The wind in the Shattered Vale was unlike anything Mara had ever known. It didn't howl—it whispered. Not in words, but in feelings. Regret. Sorrow. Rage. A thousand voices buried beneath the ash of a ruined civilization.
Mara stepped cautiously across the ashen field, every footprint disrupting centuries of stillness. The fortress ahead loomed like a broken monument to the world that came before—black stone riddled with scorch marks and punctured by long-dead trees twisted into grotesque shapes.
Beside her, Darius stayed alert, eyes scanning the horizon.
"This place..." he murmured, "feels cursed."
"It is," Mara said quietly. "The First Flame died here."
A lie, once. But now she knew it to be true. Lirael's words echoed still in her mind: The last of the Flameborn slumber in the Vale. Somewhere within the fortress ruins, the remains of her kind—perhaps allies, perhaps warnings—waited.
They reached the gates, which hung crooked on their hinges. A pair of stone statues flanked the entrance—warriors in cloaks of flame, their weapons shattered.
Mara paused and placed her palm against the gate. For a moment, nothing happened.
Then a pulse.
A spark.
The gate groaned and slowly swung open, revealing a long courtyard overgrown with black moss and scattered bones. The sky above swirled crimson and gold, as if time had no meaning here.
"They were slaughtered," Darius said.
Mara nodded. "Not just by the Hollow. By each other."
They crossed the courtyard, entering what had once been a grand hall. Shattered banners still hung from the rafters—one bore a phoenix wreathed in flame. Another, a sun with bleeding rays.
"I remember these," Mara said, her voice tight. "My mother used to tell stories. The Houses of Flame. Each one guarded a different truth."
"They failed," Darius said.
"No," she replied. "They were betrayed."
As they moved deeper into the keep, the halls narrowed, turning into winding stairwells and ruined chambers. Eventually, they reached a vaulted chamber lit by a single brazier—still burning, though untouched for centuries.
"Someone's here," Darius said, hand on his blade.
"Or something," Mara added.
A voice drifted down from above. "You are not what I expected."
They turned sharply. At the top of a cracked staircase stood a man draped in armor too ancient to place—silver and crimson, etched with runes that pulsed faintly.
He descended slowly, unarmed but not unthreatening.
"I am Kael," he said. "Sentinel of the Dying Flame."
Mara stepped forward. "You're... alive?"
"Alive enough," he replied, his gaze piercing. "I have waited an eternity for the Flame-Bearer to return. And now here you are. Too late."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
Kael gestured toward the walls. "This place was a cradle. Now, it is a tomb. The others—those who could help you—they sleep beneath. But time has not been kind. And the Hollow has been feeding on their dreams."
Darius frowned. "Feeding?"
Kael nodded. "He grows stronger with every forgotten memory, every abandoned oath. Soon, even death won't stop him."
Mara clenched her fists. "Then we wake them."
Kael's eyes darkened. "Do that, and they may not remember who they are—or who you are. They may see you as the threat."
"I'll take the risk," Mara said. "We need them."
Kael studied her for a long moment. Then he nodded.
"Come. I will show you the Chamber of Flames."
---
The chamber lay beneath the fortress, accessed through a hidden stair that coiled like a serpent's spine. As they descended, the heat intensified. When they reached the bottom, Mara gasped.
Dozens—no, hundreds—of crystal sarcophagi lined the chamber, each containing a figure bathed in soft golden light. Men and women, young and old, all dressed in the regalia of the Flameborn. Each one bore the mark of the Houses.
"They're beautiful," Mara whispered.
Kael walked among them like a shepherd. "And dangerous. Each one a weapon forged in the old way."
"How do we wake them?" she asked.
Kael looked to her. "With blood. Yours."
Mara hesitated. "My blood...?"
"You are the Flame-Bearer. Your blood is the key. But understand this—once awakened, they are bound to you. If your path falters, they will fall with you."
Mara drew a blade across her palm, letting her blood drip onto the central sigil carved into the floor.
The reaction was immediate.
Flames burst from the runes, crawling across the ground, leaping from one sarcophagus to the next. The chamber filled with golden firelight, and then—
One by one, the crystal casings shattered.
The Flameborn awoke.
Some screamed. Some wept. Others knelt in silence, their eyes fixed on Mara.
Kael bowed his head. "It is done."
Mara stood at the center of the circle, her blood burning in her veins, her power roaring in her chest.
"I am Mara Valemir," she said, voice steady. "Daughter of House Duskfire. Last of the Line of Flame. The Hollow rises, and we will not let him take this world."
A murmur swept through the crowd.
Then, they bowed.
---
Elsewhere—beyond the veil of the waking world—Zane knelt before a pool of shadow.
The Hollow's voice slithered into his mind.
"She gathers the lost. Good. Let her."
Zane frowned. "You're not worried?"
"Worried?" The voice laughed. "She awakens weapons forged by gods. But she does not know what she truly is. Not yet. And when the moment comes... she will burn everything."
Zane's eyes narrowed. "You fear her."
"I created her."
---
Night fell in the Shattered Vale, though the sky never truly darkened. Around a blazing fire in the ruins, the Flameborn gathered—some silent, some arguing, others praying.
Mara sat apart, staring into the flames. Darius approached and handed her a flask.
"Water," he said.
She took it gratefully.
"Kael says we march tomorrow," Darius continued. "There's a path through the Iron Pass. Leads straight to the Black Citadel."
Mara nodded. "Zane will be waiting."
Darius hesitated. "What happens when you face him?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "He's still my brother. But if he awakens the Hollow... I won't let him destroy the world."
Silence settled between them.
"You've changed," Darius said at last.
"So have you," Mara replied, smiling faintly.
Then a sound pierced the night.
A horn.
Low. Echoing. Distant—but unmistakable.
Kael rushed to them, blade drawn. "Scouts. The Hollow's army marches. They will be here by dawn."
Mara rose. "Then we hold the Vale."
Kael nodded. "It is not much. But it is ours."
She turned to face the assembled warriors.
"All of you," she shouted, her voice carrying. "You chose to wake. You chose to fight. This place is sacred—not because it was built by kings, but because it holds our last chance. We fight not just for survival, but for truth. For flame. For the world that must come after."
The Flameborn raised their weapons.
Darius stood beside her.
And together, they prepared for war.