Episode 22
The Ember Sigil pulsed with a heat that seemed alive, cradled carefully in Kael's gloved hand. As the trio emerged from the collapsed mountain trail, the world above had changed. The once-blue sky of Eltherion was now streaked with crimson veils, and the clouds churned like a storm fueled by hatred.
Taron shaded his eyes, his expression grim. "Looks like the Ash Wyrm knows we found the last piece."
Lira stared at the heavens, where a glowing spiral—like a bleeding eye—swirled above the distant horizon. "That's over the Druid Glade," she whispered. "The seal's failing."
Kael tightened his grip on the Ember Sigil. "Then we have no time to waste."
They rode hard across the grasslands, through burnt woods and withered hills. The closer they came to the Glade, the more the land wept ash and cinders. Villages lay abandoned, their wells dry, their crops turned to soot.
At dusk, they passed a caravan of refugees—mothers clutching children, elders muttering prayers. All headed west, away from the firestorm.
"Heroes!" a voice cried out.
A boy no older than twelve ran toward them, clutching a faded banner bearing the sigil of Silvane—the royal line Lira was heir to. "You're the ones they speak of, right? The ones who fight the Wyrm?"
Lira dismounted and knelt before him. "What's your name?"
"Thom," the boy said. "My father said you'd come. He... he stayed behind in the forest. He said someone had to guard the sacred trees."
Lira placed her hand on his shoulder. "Your father is brave."
Taron gave the boy his cloak. "Keep warm, Thom. Get to the river camps and stay safe."
The child nodded and ran back to his family.
Kael mounted again, his face grim. "We need to end this, now."
---
By midnight, they reached the edge of the Druid Glade.
Or what remained of it.
The once-lush sanctuary now writhed beneath waves of fire. Trees burned without ash. Pools hissed steam into the scorched air. And in the center, rising from the earth like a volcano, stood the broken seal—its runes cracked, its light fading.
Hovering above it was the Ash Wyrm.
A colossal beast of flame and hatred, its eyes twin furnaces of eternal rage. Its wings unfurled like burning banners, casting shadows over miles. With every breath, the ground trembled.
"He's not bound anymore," Taron said, his voice hollow.
"No," Kael whispered. "But we can still bind him again—with the Ember Sigil."
Master Veren stood atop a stone platform, surrounded by wounded druids and burned warriors. His beard was half-scorched, and his staff glowed red with exertion.
"You came," he said, breathless.
Kael handed him the Sigil. "We retrieved it. All pieces are now assembled."
Veren nodded. "Then we can complete the Binding of Ashes ritual. But we must act now—before the Wyrm grows too powerful."
A thunderous roar tore through the valley as the Wyrm descended. Flame cascaded across the forest like liquid death. Screams echoed in the distance.
"Prepare the circle!" Veren commanded.
---
The ritual circle was carved anew—this time using sacred obsidian from the Vault and dust from the First Pyre. The sigils glowed as Lira stepped into the center, the Ember Sigil floating above her palms.
"I'm the tether," she said quietly. "You'll bind it to me."
Kael's face twisted in pain. "There must be another way—"
"There isn't," she said gently. "And you know it."
Taron drew his sword and stood at her side. "Then we defend her until the end."
Flames roared as the Ash Wyrm crashed to the earth, claws gouging trenches in the soil. It bellowed, a sound that split the sky and scattered the clouds. Then it surged forward, jaws wide.
Kael raised his staff, chanting in the Old Tongue.
Runes flared. The circle blazed with energy.
Lira began to glow. The Ember Sigil spiraled above her, pouring fire into her soul.
The Wyrm struck.
And met resistance.
A barrier rose, forged of will and ancient magic. The beast clawed and bit, but it could not reach her.
Veren joined Kael in the incantation. Taron fought back flaming wraiths that emerged from the Wyrm's aura—spirits of past victims, twisted by hatred.
The sky darkened. Stars vanished. The final moment had come.
"Now!" Veren cried. "Begin the soulbind!"
Kael thrust the Sigil into Lira's chest.
She screamed.
The flames of the Ash Wyrm were drawn into her, not through pain—but through power. Her veins lit with molten light. Her hair blazed like a comet. Her voice became flame itself.
"By fire, I bind you!"
The Wyrm howled, twisted, writhed.
Its body turned to ash.
Its soul struck the glyphs—
—and entered her.
Lira collapsed.
The Wyrm was gone.
But the fire remained.
Kael rushed to her side. Her pulse was faint. Her eyes opened slowly, and within them danced a flickering ember.
"It's done," she whispered. "He's inside me."
"Lira—" Kael choked.
"I can still feel him... but I'm me. I'm still me."
Taron knelt beside them. "What now?"
Kael looked to the east, where dawn broke upon the blackened forest. "Now we find the Ember Crown. And finish this war before she loses herself."