The iron doors of the monastery groaned as they swung inward, revealing a long corridor carved from ancient stone, worn smooth by generations long forgotten. Cold air spilled out, carrying with it the scent of aged dust, incense, and something deeper—something older than memory. Ethan stepped cautiously across the threshold, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his sword. The corridor stretched ahead, torchlight flickering along walls covered in faded murals depicting kings, beasts, and flames rising into the heavens.
Lira followed silently behind him, the faint red shimmer of her ember ring pulsing like a heartbeat. Her gaze roamed the murals with an expression that hovered between reverence and sorrow.
"I've seen this place in visions," she murmured. "But it always felt like a dream, like something I'd lost a long time ago."
Ethan slowed, letting her catch up. "Does anything look familiar?"
Lira stopped in front of a painting that had half-faded to shadow. A warrior cloaked in fire stood on a cliff, raising a sword toward a constellation that mirrored the sigil she wore.
"That was my ancestor," she whispered. "Lycia the Crownless. She led the last Flameborn through this trial before the flames went out."
Ethan stared at the image, then at her. "And you're bringing the flame back."
Lira didn't respond immediately. She traced the edge of the mural with her fingertips, her jaw set. "If I'm worthy."
Callen caught up, his boots echoing lightly in the corridor. "You both are. We wouldn't have made it this far otherwise." He looked around and shook his head. "This place is a maze of memories. Keep your heads clear."
The corridor widened into a hall, where columns carved with runes loomed like guardians. At the far end stood another set of doors, simpler than the last, but heavy with a strange energy that made Ethan's skin prickle.
As they approached, a voice spoke—not from ahead, but from within.
"What binds you to this path?"
They froze. The doors remained closed. No figure appeared.
Ethan cleared his throat. "What do you mean?"
The voice echoed again, patient and cold.
"What purpose drives your step? What pain forges your will? Speak, or turn back."
Callen took a step forward. "We seek to reach the Sovereign's heart. To undo what has been broken."
Silence.
Then the air shifted, and the doors slowly creaked open.
The chamber beyond was circular, vast, and entirely silent. A domed ceiling arched above them, painted with stars that shimmered as if alive. The floor bore three spirals interwoven in gold, each leading to a separate pedestal. The air was heavier here, laced with the same pressure Ethan had felt the moment he first awoke in Verathune.
Lira's voice was soft. "This is the Hall of Convergence."
Callen stepped toward the first spiral. "We each take a path."
Ethan eyed the pedestals warily. "What happens when we do?"
Lira looked at him, her expression grave. "We face what we fear most."
Ethan swallowed hard and nodded. He followed the left spiral, the gold lines beneath his feet glowing faintly with each step. His pedestal stood atop a raised platform. It bore no symbol—only a mirror embedded in its surface.
He stepped closer, and the mirror began to shift. Fog swirled within it, and then a face appeared—his own, but younger. More vulnerable. Behind that face was the city of his birth, the night sky above it cracking with red lightning, and the sound of sirens screaming in the distance.
"No," he whispered. "Not again."
The mirror flared, and suddenly he was there. Not in spirit. Physically. The street was exactly as it had been the night he died: wet with rain, lit by the shattered glow of burning streetlamps, the distant shriek of steel on steel filling the air.
He stood frozen, staring at the place where his body had once fallen.
Then he heard it—a cry for help.
His breath caught.
He remembered this part too.
Back then, he had hesitated. A fraction of a second too long. A boy had called out, trapped in a collapsing building. Ethan had run for him, but the explosion came too fast. He had died before reaching him.
Now, the same choice was in front of him. The cry echoed again, louder this time.
He sprinted toward the voice, heart thundering. The street twisted and warped as he ran, but he didn't stop. He flung himself through a broken door, into a hallway that was rapidly filling with smoke.
The boy was there—only this time, Ethan didn't freeze. He grabbed the boy by the arm, hoisted him over his shoulder, and ran.
As they burst from the building, the world around them dissolved into light. The mirror shattered. Ethan stood once again in the Hall of Convergence, panting, soaked in sweat, but alive.
His pedestal now glowed, and the spiral beneath his feet burned gold.
Callen emerged from the center spiral moments later, pale and grim.
Lira was last. When she returned, her expression was unreadable, but her flames had changed. No longer a flicker—they blazed along her arms, steady and controlled.
She stepped to the center of the chamber, where the three spirals met, and raised her hand. Flame leapt from her fingers into the air, forming a ring of light that spun faster and faster until it burst into sparks, revealing a stairwell descending into darkness.
Ethan stepped beside her. "That the way forward?"
She nodded. "To the inner sanctum."
Callen adjusted his cloak. "Whatever comes next… this is the point of no return."
They exchanged glances.
Lira's voice was firm. "Then we don't look back."
The stairwell descended in a slow spiral, and the deeper they went, the warmer the air became. Not from flame, but from pressure—like the mountain itself was alive, watching, waiting. At the bottom lay a circular platform surrounded by void. In the center stood a single stone altar, and upon it, a single relic: a crown of twisted silver and black crystal, humming with dark energy.
Ethan approached carefully. "The Crown of Veils."
Callen frowned. "But it's corrupted."
Lira's eyes narrowed. "No. It's bound."
She extended her hand toward it. The crown pulsed in response, and a voice erupted from the void.
"You seek to claim the legacy. You bear the marks of trial. But will you pay the price?"
Ethan clenched his fists. "What price?"
The voice deepened, rumbling from everywhere and nowhere.
"To take the crown is to awaken what slumbers beneath. It will grant you passage. It will also test your soul."
Lira's flames flickered uncertainly.
Callen looked at Ethan. "We came all this way for this. We can't stop now."
Ethan stepped forward, took the crown in both hands, and lifted it from the altar.
Darkness exploded outward.
He was suspended in a void of stars, drifting between memories that were not his own. He saw empires rise and fall, kings torn apart by ambition, heroes dying nameless deaths, fire consuming everything. A voice whispered in his mind.
"You are not the first. You will not be the last. What makes you worthy?"
He answered without hesitation.
"I'll carry them. The weight. The pain. I won't forget them."
The darkness receded. He stood on the platform again, the crown in his hands now glowing with a faint silver light.
The others were there, waiting.
Lira's voice was soft. "It accepted you."
Ethan nodded. "Barely."
They stood in silence as the altar receded into the floor and a bridge of stone emerged from the darkness, leading onward—deeper into the heart of Lorash.
The monastery had acknowledged them.
Now, the true test would begin.