the mountain itself. Flames leapt from the cracks in the rock, and molten chains dangled from its sides, glowing with runes that writhed like worms.
Kael felt it immediately.
A pull—deeper than instinct, older than time. The Chain on his arm burned in response, and a voice echoed in his skull, not spoken but remembered.
"Return to us, Warden. Remember who you were. Reclaim who you must become."
Kael staggered.
Ashen caught his shoulder.
"You're hearing them now," they said quietly. "Good. That means it's waking up for you."
Kael clenched his jaw. "You said this was where it was forged. What do I do now?"
Ashen turned toward the forge. "You step inside. And you face what's bound to you."
Kael's eyes widened. "Face what?"
Ashen didn't answer.
Instead, they pointed toward the molten gate that had appeared in the heart of the forge, its edges shaped like broken teeth.
"Your past. Your future. Your shadows."
Kael nodded once.
Then he stepped inside.
The world vanished.
He wasn't in the forge anymore.
He was standing in a ruined field beneath a sky split with lightning. Bodies lay strewn across the ground—soldiers in armor of obsidian and silver. Fires danced across broken flags, and blood soaked the earth.
Kael spun around.
And then he saw himself.
Standing across the field, bound in glowing silver chains, screaming as flames devoured his skin.
"No!" Kael shouted, rushing forward. "That's not—!"
But the image didn't stop.
Another figure appeared behind his bound double—taller, cloaked in flame and metal, wearing a mask of shattered glass.
"You chose this," the masked man said. "You lit the fire. You chained them all."
Kael stumbled backward. "No, I didn't—!"
The vision shattered.
Then came another.
He was in a tower now, tall and silent. The sky was black, filled with falling ash. A girl stood in front of him, clutching a glowing gem.
"You promised me," she said, tears on her cheeks. "You said you wouldn't let them take me."
Kael recognized her.
He didn't know how—but he knew her name: Lyra.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
The image froze.
Then the voice returned—louder, colder.
"Every Chain has a price, Kael. Will you pay it?"
He fell to his knees.
Flames curled around him. The forge screamed. His skin split and reformed. The Chain tore itself free from his arm and hovered above him, pulsing with red-hot power.
It spoke.
"Swear to the Flamewell. Bind yourself in truth. Only then will you ascend."
Kael's heart pounded.
He understood now.
This wasn't just about survival.
This was a pact.
He had to choose—carry the memories, carry the burden—or die in ignorance, like so many before him.
He rose to his feet.
"I swear it," he said. "I won't run anymore."
"Then be bound in truth, and rise as Warden reborn."
The Chain shot forward, wrapping around his chest, arms, and legs. It seared his skin, but he didn't scream. Not this time.
Instead, he felt strength flood him.
Not just power—but understanding.
The Chain settled.
The forge vanished.
Kael opened his eyes.
He stood at the edge of the basin once more. Ashen waited with arms crossed.
"You survived."
Kael looked at his arms. The Chain was now longer, darker, and embedded with glowing runes. The emblem on his forearm had evolved—no longer a simple sigil, but a crest of twin serpents coiled around a burning flame.
"I saw things," Kael said. "Memories. People I don't know."
Ashen nodded. "They knew you. In another life. The Chain remembers your other selves."
Kael blinked. "Other selves?"
Ashen turned. "The Court believes in bloodlines. But the Chain believes in cycles. Some Wardens return again and again—wearing new faces, new names."
Kael felt cold. "You think I'm one of them?"
"I know you are," Ashen said. "You're Tarien reborn. Or worse—something deeper."
Kael stared at the horizon.
"So what now?"
Ashen's voice dropped. "Now… we fight."
Suddenly, the sky cracked.
A spear of light fell from the heavens and exploded into the basin behind them.
Kael spun.
From the crater rose a figure—tall, metallic, and monstrous. Its body was made of golden bone and charred flesh, wrapped in radiant chains. In its face sat a single burning eye, and from its mouth came no sound—only wind that screamed.
Ashen stepped forward. "The Court has sent a Sentinel."
Kael's heart thundered.
"What do we do?"
Ashen didn't flinch.
"We do what Wardens always do."
Kael raised his Chain. The runes along it began to glow.
He felt fire swirl in his veins. Power flooded his senses.
The Sentinel raised a massive blade.
Kael smiled.
"We fight back."