The wind had turned cold after the Skyfire.
It no longer smelled like rain or ash, but like something older — metal and memory.
Miles and Gail trudged through the skeletal remains of the eastern ridge, where the empire's ancient spires jutted from the ground like broken bones. The glow in Miles's veins had dimmed, though faint sparks still flickered beneath his skin. He kept his hands hidden in the folds of his cloak, but the warmth within them pulsed like a restless heartbeat.
Gail kept stealing glances at him, her expression unreadable.
Every few steps, she adjusted the strap of her satchel — the one that still held her field journal and two cracked mana lenses. They were the only things she had saved from the university before it was swallowed by the storm.
"How far until we reach the ridge?" she asked finally, her voice hoarse.
"Two leagues," Miles murmured. "If the map wasn't burned away."
"You memorized it."
"I did," he said. "But the land's changed. The Skyfire tore half the valley apart."
They walked in silence after that, the air heavy with dust. In the distance, the shattered outline of Caelus's capital was still visible — a dark silhouette against a bleeding sky. What had once been the center of the world was now a tomb of smoke.
They stopped when the ground began to tremble.
Gail's hand shot to her dagger. "Another quake?"
"No," Miles whispered, crouching. "Something's breathing."
The earth beneath them pulsed — faint, rhythmic, alive. Dust rolled down the slope, revealing faint lines of crimson light. Miles brushed the dirt aside, uncovering the edge of a carved surface — scales, fossilized yet strangely intact. A dragon's rib cage, half-buried beneath centuries of stone.
"It's a skeleton," Gail said, lowering her weapon. "Another one."
Miles shook his head. "No. The others were cold. This one's still warm."
He pressed a palm against the bone. Heat radiated through it — faint, but unmistakable. Beneath the fossil's surface, he could sense motion. Not life, not energy — something in between.
"Skyfire residue?" Gail asked quietly.
"Not residue," Miles said. "Resonance."
He closed his eyes.
For a moment, the world went silent — then a whisper cut through the stillness.
You touched the heart… and it remembers you.
Miles froze. The voice was deep, ancient, yet hollow — like wind echoing through an endless cavern. He opened his eyes sharply, looking around. Nothing but rock and dust.
"Miles?" Gail asked. "What is it?"
He didn't answer. The mark on his hand was glowing again, faint veins of red crawling up his wrist. He pressed his palm harder against the fossilized rib.
Do you seek the end, little scholar? Or do you seek to understand it?
The words weren't sound — they were impressions, thought made form. They slithered through his mind like smoke.
Miles whispered, "I seek truth."
Silence.
Then the voice sighed.
Then truth shall burn you.
The glow beneath the fossil flared — a sudden, violent pulse that threw both of them backward. Gail hit the ground hard, coughing. Miles barely stayed conscious. The rib cage split open, revealing a hollow cavity beneath the earth — a cavern lined with bones and faint crimson light.
Dust swirled as the air shifted. Warmth rose from below, carrying the scent of ozone and something metallic — blood, but not human.
Miles pushed himself to his feet. "It's a tomb."
"No," Gail whispered, eyes wide. "It's… breathing."
They climbed down carefully. The deeper they descended, the clearer the pattern became — the bones weren't lying randomly. They were arranged like a ritual circle, each vertebra carved with runes too old to read. At the center lay a massive skull, half-buried in stone, its horns curling like obsidian spires.
And within the hollow of its chest — a faintly glowing crystal.
Miles's breath caught. "A draconic core…"
Gail frowned. "You mean the legends were true? That they kept their hearts after death?"
He nodded slowly. "But it's not dead. Look."
The crystal pulsed — slow, steady, rhythmic. A heartbeat.
"Impossible," she whispered. "These bones are thousands of years old."
"Maybe the heart didn't care."
He stepped closer. The mark on his hand flared in answer, resonating with the crystal's glow. The faint hum of the veins grew louder, vibrating through his bones. Gail backed away instinctively, eyes darting between Miles and the dragon's heart.
"Miles, don't—"
He touched it.
For an instant, everything vanished.
The world turned white — then red — then alive.
He stood within a vast expanse of light and fire. Above him, an enormous dragon loomed, wings unfurled, its body the size of a mountain. Its eyes, once molten gold, were now dim — yet still watching.
