With Zephren in tow, the group descended from Stormwright's Isle on wings of summoned wind and cautious optimism. The final bearer remained unknown, but the pieces of the puzzle were falling into place. And so were the dangers.
They headed north, toward the Veilspine Forest, where ancient magic twisted trees into towering spires and illusions danced among the roots.
"It's like walking through a fever dream," Elira said as they passed a tree shaped like a woman laughing, her hair made of moss.
"Just don't touch anything that smiles," Kaelen warned.
Aeren chuckled. "That includes people, right?"
"Especially people."
The forest played tricks with time. Sunlight flickered where no sun reached. Shadows whispered. And somewhere along the path, Lyra gasped and dropped to one knee.
Her mark flared.
"There's something here. Someone hiding."
They followed her instincts deeper into the woods, until they found a hollow glade encircled by thorn trees. At the center, a lone figure sat cross-legged on a stone, surrounded by floating embers.
He was young—maybe Aeren's age—with charcoal-streaked hair and a crooked smile. His eyes flickered with flame, but not like Aeren's. His fire was dark. Coiled. Hungry.
"Another bearer," Zephren murmured. "But… corrupted."
The boy opened his eyes. "Took you long enough."
Aeren stepped forward. "You know who we are?"
"Of course. I've been watching. Dreaming." His smile twisted. "I'm the last bearer. Or at least… I was."
Elira narrowed her eyes. "What happened to you?"
"The Herald found me first."
Lightning danced in the air. Everyone moved subtly into defensive positions.
"I was weak," the boy said. "Afraid. And he promised me strength. Real power. Not borrowed fire or whispers of old heroes. He gave me flame that devours."
He stood, and as he did, fire ignited at his feet—black and red, crackling with shadow.
"I'm not here to join you," he said. "I'm here to test you. To see if you're worthy of the legacy you carry."
Aeren stepped forward, sword drawn. "Then let's find out."
The duel began in a flash of flame and sparks. Aeren's fire blazed golden, steady and wild. The other's danced dark and twisting, turning his own flames against him. Trees melted. Magic howled.
"You can't fight me," the boy growled. "We're the same. But I've accepted the truth. There's no light without shadow."
"No," Aeren said, deflecting a blow. "There's no fire without heat, and you—you're just cold rage."
He struck. His blade—infused with Elira's hammer and Zephren's wind—shattered the boy's defense.
Flame scattered. The boy dropped to one knee, gasping.
"I lost everything," he whispered. "They said I was broken."
Aeren lowered his blade. "Then maybe it's time you found something again."
The boy looked up.
Lyra stepped forward and offered her hand.
He took it.
"I'm Kiran," he said quietly.
"And you're with us now," Aeren replied.
That night, the fire crackled with a new warmth. The six bearers sat in a circle, the marks on their bodies glowing faintly. They laughed. They ate slightly-burnt root stew. Even Elira smiled without sarcasm.
Kaelen raised her cup. "To the Flamebound Six. May we not die horribly."
"To horrible deaths!" Bryn toasted.
"To sarcasm," Elira added.
"To light," Aeren said, eyes meeting Kiran's.
And somewhere in the shadows beyond their fire, the Herald watched.
"All the pieces are in place," he said. "Now… let the war begin."