The skies over the Skyfall Mountains burned red with the coming dawn, the wind howling like an ancient song through the spires of ice and stone. Lyra Flynn and Kael Dareth flew high over the mountain ridges, their wings catching warm thermals rising from the Aetherstream below—a river of living magic that surged like lightning through the valleys, glowing violet and silver with energy so dense it shimmered in the air like mist.
Behind them, the Starlight Lakes were distant lights on the horizon. Ahead lay the third waypoint, according to the vision Cael had revealed.
Lyra's fingers tightened around the enchanted artifact now warm in her satchel. "We're getting close," she called over the wind.
Kael, flying just beside her, nodded. His dark shoulder-length hair whipped behind him in the icy gusts, and his usually calm, sea-green eyes were narrowed with focus. His glider—black with crimson etchings—cut through the wind with practiced ease. "You sure this is the path?"
Cael pulsed faintly. "The third memory lies beneath the wings of flame. The fire that sleeps will awaken."
Kael frowned. "Cryptic."
"Always is," Lyra said, her own wings gleaming silver and white in the early light. Her braid, tightly woven and streaked with faint strands of sky-blue, brushed her shoulder as she banked left around a towering ice peak. Her eyes—sky-gray and sharp—were locked ahead.
The wind shifted.
A low rumble vibrated beneath them.
"Did you feel that?" she asked.
Kael nodded. "Yeah."
The mountains shuddered.
And then it rose.
From deep within the mountain gorge, a massive eruption of flame spiraled skyward. Lava poured from a hidden crevice, not down—but up, coiling into the air in defiance of gravity. At the center of the firestorm, a great obsidian structure emerged: a ruined fortress, clinging to the mountain's side like a dying beast. Its spires were cracked, its walls scorched and broken, but runes still glowed faintly across the stone.
Lyra stared.
"That's not in any sky map."
Kael angled his glider. "I'm not sure it's supposed to be."
They descended, wings folding inward as they circled the fortress. The heat was intense—the Aetherstream had ruptured, pushing wild magical fire through the mountain veins.
And then the wind changed.
It didn't smell like smoke or ash.
It smelled like something old. Something forgotten.
They landed on a broken balcony of the fortress, the stone still warm underfoot. The walls bore ancient carvings—images of winged sentinels, beasts wreathed in flame, and a symbol Lyra had seen before.
"Eldarath," she whispered. "Same crest."
Kael crouched beside a cracked obsidian door. "It's Aerthian. But this place was... sealed."
"Until now."
Cael hovered from her satchel, casting a beam of sapphire light over the doorway. Glyphs ignited, spinning in place like locks coming undone.
Then a tremor.
And a roar.
The fortress shook.
Kael jumped back as the obsidian door cracked open, spilling heat and light into the chamber beyond.
And from the depths of the darkness, it emerged.
A massive creature of molten scales and folded wings, its body coiled like a dragon but shaped like no beast Lyra had ever read about. Four eyes, glowing with searing gold, stared at her with ancient hatred. Its breath steamed, a hiss of volcanic gas.
"Skyflame Wyrm," Lyra whispered.
The creature—Vorthar, the Sleeping Fire—awoke.
Its wings unfurled, spanning nearly forty feet, each featherlike scale pulsing with inner flame. Magic radiated from its form—wild, chaotic, beautiful.
Kael drew his blade. "We can't fight that."
Cael's voice echoed in her mind. "You must not kill. You must awaken."
"What does that mean?" Lyra said aloud, stepping back as the wyrm roared, the sound shaking the stone.
"Its purpose is bound. Its memory sealed. It is guardian and prisoner both."
"Great," Kael muttered. "A flaming prisoner with anger issues."
The wyrm charged.
Lyra dodged, rolled, and sprinted for a raised platform at the center of the chamber, where a great seal pulsed beneath layers of dust and ash. It looked like a sunburst made of glowing obsidian.
The wyrm smashed a pillar behind her, fire raining across the stones.
She reached the seal and placed Cael at its center.
"Awaken the fire," she whispered.
A flash of blinding light exploded across the chamber.
The wyrm froze.
Its wings snapped wide, its fire dimmed.
And then—
It spoke.
Not aloud, but in her mind.
"I was the first. The winged flame. Forged to protect the seal of Eldarath."
Lyra's breath caught. "Then you know the way?"
"I was betrayed. Bound in fire. My memory shattered."
The chamber grew still, the heat slowly dissipating.
Kael approached warily, blade lowered. "So… what now?"
Lyra stepped forward. "Help us. Show us the third path."
The wyrm stared at her for a long, long moment.
Then it bowed its head.
From its chest, a glowing shard emerged—a memory crystal—and floated toward Cael. When it made contact, another vision erupted:
A city in twilight.
A battle.
Flames devouring towers. Beasts of air and fire clashing with sentinels of stone and sky. A woman with Lyra's eyes stood at the center, wielding an artifact much like Cael, her wings glowing silver and gold.
Then darkness.
Then the fourth waypoint.
The image of a ruined bridge suspended between stars.
"Starweaver's Bridge," Kael whispered. "That's the last one."
The vision ended.
The wyrm curled in upon itself, its fire dimming.
**"Go," it said. "Before the storm finds you."
They flew again, wind rushing around them, sky tearing open above with clouds thick and dark.
Behind them, the Devouring Storm stirred in the far south.
Lightning danced in the sky.
Lyra turned to Kael. "One more."
He nodded. "Then Eldarath."
And far below, across the shining skyfields and broken ruins of the Aerthys Empire, shadows moved.
Watching.
Waiting.
The race to the lost city had truly begun.