The Warden advanced with thunderous strides, each step carving burning craters into the stone. Ember felt the heat wave push against her, forcing her backward despite the shield flickering in her hand. The fragment pulsed erratically, as if sensing the ancient power approaching.
Lysander stepped in front of her, blade raised.
"Stay behind me."
Ember shook her head, breath trembling. "No. If this is happening because of me, then I have to face it."
The Warden lifted its molten spear again.
"The Ember was never meant for mortal hands."
Ember swallowed. "Then why did it choose me?"
A crack split across the Warden's stone mask as it tilted its head—curiosity, confusion, or perhaps recognition. The flames dimmed for a heartbeat.
"Because corruption clouds the paths of fate," it finally answered.
"And destiny has grown desperate."
Lysander tightened his grip on his weapon. "That sounds like a problem you created."
The Warden's eyes blazed brighter.
"Balance decays. The Ember's awakening accelerates the end."
It pointed at Ember.
"Return it, and the world may yet endure."
Ember felt something inside her snap—not fear, but clarity.
"I can't return something that became part of me."
The Warden roared—not in anger, but in anguish. The sound tore through the ridge, shaking stone loose from the cliffs. Ember pressed her hands to her ears as the ground split under their feet.
Without warning, the Warden hurled the spear.
Time slowed—
The air warped—
Heat blistered the space between them—
And Ember stepped forward.
The fragment's light surged through her arm, brighter than ever before, forming a wall of fire that shot upward like a shield forged by the sun. The spear collided with it—but instead of stopping, the impact triggered an explosion of molten energy.
Lysander grabbed Ember and pulled her down as a shockwave blasted across the ridge, turning stone to ash.
When she lifted her head, the shield had shattered into sparks. Ember's pulse raced, her vision flickering at the edges.
"Ember," Lysander said urgently, "your body—how long can it handle this?"
She didn't know.
But she felt something awakening deeper inside, something older than the Ember itself—instinct, power, memory, all woven into her blood.
The Warden lowered its stance.
"You wield it without mastery. You will destroy yourself."
"Maybe," Ember said, pushing herself to her feet. "But I won't let you take it."
The air trembled.
A second rift tore open behind the Warden, larger, wider—its red glow consuming the sky like a spreading wound. Ember felt the pull of it, a gravitational force tugging at her soul.
The Warden moved again—faster this time.
Lysander blocked its swing with his blade, sparks flying as the force nearly knocked him off the ridge. Ember reacted, raising her hand. A burst of fire exploded from her palm, striking the Warden's shoulder and staggering the ancient guardian for the first time.
The Warden looked at her—not with fury, but with realization.
"So… the Ember remembers."
"What does that mean?" Ember shouted.
But the Warden didn't answer.
Instead, it plunged its spear into the ground.
A web of crimson cracks raced outward.
Heat surged like a living beast.
The ridge began to collapse beneath them.
Lysander grabbed Ember's wrist. "We need to move—now!"
But Ember couldn't look away from the Warden, who stood firm amidst the chaos, flames spiraling around its towering form.
And as the world crumbled, Ember heard its final warning echo through the fire:
"The awakening has begun."