They traveled under the shroud of night, the red moon watching them like an old enemy. Kael, Lira, and Arin moved swiftly through the edge of the Glasswastes, the wind carving ghost-song through the shattered spires. Sand crunched beneath hooves like broken bones, and the rune in Kael's chest pulsed with a rhythm that wasn't his.
Arin rode ahead on her small, dark mare, her hood pulled low over her short-cropped black hair. She looked too young to be part of this world. Too thin. Too quiet. But Kael had seen what she could do with runes—how her small hands could twist light and shadow with terrifying grace.
"Stay close," she called back, voice light but firm. "The Wastes like to lie."
Kael glanced at Lira, who shrugged. "She's not wrong. You ever talk to your own reflection out here, stab it before it stabs you."
Kael chuckled dryly. "Good advice."
But his smile faded quickly. The closer they got to the ruins of the old cities, the heavier the air felt. Not with heat—this was different. Like memory clinging to the bones of the earth.
They made camp beneath the ribs of a shattered colossus, a broken statue buried half in sand. A fire crackled weakly in a shallow pit, though the light barely touched the dark beyond. Kael sat against a pillar, watching shadows flicker.
Lira poked the fire with a stick. "You ever wonder what that thing was?"
"A god," Arin said softly. She was kneeling on the sand, drawing runes with a sliver of bone. "Or a lie people believed long enough that it became real."
Kael turned to her. "Where'd you learn this stuff?"
Arin didn't look up. "My mother. She was a Rune-Seer."
Lira raised a brow. "Didn't know they still existed."
"They don't. She died when the Prophetess took our city."
The air stilled.
Kael sat forward. "I'm sorry."
Arin's voice didn't waver. "She left me something. Knowledge. Secrets hidden in ash. That's how I found you, Kael. The rune in your chest? My mother saw it in flame years ago. Said it would come back when the world was ready to break again."
Kael felt the weight of her words settle over him.
"You think it's destiny?"
Arin looked at him, eyes bright with moonlight. "I think it's a weapon. And you're its sheath."
That night, Kael dreamt of fire again.
But this time, it was calm.
He stood in a great hall of obsidian mirrors. Reflections of himself watched from every angle—some younger, some older, some monstrous. One stepped forward. He was Kael, but not. His skin was cracked with heat, his eyes burned gold.
"You're still afraid," the reflection said. "Still holding back."
Kael clenched his fists. "I'm not ready."
"You'll never be ready. That's not the point. Fire consumes. But it also forges."
The mirrors shattered. Kael fell into darkness.
He woke gasping, the rune under his skin thrumming like a second heart.
Morning came blood-red. They packed quickly, heading deeper into the ruins of Ashedra, one of the fallen cities of the Second Age. Black stone towers leaned like drunkards. Symbols long dead clung to crumbling walls. Wind whispered down every alley, carrying words Kael didn't want to understand.
"Don't speak to anything that speaks first," Arin warned. "It's not human."
Lira tapped her sword hilt. "Neither am I before breakfast."
They found the chamber at midday. It lay beneath a cracked dome, ringed with runes older than kingdoms. At the center sat a stone altar—burned, bloodstained, waiting.
Kael approached slowly. The rune in his chest pulsed hard, like it wanted out.
"This is where it began," Arin said.
"Where what began?" Kael asked.
She looked at him. "The Rune War. The God-Rune's last awakening. The place where the first vessel lost himself to fire."
Kael placed his hand on the altar.
Flame erupted.
He stood at the heart of time.
The sky above him was flame. The ground below cracked and burned. Titans warred on the horizon, their bodies made of rune and rage. He saw a tower rise, crowned with flame. A throne stood within, and on it sat a man.
Kael.
Older. Scarred. Eyes like burning coals.
"Stop it!" Kael shouted.
The future version turned toward him. "You can't. You only delay."
"I won't become you."
"You already are."
The vision collapsed. Kael hit the stone floor, smoke pouring from his mouth.
Arin knelt beside him. "You saw it, didn't you?"
He nodded, shaking. "The end."
Lira drew her blades. "Then we better kill whoever's coming to start it."
That night, the Sealed arrived.
Shadows moved like wolves through the ruins. Cloaked figures bearing etched knives and eyes sewn shut. They made no sound—only the wind screamed.
The fight was chaos.
Lira met them blade to blade, a whirlwind of violence and laughter. Arin carved light through the dark, runes dancing from her fingertips like lightning. Kael stood in the center, fire blooming from his skin, burning paths through the enemy.
They came in waves.
He burned them all.
But it wasn't enough.
From the shadows stepped the girl.
The one from his dreams.
Ash-pale hair. Gold eyes. Crimson cloak.
"You're late," she said.
Kael froze. "Who are you?"
She smiled. "The only one who understands what you are."
Behind her, the Sealed fell back, bowing.
"Your fire is waking," she whispered, stepping closer. "And when the world ends, only we will remain."
She reached for his face. Kael stepped back.
"Stay away."
"You'll come to me," she said. "They always do."
Then she vanished.
Only ash remained.
Arin found Kael staring into the embers hours later. Her face was smudged with blood, her hands trembling.
"You held back," she said.
"I had to."
"She knows you. That girl. The way she looks at you..."
"She's in my dreams."
Arin nodded. "Then she's part of the rune. Maybe even its voice."
Kael closed his eyes. "What if I lose myself?"
"You won't," she said quietly. "Because I'll be here. Because we'll be here. Even if we have to drag you back from the fire."
He looked at her. So young. But her eyes—so ancient.
He nodded.
"Then let's keep walking."
The stars above shimmered, and far ahead, a new fire lit the horizon.
Their journey was only beginning.