Serin led them through a hidden path marked with broken glyphs and melted stone, each step drawing them deeper into the heart of the Vale. The mist thickened again, curling through the air like smoke, and soon Elyra realized—it wasn't fog. It was memory.
The Vale itself was alive with recollection. Every leaf, every breath of wind shimmered with visions—burned faces, screaming skies, and a fire that burned in reverse.
"It's close," Serin whispered, pausing at the edge of a collapsed hillside. "The vault was built to hold what even the Flamekeepers feared."
Elyra peered over the edge—and gasped. A stone spiral descended into the earth, carved into the root of a dead tree the size of a fortress. Symbols of containment lined the walls, pulsing faintly with gold and violet light.
Kael looked down, then to Elyra. "We can turn back. Take Serin and warn Astralis."
Elyra shook her head. "We've come this far. If something ancient is still down there—and stirring—we can't risk it waking."
She took the first step down.
The descent took hours. Time stretched and bent in the spiral, and though they moved steadily, Elyra couldn't tell if minutes or days had passed. She felt her magic pulling at her skin like static. The Emberheart within her began to pulse faster, responding to something just ahead.
At the bottom, they found a door.
It was not locked.
A single push sent it creaking open—and a rush of air escaped, heavy with incense and rot.
The chamber beyond was vast, circular, and lined with hundreds of statues—each one a Flamekeeper, each expression solemn. At the center stood a black obelisk with silver veins crawling through its surface.
And chained to the obelisk was a man.
No—something shaped like a man.
His skin was translucent, as though made of crystal. His eyes were bottomless wells of starlight. And around his neck, wrists, and chest were shackles engraved with Flamekeeper runes.
He didn't look up. Not until Elyra stepped forward.
"Another bearer of the spark," he said, voice a low rumble. "How long has it been, I wonder? Have the others all perished?"
Elyra's flame leapt instinctively into her hand.
"Who are you?"
"I am what they feared," he said simply. "The First Flame. The one Velcrin betrayed."
Kael drew his sword. "That's not possible. The First Flame was—"
"Scattered. Broken," the prisoner said. "But not extinguished."
Elyra's chest ached. Her Flame—her very soul—was reacting wildly.
"He's telling the truth," she whispered.
Serin stepped behind her. "He speaks in riddles. He called himself Ashar. The Flame Without Memory."
Elyra remembered the vision in the ruins—the division of fire, the betrayal.
Ashar was the third.
The one the others chose to forget.
"You don't know what you carry," Ashar said, lifting his head. "That heart within you—do you think it was meant to empower you?"
Elyra hesitated. "It's the Emberheart. It's mine."
"It was forged to contain what they feared might return," he growled. "And you brought it to me."
The obelisk began to pulse. Chains rattled.
Kael stepped in front of Elyra, sword raised. "We won't let you escape."
Ashar smiled, and the chains groaned.
"You already have."
A wave of force knocked them back. Elyra hit the wall hard, stars flashing in her vision. Kael rolled to his feet, sword slashing into Ashar's side—but there was no blood, only shards of crystal.
Ashar struck back, and Kael flew across the chamber, groaning as he hit the floor.
Elyra rose, flames licking up her arms.
"You were sealed for a reason."
"I was sealed because they feared the truth," Ashar snapped. "That Flame is not meant to serve. It is meant to rule. I was the first to wield it freely. The others feared what I would become."
He advanced, slow and terrible.
Elyra stood her ground. "And what would that be?"
Ashar spread his hands. "Flame incarnate. Not a guardian, not a protector. A god."
She let her fire surge.
"You're not a god. You're a mistake."
She unleashed everything.
The chamber roared with light as silver flame clashed against shadowed crystal. Ashar screamed, his form cracking under the strain—but he absorbed much of it, drawing in the fire like a furnace.
"You feed me," he growled. "You complete me."
The Emberheart flared hot—and split.
A beam of gold shot from Elyra's chest into the obelisk, and suddenly memories—not hers—flooded her mind.
Ashar's triumph.
Velcrin's rebellion.
The sealing of the third.
The vow to never speak his name again.
Elyra collapsed.
Kael stumbled to her side, shielding her from Ashar's approach.
"You will burn," Ashar whispered, "and the world will follow."
And then—
A flash of violet light.
A barrier erupted around Ashar, driving him back.
Serin stood behind them, her small hands glowing.
"I remember now," she whispered. "I was born here. I was a Vessel. And my Flame is still bound to the lock."
Ashar screamed.
The chamber began to collapse.
Kael grabbed Elyra. "We have to go. Now!"
They ran, dragging Serin with them, the vault quaking behind them. Statues cracked and fell. The mist outside howled like a beast.
They didn't stop until they emerged from the Vale, breathless, singed, and shaken.
Ashar wasn't dead.
But he was sealed—again.
And the war had changed.