You are not one of mine, it said, voice rumbling like distant thunder.
And yet… you carry my flame.
Miles struggled to speak. "Who are you?"
The last breath of a dead god, it answered simply. What remains when purpose dies and memory refuses to fade.
The dragon's chest rose slowly. Each breath seemed to shake reality itself.
The gods tore us from the veins of the world. They chained our hearts to stone and bound our fire to their own law. We were made into myths… so that men would forget their makers.
The words cut deep. Miles remembered the vision from before — gods descending, dragons burning.
He whispered, "Then what am I?"
A mistake, the dragon said. Or a promise. Perhaps both.
Its massive head lowered until one eye filled his world.
The Scholar who bears flame. The one who sees the Veins. When the gods return, you will burn the world anew — or you will bind it.
That is the price of knowing.
Miles felt the world crumble around him. "I didn't ask for this—"
Truth does not ask. It chooses.
The dragon exhaled — not with fire, but with memory. The wave of light hit him, searing through flesh and bone, and he screamed.
"Miles!"
The sound of Gail's voice dragged him back. He was lying on the cavern floor, smoke curling from his hands. The heart of the dragon had gone dark — its last ember fading.
Gail knelt beside him, her face pale. "What did you do?!"
He looked down. The mark on his arm had changed — no longer a spiral, but a sigil of intertwined veins. It pulsed faintly, in time with his heartbeat.
"I… spoke to it," he said softly.
"To it?"
"The last dragon."
She stared at him, speechless. Then her voice dropped to a whisper. "What did it say?"
He hesitated. "That the gods killed them to cage the world. That the dragons gave their hearts to keep it alive."
Gail blinked. "And now?"
Miles stared at the silent crystal. "Now it's gone."
They rested for a while in the tomb's quiet. Miles sat near the remains of the dragon's skull, sketching the runes he could remember in his notebook. His hands trembled slightly. Every so often, the mark on his wrist flared, answering to some distant pulse he couldn't yet hear.
Gail sat opposite him, cleaning her blade with the edge of her cloak. She didn't speak for a long time. When she did, her tone was softer than before.
"You should've died twice now. First the Skyfire, now this."
Miles smiled faintly. "A scholar's life is long in questions, short in years."
She scowled. "Don't joke."
"I'm not."
The silence stretched between them again. Finally, Gail sighed. "If what you saw is true… then the empire's been lying to us for centuries."
"They've been building on dragon bones," Miles said. "The Skyfire wasn't divine punishment. It was backlash. The veins are collapsing because the gods cut the dragons from them."
Gail frowned. "Then what happens when the veins die?"
Miles looked at her.
"The world dies with them."
A faint tremor shook the ground. Miles looked up sharply. Dust drifted from the ceiling.
Gail stood, blade drawn. "What was that?"
He closed his eyes, reaching out with his senses. Beneath the stone, something vast was stirring — not alive, but aware. The veins of energy beneath the tomb were shifting, converging toward the surface.
"They found us," Miles whispered.
"Who?"
"The Arcanum Guard."
They ran.
The tunnels twisted like veins themselves, narrow and endless. Red light pulsed faintly along the walls, illuminating carvings of dragons and spirals — ancient depictions of the world's creation. Miles recognized them from his studies, though most scholars dismissed such images as myth.
Now he knew better.
Behind them, the sound of boots echoed — heavy, metallic, synchronized. The Guard had arrived, their enchanted armor glowing faintly with sigils of containment. Their voices were cold, mechanical.
"Target confirmed. Scholar-class anomaly. Capture alive."
Gail grabbed his arm. "They're sealing the exits!"
"I know."
"Then what do we do?"
Miles's mind raced. His eyes darted toward the glowing veins on the wall. He could feel them — power humming just beyond reach.
"The dragon said truth burns," he murmured. "Let's find out how much."
He raised his hand and pressed it against the stone. The mark on his wrist blazed to life.
The world exploded.
Flame tore through the tunnels, red and gold intertwining like molten silk. The ground convulsed as the veins ignited, responding to Miles's call. The Guard's shouts turned into screams as their armor melted, their containment runes shattering under the surge of power.
Gail shielded her face, her cloak catching fire. "Miles! Stop—!"
