The Call to Flame
The fire burned high in the center of the old Watcher's Circle, sending sparks spiraling into the night sky like fireflies with purpose.
Elira stood before the gathered villagers—more than just her own now. Messengers had gone out to the outer territories: the cliff villages of Telra, the nomad camps in the Ashen Plains, the stone-singers of Vael. Each group had come in disbelief but stayed for one reason.
They had seen the lion.
And they had seen Elira, the Light born.
Around the fire, warriors sat shoulder to shoulder with farmers, with seers and shepherds. Elders who once taught caution now looked to her for decisions. Children repeated her name in whispers like a lullaby for courage.
Elira stepped forward. Her robes were different now—practical armor weaved with light-thread and prayer beads. Her mother's sun-pendant swung over her chest, steady against her heartbeat.
"I won't promise this war will be easy," she began. "I won't pretend I don't still wake afraid. But I do not walk alone. The Guardians are returning. And the Flame has not died. It was only waiting."
The lion, Aurion, stepped into the firelight, his golden mane glowing with sacred power.
Tonight, the call goes forth. We seek the four Forgotten—Guardians who survived the Breaking, scattered across the corners of Liora. They must be awakened. Or we fall before Malakar's rise.
Elira nodded. "We'll split into four paths. I will take the northern climb to Mount Rael, where the Winged Guardian vanished. Others will take the Sea Caverns of Erelith, the Forest Depths of Loma, and the Sand Gate of the South."
Barin, now Elira's senior adviser, rose from the circle.
"And what of Malakar's riders?" he asked. "The shadows are closing in from the east."
Elira looked toward the horizon. Even now, lightning flickered in unnatural clouds.
"They'll come," she said. "And we'll meet them. But first, we wake the fire that sleeps in our land."
The Climb to Mount Rael
Elira and Aurion left at dawn, ascending the frostbitten cliffs that marked the edge of the world. Mount Rael's peak disappeared into clouds, but somewhere beyond the storms lay the Temple of Wings, home of Serakai, Guardian of Wind and Sky.
The climb tested them. The winds howled with voices not their own. Ghosts of winged beasts circled overhead. Elira's light often flickered in the freezing gales.
At night, they sheltered in ruins where frost covered statues of winged lions, and dreams brought visions of Serakai—a silver-feathered creature with eyes like dawn storms and a voice like wind-chimes in a storm.
On the third day, lightning split the sky.
They had reached the summit.
The temple stood broken but proud, a ring of columns half-buried in snow. In its center lay a stone cocoon, frozen in thick ice.
Elira placed her palm against it.
The Light seed within her pulsed.
She whispered, "Serakai… awaken. The Flame calls you."
For a heartbeat—nothing.
Then the wind screamed, and the ice cracked.
Wings of silver light burst from the stone. A cry echoed across the mountains—eagle and lion, thunder and wind. The cocoon shattered, and Serakai, Guardian of Sky, rose from the frost, her great wings shaking the clouds themselves.
You bear the Flame. Then the sky will rise again.
The Others Awaken
In the weeks that followed, the other three Guardians were found.
Thallin, the Stone Guardian, was found deep in the Forest Depths of Loma, where roots had wrapped around his slumber like armor. When awakened, he wept golden tears for the time lost—and swore his strength to Elira.
Mirael, the Flame Serpent, stirred in the Sea Caverns of Erelith, her body half-submerged in magma pools. She hissed a song of vengeance and grace, and the sea itself shimmered in her wake.
Korunn, the Desert Watcher, had become part of the sands—half myth, half memory. But Elira's emissaries found him in the ruins of the Sand Gate, his molten eyes opening after a thousand years of stillness.
And so, for the first time in an age, the Circle of Five stood complete.
The Guardians had returned.
The Gathering of Light
Elira stood atop the Cliff of Cindral, beneath a sky now split by light and shadow. In the valley below, thousands of torches glowed—villagers, warriors, seers, Guardians, all gathered beneath the banner of the Flame.
The lion stood beside her.
You have done what no Light born has done in an age. You have united the forgotten. But the greatest battle lies ahead.
Elira turned to him, a breeze stirring her cloak.
"I know. Malakar will come for me."
He already is. The final seal weakens. When it breaks, the world will not remember dawn unless you stand in the gap.
Elira lifted her hand—and from her palm, a burst of light shaped like a phoenix rose into the sky, seen across all of Liora.
Her voice carried over the wind:
"This is the Call of Flame. Not just to fight—but to protect. Not just to win—but to remember who we are."
The light blazed.
And in the dark fortress beyond the shattered stars…
Malakar opened his eyes.
"She awakens… Good. Let her come."