It rose from the chasm like a storm of bone and fire.
One clawed limb after another tore through the cracked floor, dragging with it the form of a creature older than kings, older than fire, older than the gates themselves. Its body was built of ancient sinew fused with molten stone, scales the size of shields curling down a spine of jagged obsidian. Wings unfurled from its back—torn, not from battle, but from time itself. And its eyes...
Stars.
Not embers. Not fire. Stars—whole and burning and impossibly old.
Duncan stood frozen at the edge of the monolith chamber as the First Beast fully emerged, rearing its head back and letting loose a roar that shattered three of the surrounding rune pillars.
This was not a creature of the present world.
It was memory in its rawest, wildest form.
The Flamefather hadn't been exaggerating.
This was the one thing the Dominion had failed to tame.
The Beast Without a Name
The creature did not attack at once.
It stared at Duncan, tilting its massive head, as if trying to recall a face it once knew. Smoke curled from its fanged mouth. It took one slow step forward—talons cracking the ground—and the air rippled with memories not his own.
A battlefield bathed in white fire.
A girl cradling a dying bird.
A man standing before a council of beasts, empty hands raised in peace.
Then, in a voice that echoed in thought, not air:
"You wear his fire... but you are not him."
Duncan's throat dried.
"Who?"
"The First Binder. The one who betrayed me."
The beast stepped closer, and Duncan saw that its chest bore a deep scar—ancient, nearly forgotten, but still smoldering.
The mark of a sealing wound.
"You remember the wound," Duncan said slowly. "Do you remember why it was given?"
The beast's breath quickened. Memories flared in its eyes.
"Because he feared me."
"Because he forgot what we were."
"Because men... always forget."
The Binding Song
The flame in the chamber surged, casting long shadows that writhed and screamed with voices from ages past.
Duncan raised the Emberblade, not in challenge, but in ritual.
The weapon pulsed—not with heat, but with memory. It remembered the pact. The oath once sworn between fire and beast. Between man and wild.
"I'm not here to cage you," Duncan said. "I'm here to remember what they chose to forget."
The beast tilted its head again.
"And if remembering burns the world?"
"Then let it burn," Duncan whispered, "but not before it heals."
He stepped forward, and the beast roared again—not in fury, but in mourning. Its cry split the ceiling above, revealing the light of the Breach far, far above—now spinning faster, threads of flame descending like roots.
And then Duncan heard it.
A song.
Soft. Ancient.
Not sung in words, but in pulse. In flame.
The same song he had heard in the Sea of Glass. A lullaby. A promise.
The Flamefather's last gift.
Taming the Wild
The beast lunged—not in wrath, but desperation.
It needed to test him.
To see if he could hold the fire without letting it devour him.
Duncan met it head-on, the Emberblade blazing, but not striking. Instead, he moved in rhythm with the song, each step a verse, each breath a line. The blade became a conductor, drawing light from the ancient flame and weaving it into memory.
The beast circled him, faster now, claws scraping sparks from stone.
Each pass brought another test:
A lash of fire meant to tempt rage.
A breath of poison meant to instill fear.
A howl of sorrow meant to crush hope.
But Duncan endured.
He remembered.
The Pact Renewed
Finally, the beast halted, shoulders heaving, smoke trailing from its jaws.
Duncan lowered his blade.
"No more cages," he said.
The beast stepped forward. Its head lowered—just slightly—until its brow touched the tip of the Emberblade.
For a heartbeat, the world stood still.
Then the flame within the blade surged—not in destruction, but in fusion. The blade dissolved into threads of light that wove themselves into the air, circling Duncan's body, binding him to the creature in a new oath.
Not master and servant.
But equal bearers of the fire.
The Gate Sealed by Choice
The First Beast exhaled.
The crack in the earth trembled, then closed. The chamber dimmed, the wild energy calmed.
But the Breach above still pulsed.
Still growing.
"It's not over, is it?" Duncan asked.
The beast shook its head.
"This was only the lock. What waits beyond the Breach… is what broke us all."
Duncan turned toward the spiral path leading upward once more.
For the first time, he did not feel alone.
The beast walked beside him.