But Miles couldn't hear her. The fire wasn't consuming him — it was moving through him. His veins glowed, his eyes reflecting the same red light that danced through the stone.
For the first time, he understood the pulse — the pattern of the world beneath the surface. The veins weren't just energy. They were thought — remnants of dragon memory embedded into the planet itself.
And he was reading them.
When the light faded, the tunnel was silent. Ash floated in the air, glowing faintly like falling embers. The Guard was gone — turned to dust. The walls were scorched, but stable. The air smelled of burned magic and ozone.
Gail stared at him, shaking. "Miles…"
He looked down. The mark on his wrist had dimmed, but the glow in his eyes remained.
"I didn't mean to," he whispered. "I just… followed the pulse."
Gail swallowed hard. "You killed them."
"They were already dead," he said quietly. "They just didn't know it."
He turned toward the far end of the tunnel, where faint light seeped through a crack in the wall. Beyond it, the air shimmered — warm, alive. The veins pulsed, guiding him forward.
"The dragon said its breath would find me," he murmured. "I think this is where it leads."
They moved deeper, toward the light. The heat intensified, and the air grew heavy with the scent of molten stone. As they stepped through the narrow passage, the cavern opened up — vast, cathedral-like, filled with crimson glow.
Gail froze.
Miles stopped beside her, awe washing over him.
The chamber before them was unlike anything he'd seen — a cathedral of bones, each rib the size of a tower. Runes spiraled along the walls, pulsing with the rhythm of a sleeping heart.
At its center, suspended in midair, was a single ember.
Small. Bright. Eternal.
Miles's eyes widened. "The last breath…"
The ember pulsed like a heartbeat suspended in the dark.
Miles stood before it, entranced, the air around him trembling with quiet hums of power. Each pulse echoed faintly within his chest, syncing with his heartbeat until he couldn't tell which rhythm was his and which belonged to the thing floating before him.
Gail stayed back, near the entrance of the cavern, her dagger drawn but useless in the heat that rolled off the light.
"Miles," she said quietly. "That thing… it's calling to you."
He nodded absently. "I know."
"Don't touch it this time."
He didn't respond — because deep down, he already knew he would.
The ember drifted closer, drawn by the mark on his wrist. It was no bigger than an apple, yet the power within it felt infinite — old, mournful, and waiting. It pulsed once more, and for a fleeting second, Miles saw images flicker in its glow:
Flames cascading from mountain peaks.
Dragons soaring across the Veins of the world.
Gods descending in chains of light.
And a scholar — not human — writing in fire.
He staggered back, gasping. "It's… showing me memory."
Gail frowned. "Whose memory?"
He looked up. "The world's."
The ember flared suddenly, responding to his words. A faint ripple spread through the cavern, shaking the pillars of bone. The rune-lined walls ignited, flooding the tomb with red light. Gail shielded her eyes.
"Miles!" she shouted. "The whole place is waking up!"
But Miles was no longer listening. His mark had begun to sear again, burning from his wrist to his shoulder. The veins beneath his skin glowed like molten gold, threading through muscle and bone.
The ember drifted closer until it hovered inches from his chest.
He whispered, "You're not just a relic, are you?"
A low hum answered him — not in sound, but through sensation.
It wasn't an object. It was a fragment of will.
Breath of the last. Keeper of flame. You called, and I answer.
The voice filled his mind, layered — many voices, thousands of echoes speaking as one.
Miles fell to one knee as the pressure crushed him, sweat pouring down his face.
Gail ran toward him, but a sudden wave of energy threw her back. The ground cracked open, and red light erupted between the fissures like veins bursting beneath skin.
"Miles!" she screamed. "You have to let go!"
He looked up — eyes burning with reflected flame.
"I can't," he whispered. "It's choosing me."
The ember struck his chest.
There was no explosion, no fire. Just silence.
Then, pain.
Miles screamed as light poured from his mouth and eyes, threads of flame weaving into his veins. His body convulsed, floating inches above the ground. The mark on his arm exploded into a lattice of sigils that crawled across his chest like living script. The cavern shook violently, as if the entire mountain were reacting to his transformation.
Gail watched helplessly, unable to move closer through the heat.
"Miles! Fight it!"
His voice broke through the roar: "I'm trying!"
