Episode 23
Smoke still curled from the ground as Kael carried Lira through the ruins of the Druid Glade. Around them, the forest crackled with the dying embers of battle. Trees once sacred were now scorched to their roots, and the air smelled of burnt bark, blood, and something older—like fire pulled from the bones of the world.
Lira stirred weakly in his arms.
"I'm still here," she whispered, her voice rough, almost otherworldly. "He's... quiet now."
Kael lowered her gently onto a bed of moss where the fire hadn't reached. Her skin was hot to the touch, as if her body had become the ember of a living flame. Her eyes—once bright silver—now shimmered with molten gold, glowing faintly even in shadow.
Taron stood nearby, wiping ash from his blade. "You bound the Wyrm, but at what cost?"
Lira looked at her hands. They flickered with fire, the flames dancing to her pulse. "He's not gone. I feel him watching me... waiting. He knows I'm too weak to control him for long."
Master Veren limped over, leaning heavily on his staff. "You did what no one has in an age, child. You chained an ancient. But if we don't act fast, his presence inside you will consume your soul."
Kael clenched his jaw. "There must be a way to suppress him. A vessel to contain the magic safely."
"There is," Veren said grimly. "The Ember Crown. Forged in the Dawn Era by the Flameborn themselves. It channels the fire of gods without burning the bearer. But it was lost—centuries ago—in the Sunken Sanctum of Ashrial."
Taron spat. "Ashrial? That cursed place again?"
Veren nodded. "You were always meant to go there. The prophecy did not lie. Only in Ashrial can the flame be truly mastered."
Kael looked down at Lira. "Then that's our next path. We leave by nightfall."
---
Later That Evening
The survivors of the battle lit no fires as the sun fell. Too many feared flame now, even the harmless kind. Among them, whispers stirred of Lira—the Flamebearer, the Firebound Maiden. Some knelt in awe. Others kept their distance.
Lira sat alone beneath a broken willow tree, her hand resting over her heart where the Ember Sigil had entered her. The Wyrm's voice was faint—a murmur in her mind—but its presence loomed like a mountain in shadow.
Kael approached, carrying a flask of cool water.
"You should drink," he said softly.
She took it and drank slowly. "Kael... will you tell me the truth?"
He knelt beside her. "Always."
"If I lose control... if the Wyrm takes over... will you stop me?"
His expression darkened. "You won't lose control."
"But if I do?" she pressed, eyes glowing faintly in the dim light.
He looked away, then back at her. "Then I'll bring you back. Or die trying."
Her eyes filled with tears, but they didn't fall. The heat within her now evaporated such weakness.
"You always say the right things," she murmured.
"That's because I believe them."
Their hands met—warm against warm. And for a moment, the chaos of the world faded.
---
The Road to Ashrial
The journey to the Sunken Sanctum began at dawn. Kael, Lira, and Taron rode with only light supplies and Veren's map etched on an old dragonskin scroll. The path wound through ravaged forest, over cliffs where blackened eagles circled, and through canyons still smoldering from the Wyrm's wake.
Ashrial lay far to the east, past the shattered city of Marowen and through the Vale of Shadows.
Three days into their journey, the dreams began.
Lira saw flame in every shadow. She walked through a burning field of bones. The Wyrm's voice called to her in ancient tongues, offering power, vengeance, even rebirth.
"Burn the weak. Rebuild the world in flame. I am the future—unchained."
She awoke screaming on the fourth night, her hands alight, her bedroll smoking.
Kael was there in seconds, gripping her shoulders, chanting a calming spell.
"Lira, breathe. It's a dream. Just a dream."
But it wasn't.
"I'm losing pieces of myself," she sobbed. "He's taking them."
Taron kept watch from a rock nearby. "The sooner we reach Ashrial, the better."
---
The Whispering Vale
On the sixth day, they entered the Vale of Shadows—a narrow pass wreathed in eternal fog. The air was colder here, the silence unnatural. Trees bent inward, as if afraid to breathe.
"Something's wrong here," Kael murmured, his hand on the hilt of his dagger.
Then the whispers began.
Voices in the mist. Familiar ones.
"You failed us, Kael."
"You left us to die."
He froze.
Taron clutched his head. "No... No, I killed her. I killed her because I had to."
Lira staggered. "Mother?"
A ghostly shape emerged from the fog—a woman in a cloak of flame, her eyes like Lira's.
"Daughter... you were never meant to carry this burden."
Kael shook his head, eyes clearing. "It's illusion magic. Shade trickery. Don't listen!"
But Lira stepped forward.
"Mother?"
The specter smiled—then melted into smoke.
And from behind it, something moved.
Not illusion. Not shade.
A wraith in the shape of the Ash Wyrm's skull lunged from the fog, claws outstretched.
Kael unleashed a bolt of lightning that lit the entire valley. Taron sliced the creature in two.
It hissed and vanished—but more came.
A dozen fiery shadows, all in the Wyrm's image.
"They're echoes of the Wyrm's soul!" Kael shouted. "Drawn to Lira!"
"Then we fight!" Taron roared.
Steel and spell clashed with fire and shadow. Lira stood in the center, glowing like a beacon, whispering the binding words Veren had taught her. The wraiths snarled and twisted—but could not breach her flame.
She burned them away.
And when the last one vanished, the fog lifted.
Ahead lay Ashrial.
---
The Sunken Sanctum
Once a temple-city of the Flameborn, Ashrial now lay buried beneath black sand and time. Only the topmost spires of the citadel breached the surface, glinting like obsidian fangs.
The trio descended a cracked stone staircase into the depths.
Inside, heat pulsed from the walls—not just warmth, but memory. Every stone sang of fire's birth. Symbols of the Flameborn flickered with old magic, reacting to Lira's presence.
She stepped forward, and the sanctum lit up like dawn.
"The Ember Crown lies in the Heartforge," Kael whispered. "Deep below."
Taron read the runes above the entrance. "Only one may pass who carries the flame."
Lira turned to them. "This part, I must do alone."
"No," Kael said. "We stay together."
"If you enter, the sanctum will destroy you," she said gently. "Its wards were built to reject all but the Flamebearer."
Taron looked away, jaw clenched.
Kael hesitated. Then he nodded once. "We wait. But if you don't return—"
"I will."
She stepped through the gate.
The stone closed behind her.