Three nights after the fall of the Academy, the ashes stopped glowing.By then, the world already whispered of what had happened on the mountain — a tamer who shattered the chains of the Council and walked away alive.
But Lyn didn't feel victorious. The further he moved from the ruins, the more he felt the bond threads tremble — as if the world itself was unraveling one link at a time.
They traveled north through the Veilscar Pass, where storms clung to the cliffs and mana currents turned the air sharp enough to sting the skin. Umbra's form flickered beside him, more translucent than usual, its edges bleeding into mist.
—The pull of the Eighth Flame grows stronger here, the spirit murmured. But its rhythm… is wrong. It beats in reverse.
"Meaning?" Lyn asked, keeping his eyes on the trail ahead.
—Meaning something else awakened before it should have.
The path opened into a plateau that overlooked a valley bathed in pale blue fire. Ancient pillars jutted from the ground, each carved with sigils older than human history. The flames didn't burn; they whispered.
Rhea knelt beside one of the pillars, brushing her fingers across the carvings. "These aren't Council runes. They're older — pre-Concord scripts."
Arden frowned. "You mean the era before tamers ruled the spirit races? Those symbols were wiped out."
"They were hidden," Lyn corrected quietly. "Not erased."
Umbra's shadow stretched across the stone, tracing the runes with inhuman precision. —This is the Covenant tongue. It speaks of a promise broken… and a bond devoured.
A low hum rose from the ground. The blue flames brightened, swirling together in the air until they formed a faint outline — a figure cloaked in ember light, face obscured, voice trembling like wind through hollow glass.
"The Eighth Flame burns when harmony dies.When bond feeds upon bond.When the chained turn their gaze to the sky."
The echo's voice faded into a keening wail that rattled the stones. Lyn steadied himself against the force, his crest pulsing in response. The runes beneath his hand ignited, echoing the same pattern carved into the black crystal they'd found.
Rhea stepped back. "Lyn—your crest! It's reacting to it!"
Umbra's tone darkened. —This is no memory. This is a remnant. The Eighth Flame left its echo to guard its remains.
A sudden wind tore through the valley. The ghostly flame figure fractured, scattering into countless shards of light that twisted midair — and reformed into spirits. Not like Umbra's kin; these were wild, incomplete, their bodies cracked with leaking mana.
"They're unstable," Arden warned, drawing his blades. "If they touch us, they'll drain our bonds dry."
Lyn didn't answer. He could feel their pain, the same pain Umbra once carried — the agony of being bound, broken, and remade.
He raised his hand. "Stand down."
Umbra hissed. —They cannot hear you.
The first spirit lunged. Its claws were made of light, but Lyn didn't retreat. Instead, he opened his crest — not to command, but to resonate.
A pulse of energy rippled outward, not in dominance but recognition. The spirit froze mid-attack, trembling as the resonance reached it.
Then, for the first time, it bowed.
Rhea's eyes widened. "You… pacified it without binding?"
Lyn exhaled, voice low. "Maybe that's what the Eighth Flame wanted to teach — that connection isn't control."
Umbra's voice was quieter now. —You walk a dangerous path, Lyn. To resonate without chains is to share pain as well as power.
He nodded. "Then I'll carry that too."
The rest of the wild spirits hesitated, then slowly lowered themselves, their cracked forms flickering until they dissolved into motes of pale fire. Each one left behind a faint rune, merging into a circle around Lyn's feet — eight interlocking sigils forming a seal.
The blue valley dimmed. The storm above stilled. And when the light faded, something small rested in the center of the runes — a fragment of crystal, shaped like a burning feather.
Arden crouched beside it, wary. "That's it? After all this, we get a rock?"
Umbra's tone rumbled deep. —A shard of the Eighth Crest. One piece of eight. The first flame reborn.
Lyn picked it up carefully. It pulsed faintly in his palm, syncing to his heartbeat. "Then we find the others."
Rhea frowned. "You realize what happens when the Council remnants find out you're holding that, right?"
"They'll come for me," Lyn said simply. "Let them. Every step they take just spreads the fire further."
Umbra's wings unfolded once more, scattering the last motes of blue flame into the wind.—Then the world will burn anew.
Lyn looked toward the horizon, where dark clouds gathered once again."The rebellion was never meant to end," he murmured. "It was meant to begin here."
And as the first light of dawn touched the ash-covered valley, the shard in his hand flared — a new dawn rising on the fractured path.