The fire wasn't consuming him — it was rewriting him. Memories surged through his mind, not his own: dragons forging the first runes, their blood seeding the veins of the world, their hearts sacrificed to fuel creation. He felt their grief, their fury, their longing.
He felt their death.
And through it all, one truth burned bright —
The gods were not creators. They were thieves.
The fire receded slowly, leaving the cavern silent once more.
Miles fell to his knees, gasping, smoke curling from his skin.
Gail rushed to his side, ignoring the heat. "Miles, talk to me! Are you—"
He looked up. His eyes were no longer brown — they burned faintly with molten red, like the veins beneath the stone.
"I'm… fine," he said hoarsely. "I think."
"You think?" She grabbed his wrist and stared at the sigil on his arm. The mark had changed again — no longer chaotic veins, but a rune formed from intertwining flame and scale. It pulsed faintly, alive.
"What is this?" she demanded.
Miles stared at it. "The dragon's last breath. It fused with me."
"Fused?"
He nodded weakly. "It's not just power. It's knowledge. A… map."
Gail blinked. "Map of what?"
"The Veins," he whispered. "The world's hidden circulatory system. It's showing me where the energy flows — where it's dying."
She frowned. "And what are you supposed to do with that?"
He looked toward the glowing walls, tracing the lines that converged into the heart of the mountain.
"Restore it."
They didn't rest for long.
The tremors returned, this time accompanied by distant, mechanical sounds — rhythmic, heavy, unnatural. Miles stiffened. "They're using Resonance Anchors."
Gail drew her blade again. "The Guard?"
"No," Miles said grimly. "Something worse. The Magisters."
The word sent a chill through her spine.
The Magisters were not soldiers — they were architects of forbidden knowledge, the empire's secret priests of order. If the Arcanum Guard was the hand of the gods, the Magisters were their eyes.
"We have to move," Gail said.
Miles nodded, clutching his notebook — now half-burned, but still intact. The rune on his arm pulsed again, and faint threads of light appeared along the ground, guiding him toward a hidden passage at the back of the chamber.
"This way."
The tunnel beyond was narrower, older. The air shimmered faintly, and as they stepped deeper, the walls began to pulse with a faint luminescent rhythm.
"The Veins," Miles murmured, brushing his fingers along the rock. "They're alive here. Still flowing."
Gail glanced around uneasily. "It feels like we're walking inside something's body."
"In a way," he said, "we are."
The rune on his arm flared suddenly, casting projections of light across the stone — intricate lines and symbols forming a living map. He stared at it, transfixed. "This is it… The original structure. The Dragons' Network."
"Network?"
He smiled faintly. "Every leyline, every surge of mana in the world — all connected by these veins. They're not random. They're organized. Structured by dragons to keep the planet stable."
Gail frowned. "And the gods cut them apart."
He nodded. "To control magic. To make themselves indispensable."
She exhaled sharply. "So when they call it 'divine energy,' it's just stolen blood."
Miles gave a grim smile. "Now you understand."
They reached a wide chamber filled with ancient machinery — rings of stone and metal floating in midair, each inscribed with glowing sigils. Broken crystals lay scattered on the floor. In the center, a massive monolith pulsed faintly, bound by thick chains of black metal.
Gail froze. "What is that?"
Miles's expression darkened. "A Seal."
He stepped closer, reading the runes etched into the floor. They were written in both draconic and divine script, layered over one another — a war of language.
"It's one of the anchors the gods used to suppress the veins," he said. "A lock on the world's heart."
Gail looked uneasy. "Can you break it?"
"I can try."
He placed his hand against the monolith. The rune on his arm pulsed in response. The air thickened with power as the two forces — divine and draconic — collided.
The monolith shuddered.
Miles grit his teeth, forcing the mark to expand. Lines of light crawled from his arm into the stone, twisting around the divine runes and rewriting them one by one.
Gail watched nervously. "Miles, are you sure—"
"I can do it!" he hissed.
The monolith cracked, light spilling from the fissures like blood.
Then, a voice echoed from the shadows.
"Step away, Scholar."
They turned.
A tall figure emerged from the tunnel behind them, clad in layered robes of black and silver. His eyes burned faintly with azure light — the mark of a Magister. Behind him, two armored sentinels followed, carrying rune-lances that hummed with restrained energy.
