Ashfall did not welcome visitors.
The island rose from the sea like the spine of some ancient beast, jagged black cliffs cutting through the fog. Veins of glowing red crystal ran through the rock like molten blood, pulsing faintly in the early light. Even from the deck of the Ember Tide, Kael could feel the heat—subtle but constant, like standing too close to a dying campfire.
The ship slowed as Brakka ordered the anchor dropped.
"We resupply and leave," the captain repeated, his stone-gray eyes fixed on the shoreline. "No one wanders. No one touches anything."
Rowan muttered, "That's what they always say right before everything goes wrong."
Kael stood at the railing, staring at the ruins scattered along the beach. Broken pillars, half-buried statues, and a collapsed stone arch that looked older than any city he had ever seen. The air shimmered above the land as if the island itself were breathing.
Something inside him stirred.
Not the wild fire that had destroyed Pyrehold.
This was different.
It felt… familiar.
"You feel it too," Lira said softly beside him.
He nodded. "It's like it's calling me."
She studied the glowing veins in the cliffs. "Ashfall was once a sanctuary for fire-bearers. Before the world feared them."
Kael swallowed. "What happened?"
"History," she replied. "And fear."
They lowered a small boat and rowed toward the shore. The moment Kael's boots touched the black sand, warmth seeped through the soles, spreading up his legs like a heartbeat.
The island pulsed.
Rowan glanced around. "So… cursed ruins, glowing rocks, ancient fire temples. Totally normal."
Brakka shot him a warning look. "Stay alert."
They followed a narrow path through twisted trees whose bark was scorched and cracked, as if they had survived countless infernos. The leaves glowed faintly, shedding sparks when the wind brushed them.
Kael's chest tightened.
Every step felt like walking deeper into his own past.
They reached the ruins at the island's center—a circular stone structure half collapsed, its entrance sealed by a massive door etched with symbols of flame, sun, and wings.
"The Fire Seal," Lira whispered.
Kael stepped closer. The markings glowed brighter as he approached.
Then the ground trembled.
From the shadows between the broken pillars, figures emerged—cloaked in dark red robes, faces hidden behind iron masks shaped like screaming mouths.
Brakka's hand went to his sword. "Cult."
Rowan cursed. "Of course."
One of the robed figures stepped forward. His voice echoed unnaturally, as if carried by the island itself.
"Kael Pyros. The Flame Unbound. You were expected."
Kael's blood ran cold. "How do you know my name?"
The cultist tilted his head. "The fire speaks. We merely listen."
They raised their hands, and the glowing veins in the cliffs flared violently. Heat surged through the air, pressing against Kael's skin.
Lira gasped. "They're drawing from the island!"
Brakka roared, "Formation!"
The cultists attacked.
Blades of fire and waves of burning ash hurled toward them. Rowan darted forward, wind swirling around him as he deflected the first strike. Brakka slammed his foot into the ground, stone rising to shield them.
Kael hesitated.
Fear clawed at his chest.
The memory of Pyrehold burned behind his eyes.
Then he saw Lira stumble as a wave of fire grazed her arm, leaving blackened skin.
Something inside him snapped.
He raised his hands.
But this time, he did not let the fire consume him.
He shaped it.
A spiral of crimson flame burst from his palms, colliding with the cultists' magic. The air screamed as heat met heat, and the nearest attacker was thrown backward, crashing into a pillar.
The others faltered.
"You cannot deny what you are," the leader hissed. "You are the key."
Kael's voice trembled. "I choose what I am."
The Fire Seal pulsed violently.
Cracks spread across the stone door.
A deep, ancient voice echoed through the ruins—not in words, but in feeling.
Power. Memory. Loss.
The island remembered him.
The cultists fell back, retreating into the shadows.
Silence returned, broken only by the low hum of the seal.
Kael collapsed to his knees, breath ragged.
Lira knelt beside him. "You didn't lose control."
"I almost did."
"But you didn't."
The Fire Seal glowed softly now, as if acknowledging him.
Brakka approached, grim. "This changes things."
Rowan stared at Kael. "You're not just running anymore, are you?"
Kael looked at the ancient door.
"No," he said.
"I'm being called."
And somewhere beyond the sea, something far older than the island began to stir.
The flames had found their bearer.
The war for Atheria had begun.