The forest was quieter the deeper they traveled.
Not peaceful.
Watchful.
Alfon and Kaelen walked behind Maelor in silence for two days. Neither spoke of Emberfall. Neither said their parents' names.
Grief, Maelor knew, needed space before it could become purpose.
On the third night, they reached a cliffside overlooking a valley of mist. Ancient stones stood in a circle at its center — worn, cracked, older than any kingdom.
Maelor stopped.
"This place," he said softly, "was sacred long before your kind built thrones."
Kaelen's voice was hoarse. "Then tell us what's happening."
Maelor turned to face them.
The air shifted.
The mist below began to glow faintly silver.
"You deserve truth," he said.
He removed his cloak.
Beneath it, his body flickered — not flesh, not fully light. Something in between. Something wearing humanity like a memory.
"Before men," he began, "there was breath."
"The Creator shaped the earth not with hands… but with will. Mountains rose. Seas filled. Wind moved."
"And from that breath — we came."
The stones around them hummed faintly.
"Spirits," Alfon whispered.
"Yes."
Maelor lifted his hand.
The mist below swirled, forming faint shapes.
Towering beings of flame.
Creatures of living water.
Winged figures made of light.
"We were not gods," Maelor said. "We were guardians. Each bound to something of the world. Flame. Stone. Tide. Storm."
Kaelen stared.
"You ruled everything."
"No," Maelor corrected gently. "We protected it."
His expression darkened.
"Then the Creator made something new."
The mist shifted again.
Smaller shapes formed — fragile, human.
"Mortals," Maelor said. "You were brief. Weak. Finite."
"But you were given something we were not."
Alfon felt it before he asked.
"What?"
"Choice."
The valley dimmed.
"Spirits are bound to purpose. Flame burns. Tide moves. Storm rages."
"You," he said quietly, "can choose not to."
Silence stretched.
"Some of us rejoiced," Maelor continued. "We saw beauty in your unpredictability."
"Others saw insult."
The mist darkened.
One towering figure emerged — vast, shadowed, crowned in horned flame.
Not fire like warmth.
Fire like hunger.
"He was called many things," Maelor said.
"We do not speak his true name anymore."
Kaelen crossed his arms. "What did he want?"
"To reclaim dominion."
The shadowed spirit loomed over the human shapes in the mist.
"He believed the world belonged to spirits alone."
"He envied the Creator's affection for humanity."
Alfon's voice was quiet. "So he attacked?"
"Yes."
The valley erupted in illusion.
Flame clashed with storm.
Mountains split.
Oceans boiled.
The sky tore open.
Alfon staggered back as the vision intensified.
"This is what you dreamed," Maelor said to him gently. "The war before memory."
Kaelen's jaw tightened. "And you fought?"
Maelor nodded.
"I was not as I am now."
The illusion showed him — vast wings of silver radiance, blade of pure light in his hand.
"I stood with those who defended both spirit and man."
"And him?" Alfon asked, eyes fixed on the shadowed figure.
"It took all of us."
The illusion shifted.
Spirits encircled the dark one. Light pierced him from every direction.
He did not die.
He shattered.
Fragments of shadow scattered across the world like falling stars.
"We could not destroy him," Maelor said softly.
"So we broke him."
The valley fell still.
"But fragments endure," he continued. "Buried. Waiting."
Alfon's stomach tightened.
"The Flame."
"Yes."
Kaelen's fists clenched. "And the King found one."
Maelor's expression hardened.
"Not found."
"Guided."
Silence.
"The fragment he carries is not the whole of the dark one," Maelor said. "But it remembers."
"It whispers."
"It seeks to reunite."
Alfon looked toward the horizon.
"If all fragments gather?"
Maelor did not answer immediately.
The wind grew colder.
"The war begins again."
The words settled heavy.
Kaelen stepped forward.
"Then we destroy the fragment."
Maelor's gaze softened slightly.
"If it were that simple, I would have done so already."
"The fragment feeds on grief. On ambition. On fear."
"The King did not become evil in a single moment."
"He opened himself."
Alfon understood.
"He chose."
"Yes," Maelor said quietly.
"The most dangerous power in this world… is choice."
The stones around them dimmed.
The illusion faded completely.
They stood alone again beneath a darkening sky.
Kaelen broke the silence.
"You said you were not whole anymore."
Maelor looked at his faintly flickering hands.
"When we shattered him… we shattered ourselves."
"The balance of the world weakened."
"That is why I walk in lesser form."
Alfon studied him.
"You're afraid."
Maelor met his eyes.
"Yes."
Not of death.
Not of battle.
"Of failing twice."
The wind howled across the valley.
Kaelen looked toward the distant capital beyond the hills.
"So what are we?"
Maelor stepped closer to them.
"Not weapons."
"Not chosen ones."
"Not saviors."
He placed a hand over Alfon's chest.
Then over Kaelen's.
"You are proof."
"Proof that choice still belongs to humanity."
The night fully fell.
Far away—
In the capital—
The Flame pulsed brighter.
And beneath layers of stone, in hidden chambers long abandoned…
Other fragments stirred.