"Who are you?" Gail demanded, blade raised.
The man ignored her, studying Miles with unsettling calm.
"So the rumors were true," he said. "A survivor of the Skyfire. And you've bonded with a Breath."
Miles's body tensed. "You knew about them."
The Magister smiled faintly. "Of course. We built our empire upon their corpses."
He stepped closer. "Tell me, Scholar — what does it feel like, carrying a god's stolen heart?"
Miles clenched his fists. "You mean a dragon's."
The Magister tilted his head. "Semantics. Both were tools of creation. Both are obsolete."
He raised a hand, and the sentinels aimed their lances. "Now, hand over the Breath. We'll remove it carefully — if you cooperate."
Gail stepped between them. "You'll have to kill him first."
The Magister's smile widened. "Easily done."
The sentinels fired.
Lances of blue-white energy tore through the air. Gail dove aside, pulling Miles down with her. The blast hit the monolith behind them, shattering part of the seal and releasing a surge of uncontrolled power.
The cavern screamed.
Waves of energy cascaded across the chamber, hurling both the Magister and his guards backward. The floor split open, exposing glowing veins beneath. The Breath inside Miles responded instantly — pulsing with fury.
Defend what remains.
Miles rose slowly, eyes blazing. The rune on his arm expanded across his entire body, forming a lattice of living sigils.
"Stay back," Gail warned, but it was already too late.
The air ignited.
The Magister shielded himself as waves of red-gold energy erupted around Miles. The very walls melted into liquid light. Gail watched, stunned, as Miles moved without thought — his steps guided by instinct not his own.
He lifted his hand.
The air folded.
Flames burst outward — not wild, but alive, shaped into serpentine forms that lunged at the sentinels. Their armor disintegrated under the heat. The Magister retaliated with divine sigils, summoning chains of blue lightning that wrapped around Miles's arms.
"Your kind was never meant to wield such power!" the Magister roared.
Miles's voice echoed, layered with another — the dragon's.
"Then it's time you remembered why we were made."
He broke the chains. The force of it sent shockwaves through the chamber. The Magister stumbled, eyes wide in disbelief.
"You—what are you?"
Miles stepped forward, flames swirling around him like living armor.
"I'm what you buried," he said quietly. "The memory you tried to erase."
He raised his hand — and the monolith shattered completely.
The explosion was silent — all light, no sound.
The seal disintegrated, and the energy trapped beneath the stone surged free, flowing into the walls like released blood. The entire mountain trembled. The veins glowed brighter than ever, weaving their light through the dark earth.
The Magister fell to his knees, shielding his face from the glare. "You fool! You'll destabilize the network!"
Miles turned toward him, expression unreadable. "No. I'm restoring it."
He extended his hand, and the veins responded — pulsing in harmony with his heartbeat. The energy flowed around him, bending to his will. The fire no longer burned; it obeyed.
Gail stared in awe. "Miles… you're controlling it."
He didn't answer. He could feel it — the pulse of the world, the whisper of ancient dragons, the rhythm of creation itself. It coursed through him like blood.
The Breath had fully awakened.
When the light finally dimmed, the Magister was gone — burned away by his own backlash of divine energy. The sentinels were nothing but ash. Only Gail and Miles remained, standing amidst the ruins of the shattered seal.
The silence that followed felt heavy, almost sacred.
Gail broke it first. "What now?"
Miles looked toward the newly lit veins stretching beneath the ground — a path of crimson light leading east, toward the heart of the continent.
"There are more Seals," he said quietly. "Hundreds, maybe thousands."
"And you plan to break them all?"
He nodded. "If I don't, the world's veins will die. And everything with them."
Gail sighed, sheathing her blade. "Then I guess I'm coming with you."
Miles smiled faintly. "You don't have to."
"I know," she said. "But if you're going to burn the world or save it, someone should be around to write the truth."
They stood for a while longer, watching the veins pulse beneath their feet — the heartbeat of a world reborn.
Above them, far beyond the stone, the clouds were shifting. For the first time since the Skyfire, the stars shone through — faint, trembling, but real.
Miles raised a hand, feeling the warmth of the ember within his chest.
He could still hear the dragon's voice, faint but clear.
Our breath is yours, Scholar of Flame.
Carry it wisely — or the gods will take it back.