That night, Kael couldn't sleep.
He sat near the campfire while Eira and Ashenfang rested. In his palm lay a fragment of the crystal from the tower—dark, pulsing faintly.
When he touched it, he heard whispers.
Not voices, but thoughts. Echoes.
The Flame remembers...
Kael jolted. He squeezed the shard tight, and for a moment, saw flashes—cities of light, burning skies, dragons falling from clouds.
A history long erased.
He realized: the Tower of Embers wasn't just a prison. It was a key.
To knowledge. To power.
To something older than the kingdom itself.