The wind howled over the ridge, tugging at Elira's cloak like a living thing. The path to the ruins of Syros wasn't on any map; it had been buried beneath history, erased like the many secrets of the Heartstone. But Ashen's memory held it clearly. He walked ahead now, guiding them silently through a path choked with briars and thorns, his blade slicing through the underbrush with quiet efficiency.
Behind him, Elira's thoughts churned as violently as the storm clouds overhead.
Since the encounter with the Celestial Flame, a part of her hadn't been the same. The visions came more frequently now — brief, flickering glimpses of things not yet come. Fire. Blood. A shadowed figure with a voice that sounded like it had been forged from screams.
But worse than the visions was the pull — a whisper in the back of her mind that made her hands ache and her breath catch. A hunger for more magic. More power.
Ashen slowed as they approached the shattered gateway to Syros. Ancient stone pillars loomed, half-cracked and eaten by time, etched with glyphs that shimmered faintly even in the fading daylight.
"This is where it began," he murmured, his voice low.
Elira stepped beside him, her eyes scanning the crumbled archway. "What started here?"
Ashen didn't answer right away. Instead, he touched one of the glyphs with a reverence that bordered on grief. "This was once the seat of the Shadowbound. Before they were twisted by the Void. Before the betrayal."
Elira stiffened. "You've been here before."
Ashen nodded. "Once. When I was still human."
The silence that followed was thick.
Elira stared at him, unsure what to say. She had always sensed something inhuman about him — not in the monstrous sense, but in the way he moved, the way he remembered. Now she knew why. "You're… not just a Warden, are you?"
"No," he said simply. "I was born during the twilight of the First Cycle. I was there when the Heartstone cracked. I fought in the war of Seven Thrones. And I failed."
Elira swallowed, her mouth dry. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because knowing wouldn't have helped you. It might've broken you."
She didn't respond. Not with words. Instead, she reached for his hand and gripped it tightly. "I'm still here. I want the truth."
Ashen turned toward her. His eyes — usually unreadable — glinted with something like sorrow. "Then you'll have it."
They entered the ruins together.
The interior of Syros was a vast cathedral of shadow and decay. Vaulted ceilings soared overhead, supported by bone-white columns that pulsed faintly with forgotten magic. The floor was littered with remnants of long-dead battles — rusted weapons, scorched armor, faded banners.
And at the center of it all stood a throne carved from obsidian.
Elira stopped dead. The air here was wrong. It shimmered like heat, though it was cold. Her fingertips prickled with static.
"That's where it was housed," Ashen said, nodding toward the throne. "The original vessel of the Void Fragment. The First Gate."
Elira walked slowly toward it, her boots echoing in the silence. As she neared the throne, something moved behind it.
She stopped.
A tall figure stepped into view, cloaked in silver fire. His face was obscured by a hood, but his presence was undeniable — a weight in the air that pressed against her lungs.
"Elira Dareth," the figure said. "Daughter of flame. Bearer of the untethered soul."
Ashen drew his blade instantly. "Stand back."
But Elira didn't move.
"Who are you?" she asked.
"I am what remains of the Warden of Syros," the figure said. "What you would call a memory… or perhaps a warning. I was the last to guard this place before it fell."
Ashen stiffened. "That's impossible. The Warden of Syros was killed during the Breach."
"I was changed," the figure corrected. "Bound to this place by the last will of the High Flame. I have waited for one who bears the mark. And now… you are here."
Elira felt the fire surge within her. "What mark?"
The figure extended a hand, and a mirror of flame formed in the air. Her reflection rippled, distorting — and on her chest, glowing just beneath the skin, was a spiral of flame entwined with a star of shadow.
She staggered back.
"No… that's not—"
"It is," the figure said. "You are the Heir of the Fracture. The one born of fire and void. You are meant to awaken the Gate once more."
Ashen was beside her in an instant. "She will do no such thing."
But the Warden raised his hand, and a wall of fire separated them.
Elira gasped. "Ashen!"
"I cannot harm you," the Warden said. "But I must show you what you carry. Come."
The fire parted to reveal a stairwell descending into blackness.
Elira hesitated. Her heart pounded.
But something in her knew — this was the next step. The next test.
She looked at Ashen, who pressed his hand against the flame barrier, fury in his eyes. "Don't go," he said. "This is how they break you."
Elira's voice trembled. "Then trust that I'll come back unbroken."
And she stepped through the fire.
The stairwell wound endlessly down. The walls pulsed with veins of silver and red light, whispering ancient names in languages her ears barely understood.
Finally, it opened into a chamber of crystal and void.
Floating above the center was a sphere — half light, half shadow. It pulsed with every beat of her heart.
"The Fragment," the Warden said. "The last echo of the First Flame. It remembers all. It sees all. And it calls to you because you are the only one who can contain it."
Elira stared at it, mesmerized. The whispers in her head grew louder.
Take it.
Become what you were always meant to be.
But another voice — quieter, familiar — echoed beneath.
Remember who you are.
Ashen's voice.
Her mother's laughter.
The warmth of the tavern where she first learned to wield magic.
Elira closed her eyes. "I'm not a vessel."
"You are," the Warden said. "But you can choose what you hold. Embrace both fire and shadow — or let one consume the other."
The Fragment drifted closer, hovering before her.
She reached out a hand.
And as her fingers brushed the sphere, the world exploded in light.
She opened her eyes in the ruins once more, lying on the cold stone floor.
Ashen knelt beside her, panic on his face. "Elira—! You vanished. What happened? Where did you go?"
She sat up slowly. Her body ached. Her veins felt like they were carrying lightning.
"I saw it," she whispered. "The Fragment. It's inside me now."
Ashen froze. "You absorbed it?"
"No," she said. "I balanced it."
He stared at her.
She stood, feeling the fire within her burn brighter than ever before — but now, it moved in harmony with something darker, deeper. A shadow not born of evil, but of depth. Of memory.
"I know what I am now," Elira said, her voice steady. "And I know what I need to do."
Ashen rose beside her. "Then say it."
"I'm going to open the Heartstone," she said. "And I'm going to end the war. On my terms."