Ashen woke up to the sound of distant thunder. At first, he thought it was a storm—but as the sound grew louder, sharper, more rhythmic, he realized it wasn't the sky that was roaring.
It was footsteps.
Heavy ones. Dozens of them. Marching in sync.
He shot up from the creaky bed in the inn. Ravel was already by the window, peering through a crack in the wooden shutters.
"They found us faster than I expected," Ravel muttered.
Ashen walked over. Outside, a group of armored figures were approaching the village. Their armor was dark—black plates with glowing orange cracks running through them like lava in cooled rock. Each of them carried a weapon infused with the same flickering fire.
Ashen felt a chill. Not fear, but recognition. His own flame, the one that stirred deep inside him, responded to their presence. It pulsed—faint, but aware.
"Who are they?" he asked.
"Flamebound Knights," Ravel said. "They serve the Ashen Crown. They hunt anything with a spark of divine power left. Which means… they're here for you."
Ashen turned away from the window. "Then what do we do?"
Ravel looked him straight in the eyes. "We run."
---
They escaped through the back of the inn, sticking to the shadows. The village offered little cover, but Ravel moved like he knew every alley and crumbling wall by heart. Ashen kept close, his heartbeat thundering in his chest as they weaved between buildings and out into the dying forest behind the village.
They didn't stop until they were deep into the woods, the shouts of the Flamebound Knights echoing far behind them.
But Ravel didn't relax.
"This was always going to happen," he said. "You've awakened the flame. Now the world is reacting. If you want to survive—if you want to win—you need to face your first trial."
Ashen stared at him. "What trial?"
Ravel pointed deeper into the forest. "There's a place ahead. A shrine, buried long ago. It was once used to test Ascendants. If you pass the trial within, you'll gain more control over your flame."
Ashen didn't feel ready. He didn't even know what he truly was yet.
But he nodded.
Because deep down, he knew this was just the beginning.
---
The shrine was hidden beneath the roots of a dead tree. A stone staircase spiraled downward into darkness. The air was dry and hot, and with every step Ashen took, the fire in his chest burned brighter.
The walls of the staircase were carved with ancient symbols—flames, wings, eyes, swords. A language he didn't understand but felt familiar with.
At the bottom, a stone chamber awaited. A circle of runes glowed faintly on the floor, and in the center, a torch flickered with a golden flame.
Ravel stopped at the edge. "Only you can enter," he said. "This is your trial. Face it alone… or fail forever."
Ashen stepped into the circle.
The flame in the torch flared—
And the world vanished.
---
Ashen stood in a void of black and red. Fire burned across the sky, but it didn't feel hot. He was somewhere… else.
A voice echoed around him.
"You carry the Flame That Was Forgotten."
Ashen turned. A figure stood in the distance. A being made entirely of golden fire. It didn't have a face—just eyes, glowing white-hot.
"But power without purpose is destruction. To carry this fire, you must prove you can control it. Show me, child of ash. Show me your will."
The ground cracked, and a monstrous shape rose before him. A version of himself—but twisted, monstrous. Its skin was cracked stone, its eyes burning coals. It held a sword made of pure flame.
His own darkness.
Ashen didn't have a weapon. He raised his fists, and the fire surged from within him, wrapping around his hands.
The trial had begun.
---
The battle was like nothing he had faced. Every move the shadow version of himself made was faster, sharper, deadlier. It wasn't just a test of strength—it was a test of control.
Every time Ashen lashed out with fire, the flames threatened to overwhelm him.
Every time he grew angry, the fire flared beyond his control.
He stumbled, fell, got up again. Again and again.
Until—
He stopped fighting.
He closed his eyes. Breathed.
And listened.
To the flame inside him.
It was not just destruction. It was warmth. Light. Power. It didn't want to consume. It wanted to protect.
He opened his eyes and raised his hand. The fire obeyed—not wildly, not violently. But precisely.
His next blow struck true.
The shadow version of him exploded into embers and vanished into the void.
---
When Ashen opened his eyes again, he was back in the shrine. The torch's golden flame now burned within his chest, calm and steady.
Ravel was waiting.
"You passed," he said.
Ashen looked down at his hands. The fire no longer felt like a curse.
"I understand it now," he said. "At least a little."
"Good," Ravel replied. "Because this was only the first step. The Flamebound will return. The Decay is spreading. And worse things are waking."
Ashen clenched his fists.
"Then let them come."