The rift above Emberfall widened with every heartbeat. Darkness spilled like ink across the sky, pouring shadowbeasts into the world. Aeren could feel the heat of it all—the Ember Heart pulsing behind him, the Herald's power pressing against his bones.
"We can't hold this position forever," Zephren warned, wind coiling around his arms.
"We don't need forever," Bryn shouted. "We just need enough time to seal that rift!"
Elira hurled herself into a pack of shadowbeasts, her hammer crackling with starlight. "You're not ruining my only decent cloak, you walking nightmares!"
Kaelen flickered in and out of view, her mirrored blades finding gaps in the enemy lines with inhuman precision. Beside her, Lyra raised both hands, calling forth illusions so vivid the shadowbeasts struck at phantoms.
At the center of the chaos, Aeren stood before the Ember Heart. It hovered, glowing more fiercely than ever. Every time he touched its energy, something inside him shifted—like fire remembering it was once starlight.
Kiran appeared beside him. "You feel it too?"
"It's like it knows us. Like it's… waiting."
Lyra's voice pierced through the din. "It's responding to us. We're the Flamebound. We don't just protect the Heart. We are the key."
The Herald's voice echoed across the battlefield. "Fools! You think unity will save you? I was unity once. And they broke me."
Dark flame roared from the sky. The Herald descended again, striking the ground with a shockwave of void. The bearers were scattered. Aeren flew across the chamber, slamming into the wall.
His vision blurred. The world rang.
Then—
A hand.
Elira's.
"Get up, hero," she growled. "We're not done yet."
He rose. And something inside him broke free. His mark flared—not just with fire, but with color. Red. Gold. Blue. White. Shadows and light woven together.
The Ember Heart pulsed.
And the world stilled.
In a burst of energy, each bearer felt their mark respond. Magic surged through them—not just theirs, but echoes of each other. Kaelen's speed. Zephren's storm. Bryn's stone. Elira's light. Lyra's illusions. Kiran's shadowfire.
They were no longer just six individuals. They were one flame, forged in different shapes.
Together, they rose.
And together, they fought.
The Herald faltered as their combined might met his. Shadow and light twisted in a blinding dance. Kaelen slashed through time itself. Bryn shattered the ground beneath their enemies. Zephren redirected lightning through the air like a conductor. Lyra tricked the shadows into fighting each other. Elira struck the Herald's blade with a blow so loud, it rang like a gong across realms.
And Aeren—
Aeren held the Ember Heart in his hands.
"I see it now," he said, voice trembling. "The Forge was never meant to be just a weapon. It's a rebirth."
The Ember Heart responded, shifting into a flame-forged sword of impossible design—its blade alight with every color of the bearers' power.
He struck the Herald.
Not to destroy him.
But to unbind him.
There was a scream—horrible, echoing across worlds—and the rift began to collapse. The Herald vanished in a spiral of flame and shadow, cast into the void beyond.
And just like that—
Silence.
The sky cleared. The rift sealed.
The shadowbeasts crumbled into ash.
Aeren dropped to his knees, panting. The sword dissolved in his hands.
Elira fell beside him. "So… that was fun."
He laughed. "You okay?"
"No," she said. "But I'll take a nap and lie about it."
One by one, the others gathered. Exhausted. Alive.
Kaelen spoke first. "Is it over?"
"No," Lyra said, her voice soft. "But this war—we just changed its course."
Kiran looked toward the Ember Heart, now dimmed and quiet. "The world will need us again."
Aeren nodded. "Then we'll be ready."