The mountains towered over them like silent gods, jagged and ancient. Snow dusted the highest peaks, though the valley below was warmed by spring's reluctant breath. The road narrowed to a winding pass carved into stone, forcing Kael and the others into single file.
The encounter with the Blightborn three nights ago had left them all changed. Not just in the way they moved—cautious, listening, alert—but in the way they regarded one another. Trust had begun to take root, unspoken and fragile.
Kael felt it most keenly.
Not long ago, he had been a stable boy dreaming of forests beyond his fence. Now, there was fire beneath his skin—an old magic, wild and demanding. Since that night, the cloth his mother gave him hadn't glowed again, but Kael could feel it in his chest, like a sleeping storm waiting for thunder.
"We're close," Mira said softly, her voice carrying on the thin wind. "The summons mentioned the Hall of Echoes. It's somewhere beyond the ravine."
Aven, who had walked ahead, scouted the next bend and gave a low whistle. "You'll want to see this."
They reached his side and looked out across the gorge.
Carved directly into the mountain's face was a towering structure, half temple, half fortress. Pillars like giant ribs rose from the rock, their surfaces etched with forgotten symbols. Water cascaded from a crevice high above, spilling down in a shimmering veil that masked the entryway in mist.
Kael felt the air shift.
It wasn't just the majesty of the place—it was what he felt beneath it. A low, pulsing thrum, like the beat of a heart buried deep in the mountain.
"That's it," Berrin murmured. "The Hall."
As they crossed the rope bridge that led to it, the wind screamed through the ravine like a warning.
Inside, the Hall of Echoes was colder than Kael expected. Not temperature alone—something in the stone drained warmth from the body. The light grew dim, filtered through the mist and high arched windows stained with colors no longer clear.
They stepped into a chamber shaped like a circle broken into twelve curved segments. Murals covered the walls—painted stories of warriors crowned in fire, of beasts with eyes like stars, and of a gate that could not be opened by will alone.
Each mural had been clawed at. Defaced. Scratched by something that hated memory.
"What… is this place?" Berrin whispered.
Mira approached the center of the room, where an altar sat beneath a hollow column of light. "This is where they tested them. The first Flamebound."
Kael looked at her sharply. "Tested?"
She nodded. "The Everflame is a burden as much as it is a gift. This place… it was built to judge those who carry it."
Aven moved to a faded inscription and squinted. "It says the flame will either awaken the truth… or burn away the lie."
Kael felt the weight of the words settle into his chest.
Then the ground shifted.
Stone groaned beneath their feet. A wind rose—not from outside, but from within the chamber itself. The murals flickered. Shadows peeled themselves from the walls and moved.
Kael reached for his blade.
The altar lit with pale blue fire.
A voice echoed—not from a speaker, but from the air itself.
"Name the weight you carry, Flamebound."
Kael blinked. The others had vanished.
He stood alone in a darkened version of the Hall. Everything was cast in shades of grey and ember.
The voice returned. "Name it."
"I…" Kael's throat was dry. "I carry fear. Doubt. Guilt for surviving when others didn't."
The fire flared. "Not enough. Deeper."
Kael gritted his teeth. "I carry my mother's hopes. I carry the promise I made—to not run. To stand even when I'm afraid."
Silence.
Then, a spark.
From the altar, fire leapt, not toward him—but around him, forming a circle. Within the flames, shadows took shape.
His father. Laughing. Teaching him to tie a knot.
Then… coughing, blood on his lips. His burial mound by the fieldstone.
Next, Kael as a child, crying after losing a lamb in the forest. His mother's hand on his shoulder. Her voice: "Bravery isn't the absence of fear. It's walking despite it."
Then—Lira. Her eyes. Her smile. The last time he saw her before she vanished.
Each image burned and dissolved.
And then came the last.
Kael stood in a ruined field. The sky bled red. Corpses—villagers, friends, Berrin, Mira, Aven—all lay broken.
In the center, a figure rose. Pale. Empty-eyed. Kael's own face.
The shadow-Kael turned and spoke with a voice that cracked like glass: "You will fail. You are not enough."
The fire died.
Kael fell to his knees.
The darkness pressed in—but before it consumed him, a hand grabbed his.
Real. Warm.
Mira's voice: "Kael. Wake up."
He gasped.
They were around him again. The chamber was still. The altar cold. But the air had changed. Something had shifted.
Aven helped him sit. "You were gone. We called your name for minutes."
Kael looked at them, each face filled with concern. "I saw something. Visions. Trials."
Berrin gave a grim nod. "I think we all did."
The silence that followed was not hollow—it was full. Full of things unspoken, of battles not fought with blades, but within.
Mira placed a hand on Kael's shoulder. "You passed, didn't you?"
"I don't know," Kael said. "But something inside me answered."
He stood, slower this time. His limbs ached, not from fatigue—but from change. Like his body was becoming something it didn't fully understand yet.
From the far wall, stone groaned and shifted. A doorway formed, glowing with pale light.
Aven whistled. "Well, that's not ominous at all."
They laughed. A short, tired laugh. But real.
As they stepped through the doorway, Kael looked back once. The Hall of Echoes stood silent once more, its fire spent. But its mark remained.
Not on the stone. On them.