The shard of the Eternal Flame lay nestled in a small leather pouch tied to Lira's belt, its faint orange glow barely visible through the cracks. Eson couldn't stop glancing at it, his curiosity gnawing at him like an insistent flame. "What exactly is that thing?" he asked finally, breaking the silence as they trudged through the desolate landscape.
"It's a fragment of the original Eternal Flame," Lira replied without looking at him. Her voice was low, almost reverent. "Each piece holds immense power—but also corruption. That's why the Emberlords hoard them. They think they can control it."
"And can they?" Eson pressed, his tone skeptical.
Lira hesitated, her expression unreadable. "Not entirely. The fragments twist those who wield them, feeding on their greed and ambition. But the Emberlords have found ways to… mitigate the effects. For now."
Eson frowned, his mind racing. If the fragments were so dangerous, why had no one tried to destroy them? And what role did they play in the world's destruction centuries ago? The questions swirled in his head, unanswered but persistent.
As night fell, they set up camp in the ruins of an ancient temple. The walls were cracked and overgrown with vines, but faint carvings still adorned the stone—symbols that resembled the sigil etched into Eson's palm. He traced one of the markings with his finger, feeling an odd sense of familiarity.
"These ruins are older than the Ashen Wastes," Lira said quietly, noticing his interest. "They belonged to the civilization that first harnessed the Eternal Flame. Some say this is where it all began—and ended."
"What do you mean?" Eson asked, turning to face her.
She shrugged, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of unease. "Legends say the Eternal Flame wasn't just a source of power—it was alive. A sentient force that granted blessings or curses depending on its mood. When humanity tried to control it, the Flame retaliated, shattering itself and cursing the land."
Eson's heart skipped a beat. Was that why the sigil burned so fiercely on his skin? Was the Flame testing him—or punishing him?
That night, Eson dreamed of fire. It started as a single tendril of blue flame, curling around his wrist like a serpent. But soon, the flames engulfed him, consuming everything in their path. In the midst of the inferno, a figure emerged—a woman cloaked in shadows, her eyes glowing with the same crimson light as the monstrous creature they had fought.
"You tread dangerous ground, boy," she whispered, her voice echoing like a chorus of whispers. "The Flame has chosen you, but it will not spare you. Beware those who seek to use you—and those who seek to destroy you."
Before Eson could respond, the flames surged higher, swallowing the woman whole. He woke with a start, drenched in sweat, his heart pounding. Beside him, Lira stirred but didn't wake.
Was the dream a warning—or a glimpse of things to come?
The next morning, Lira noticed something unusual about the ruins. Amidst the carvings, there was a hidden compartment embedded in the wall. Inside, they found a scroll written in an ancient language neither of them could read. The parchment was brittle with age, but the ink shimmered faintly, as if alive.
"This must be important," Lira murmured, carefully rolling it up and tucking it into her pack. "We'll need someone who can translate it, but for now, we keep moving."
Eson nodded, though his thoughts were elsewhere. The dream lingered in his mind, haunting him like a shadow. Whoever—or whatever—the woman in his vision was, she seemed connected to the Eternal Flame. And if she was real, she might hold the answers he so desperately sought.