The sun had not yet risen when Raine emerged from Mount Veralis. The cold wind swept across the stone like a whisper, carrying with it the last traces of the voice he had heard within—the voice of himself, a shadow of what could be. But he was no longer that frightened boy who had stumbled into Astralis with nothing but a hoodie and confusion.
He was firebound.
Sylara was the first to greet him, her violet eyes watching him carefully. "How do you feel?"
Raine let the silence settle before answering. "Whole."
The others followed soon after—Elira, bruised but proud, and Vorn, already scribbling notes about the chamber and the encounter. They had all felt the shift when the final echo merged. The Flame was no longer fragmented. It pulsed with unity, no longer just a burden, but a beacon.
"We've done it," Elira said softly. "The echoes are one. The Flame is complete."
But even as she spoke, the sky above them churned.
A ripple passed through the clouds. Winds howled. Birds fled from the treetops below. And then they all saw it—
A star falling.
It streaked across the sky with burning light, but unlike the others Raine had seen in visions, this one wasn't fading.
It was coming.
"That's not a star," Vorn muttered. "That's a warning."
Raine's fingers closed around the orb. The fire inside pulsed rapidly, responding to the presence above.
"There's one more step," he said. "Something's coming. Something worse than the Keepers."
Elira looked to the north. "We need to regroup. There's a fortress in the nearby highlands—a place the Flamebearers once gathered in times of crisis. It may have answers."
Sylara nodded. "Then we move. No more hesitation."
—
The fortress—Hal'Yren—stood as a skeleton of old glory. Its walls were cracked, the towers broken, but its foundation endured. The Flame recognized it even before Raine stepped through the gate. He remembered walking these halls, though it was not his memory.
It belonged to another Raine. A former bearer. One who had failed.
Within the central chamber of Hal'Yren, a massive table displayed a map of Astralis. Points of fire lit across it—cities, ruins, leyline nexuses.
Raine hovered over the map, feeling drawn toward the eastern coast. "That's where it's coming. Whatever fell… it's landing there."
Elira confirmed with a nod. "The impact site is near the Vale of Dust. Few venture there—too dangerous. But that's likely why it was chosen."
"Chosen by who?" Sylara asked.
Vorn stepped forward. "The Flame wasn't the only legacy left behind by the ancients. There were other powers. Forgotten gods. Dormant horrors sealed before the first cycle. If something broke through…"
Raine clenched his fist. "Then we face it."
They prepared.
Messages were sent to allies. Armaments were repaired. Supplies gathered. And for the first time, Raine trained—not to survive, but to lead. He sparred daily with Sylara, meditated with Vorn to understand the arcane fluctuations of the Flame, and sparred with Elira to sharpen his reflexes.
The days passed quickly.
And in the quiet hours before dawn, Raine often stood on the battlements, watching the Flame glow faintly in the eastern sky.
"Do you ever think about what comes after?" Sylara asked one morning, approaching in silence.
Raine didn't look away from the horizon. "Every day. But we can't reach 'after' until we get through 'now.'"
She leaned beside him. "You're different. Not just stronger. Calmer. More focused. You've changed."
He turned to her, eyes full of warmth. "You helped me become someone I'm proud of. I'll never forget that."
Sylara hesitated a moment. Then she kissed him—brief, fierce, and certain.
When they pulled apart, she smiled. "Then let's make sure we survive this."
—
The march east was unlike anything they had done before. Raine didn't lead a party.
He led an army.
Warriors, mages, scouts, and wanderers—each one drawn to the Flame's resurgence. They followed him not because of prophecy, but because he had earned their trust.
As they reached the border of the Vale of Dust, the sky darkened.
Lightning crackled through clouds tinged violet and gold. The air trembled. And in the center of the crater where the star had landed, a great black spire rose, pulsing with void energy.
"What is that?" Elira whispered.
Vorn's eyes widened. "That is no natural formation. That's a gate. A tether."
Raine stepped forward. "Then we cut the tether."
From the crater, creatures emerged—twisted mockeries of life, with limbs too long and eyes that burned with hate. Wraithkin. Voidspawn.
The battle erupted.
Raine fought at the front, the First Flame blazing around him. Sylara fought by his side, striking with elegance and fury. Elira's spells turned the sky into a storm of light, and Vorn's earthshaking enchantments tore through the enemy ranks.
They pushed toward the spire.
The Flame pulsed.
Raine knew what had to be done. The orb must be brought to the heart of the spire. Only there could the tether be severed.
He turned to Sylara, breathing hard. "I have to go alone."
She grabbed his arm. "No. Not this time. We face everything together."
He smiled. "Then let's end this."
They fought their way through.
Together.