The sanctum doors stood scorched, half-broken and reeking of nullfire. Smoke hung thick in the air like a ghost refusing to depart, clinging to the walls and lungs of all who breathed it. The Voice had retreated, but only after leaving behind a trail of ruin and a message that rang louder than any cannon: he had seen Ethan. And he would return.
Ethan sat at the edge of the sanctum floor, legs folded beneath him, elbows resting on his knees. The flickering braziers cast dancing shadows across his face, but his eyes remained locked on the stone plinth where the shard had momentarily left him. He could still feel the echo of that power, like hot coals resting just beneath his skin. It had not hurt, but it had changed something inside him. He had glimpsed the sanctum's true purpose in that moment. Not just as a place of safety, but as a gate. A place of ancient choosing.
Lira paced quietly behind him, arms folded across her chest, eyes distant but sharp. She had not spoken much since they sealed the inner doors again, but Ethan felt her watching him, analyzing the shifts in his expression, perhaps seeing if he was still himself after the shard had flared so violently.
"They're regrouping," she finally said. "The Skyborne are moving into second formation. The cruisers are circling the vale. They're setting up a perimeter. They won't leave until they have you."
Ethan exhaled slowly. "I don't think I can run anymore."
"You shouldn't," she said. "But you also shouldn't rush to fight them either."
"I wasn't planning to." He stood and turned to her. "I don't know how to fight like that. Not yet. But the shard... it showed me something. Just for a second. A vision, or maybe a memory. A woman holding a flame in her hand. Not fire, but something deeper. It looked alive."
Lira stopped pacing. "That was the First Flame. The origin of the shard. Only the chosen ever see it."
"I don't know if I was chosen," Ethan said, frowning. "I just ended up here. It doesn't make sense."
Lira stepped closer, her voice gentler now. "Being chosen doesn't always come with clarity. Sometimes it starts with survival. Then choice. Then purpose. The shard responds to you because you are becoming something, even if you don't yet know what that is."
He met her eyes. "And if I become something I don't like?"
"Then we pull you back," she said. "Together."
Their conversation was interrupted by the heavy creak of the main chamber doors as Veyla entered, her cloak burned at the hem, armor smeared with soot and blood. Her face remained composed, but her eyes betrayed exhaustion.
"They've paused," she said. "The Voice has left, for now. But scouts report that the war barge remains stationed on the eastern ridge. They'll wait for nightfall. Then they'll strike again."
"What are our losses?" Lira asked.
"Twenty dead. Fourteen injured beyond healing. Five taken. Including one of the seers."
Ethan's heart sank. He had never asked for this fight, but every life lost because of his presence pressed down on him like iron chains. He clenched his fists, jaw tight.
"I need to learn faster," he said. "There must be something else the shard can show me."
Veyla nodded. "There is. But it's dangerous. The sanctum is only the first step. To truly awaken the shard's potential, you'll need to enter the Ember Vault."
Lira inhaled sharply. "The Vault has not been opened in decades. Not since the last bearer failed."
"He didn't fail," Veyla said. "He died before he reached it."
Ethan looked between them. "Where is it?"
"Beneath the Thornhold," Veyla said. "Through the Cinderway. It's a trial. The shard will test your will, your memories, even your guilt. If you aren't ready, it can break your mind. But if you succeed, it will unlock the next layer of the flame."
"I'll go," Ethan said without hesitation.
"You can't just decide that," Lira snapped. "You don't even know what's waiting down there."
"I know what's waiting up here," he replied. "And if I don't do this, more people will die."
Lira's expression shifted, the fire in her eyes clashing with the fear behind it. "You think I don't want you to grow stronger? I do. But not if it means losing you in the process."
He stepped closer. "Then help me come back."
She didn't respond for a long time. Then she nodded. "I'll wait outside the Vault. If it starts to go wrong, I'll be there."
That night, the Thornhold grew quiet. Fires were put out. Songs were not sung. The walls no longer echoed with movement. Only the deeper parts of the mountain stirred, responding to the ancient summons of the shard. Ethan followed Veyla through the old tunnels, descending level after level, past carved murals and extinguished braziers. Eventually, they came to a massive gate covered in volcanic glass. Symbols shimmered across its surface like trapped lightning.
"This is as far as I go," Veyla said. "Only the bearer may enter the Vault. When you pass through, you'll face not monsters, but yourself."
Ethan nodded, stepped forward, and placed his palm against the door. The shard responded instantly. The symbols flared. The doors groaned open.
Inside, the air changed. Warmth shifted to heat. Light dimmed into flickering red. The chamber ahead was vast and hollow, filled with broken pillars and charred statues of long-forgotten warriors. In the center burned a single flame, hovering in midair, surrounded by seven dark mirrors.
As he stepped closer, the shard within him pulsed. The first mirror glowed.
He looked into it.
He saw his mother's face. Then her grave. Then the emptiness of his old world. The loneliness. The silent pain.
The mirror cracked.
Another lit up.
His first night in this world. The panic. The fear of not knowing where he was. The helplessness. The moment he begged for the flame to stop.
He gritted his teeth.
"I'm not that person anymore."
The mirror cracked.
One by one, the other mirrors lit and showed him pieces of his soul. His guilt. His doubt. His anger. But he stood his ground. He spoke to each reflection, not with denial, but with truth.
"I did feel weak."
"I was afraid."
"But I'm still here."
When the last mirror cracked, the flame above the plinth expanded, engulfing the chamber. It did not burn him. It warmed him. Wrapped him. And whispered.
You are not whole. But you are ready to begin.
The flame entered his chest again, deeper this time, embedding itself like a second heart. He gasped, knees hitting stone, but he did not collapse. He rose, breathless, as the doors behind him opened once more.
Lira stood there, waiting, and for the first time in days, she smiled.
"You didn't die."
He grinned weakly. "Not for lack of trying."
They walked back through the tunnel in silence, and as they reached the edge of the war chamber once more, Veyla turned to them.
"You've passed the Vault," she said. "You carry more than the shard now. You carry our last chance. Prepare yourselves. The storm is not over. It has only just begun."
And so, beneath the ruined sky, in the ashes of resistance and the flicker of rising flame, Ethan took his first true steps as the bearer of a forgotten fire.