There was no pain, no sound, no air. Only silence—vast and infinite.
Aric floated weightless in darkness, his body neither solid nor spirit. He couldn't tell if he was alive or dead. The only thing that remained was the faint glow in his chest, pulsing like a heartbeat lost in time.
He tried to move, but his limbs obeyed sluggishly, as though he were swimming through liquid shadow. Around him, faint motes of golden light drifted like embers. They whispered softly, fragments of thoughts he could almost recognize—his own voice, but older, wiser, and infinitely sad.
"The Flame gives, and the Flame takes.""You wanted to save them all.""You forgot that salvation burns."
He reached out, but the lights scattered, vanishing into the void.
Then, from the distance, a faint glow began to rise—a horizon of soft blue flame. Shapes emerged within it, shifting and blurring until they became clear. He saw himself again, not as reflection or spirit, but as fractured images—each a different version of him.
One knelt in robes of gold, hands clasped in prayer. Another stood amid ruins, eyes hollow with guilt. A third laughed bitterly, surrounded by fire. And there were more—dozens of them—each echoing a life he had lived, a decision he had made, a failure he had borne.
They spoke as one.
"We are what you left behind."
Aric's throat tightened. "My past selves?"
"Your choices," they replied, their voices overlapping. "Your regrets, your pride, your despair. You shattered yourself when you split the Flame."
He looked down at his glowing chest. "Then this place…"
"The Realm Between Flames."
The space around him shifted. The void transformed into a vast expanse of mirrored water stretching into infinity, flames flickering above and below as though suspended in two worlds. Reflections danced across the surface—moments from his past life and his current one intertwining.
He saw himself as the Keeper, standing before the Heart of the Flame, swearing his vow. Then he saw his rebirth—the lost boy, alone under a crimson sky. The two images overlapped until they became one.
He clenched his fists. "If I caused the world's ruin, then I'll fix it. I won't run anymore."
The fragments of himself grew still. The one dressed in ash-gray armor stepped forward, eyes burning faintly. "To fix what was broken, you must reclaim what was lost. But to reclaim it, you must accept all of us."
The other fragments circled him, their faces reflecting both pain and strength. One by one, they pressed their hands against his chest. Each touch sent a surge of memory through him—moments of love, anger, betrayal, and sorrow.
He saw the first time he lit the sacred fire. The day he defied the council. The moment he unleashed the Flame to purify the corrupted lands—and watched everything he loved vanish in the inferno.
Every choice carved deeper into him. Every emotion tore at his spirit. Yet through the pain came understanding.
"I was never the hero," he whispered. "I was just a man who thought he could control the sun."
The golden-robed fragment smiled faintly. "And yet, you still reached for the light."
The water beneath his feet rippled. From its depths rose a sword of pure flame—the same weapon the ancient Watchers had once guarded. Its hilt gleamed with runes that pulsed in rhythm with his heart.
"This is the Keeper's Flame," one of his fragments said. "The power you once sealed within the mountain. It will answer to you only when you embrace your whole self—light and shadow alike."
Aric hesitated. "If I take it back, won't the same destruction happen again?"
The reflections began to fade, their voices echoing softly. "That depends on what kind of Keeper you choose to be this time."
He reached for the sword. The instant his fingers touched it, the world ignited. Fire surged through him, not consuming, but cleansing. Every regret, every fear, every fragment of his past merged into one blinding pulse of light.
He cried out as the energy tore through him—then, suddenly, silence.
The sword vanished. The light dimmed. And Aric opened his eyes.
He was lying beside the Pool of Memory once more, the sky above dark and storm-torn. His body ached, but he could feel it—the Flame within him had changed. It no longer raged wildly. It breathed with him, alive but balanced.
Lira knelt beside him, her eyes wide with disbelief. "You're back! The pool swallowed you—Kael said you were gone!"
Kael stood a few paces away, his spear drawn, watching the swirling clouds. "Not gone," he muttered. "Changed."
Aric slowly sat up. The air trembled around him, golden motes of light drifting from his skin. "The shadows were right," he said. "They were part of me. But so was the light. I can't destroy either… only unite them."
Lira frowned. "Unite them? You mean—"
Before she could finish, a tremor rippled through the valley. The ground cracked, and from the pool's depths, dark fire began to rise again—taller this time, shaped like wings unfurling.
Kael cursed, readying his weapon. "Looks like your other half isn't done yet."
Aric stood, summoning the balanced Flame. His aura blazed gold shot through with streaks of black, light and shadow intertwining in perfect harmony.
"No," he said, voice calm but unyielding. "It's not my other half anymore."
He stepped forward, the mountain shaking under his feet. "It's me."