The Flame-Door – Midnight
James fell.
Not through air, but memory.
Colors bled into each other—red, black, gold, all folding inwards like a dying star. His body twisted in slow motion. Fire licked at his skin, but it didn't burn. It recognized him.
Welcomed him like an old friend.
When he landed, it was not on ground, but on echoes.
The Hollow Between
The Hollow stretched in all directions, a landscape stitched from broken time and forgotten places. Trees floated without roots. Buildings flickered in and out like skipped frames of film. Everything was half-real.
James stood on a cracked cobblestone path that resembled Small Heath—but older, darker. Shadows moved like water along the edges.
And in the sky, no stars. Only a great eye, watching.
From the distance: a child's cry.
"Elena."
He ran.
Along the Path – Trial of the Soldier
The first memory greeted him as he turned the corner: a trench, filled with mud and fire, ghost-soldiers shouting his name.
It was France, 1917.
James saw himself—young, terrified, shivering in the corner of a dugout.
The phantom-commander barked: "Get up, Shelby! We hold the line!"
Ghosts of his unit rose—men long dead, their faces cracked and pale.
One stepped forward—Freddie Thorne.
"You left me behind, James."
James clenched his fists. "That wasn't my fault."
"You still ran," Freddie said.
Gunfire exploded behind him.
James stood his ground.
"I don't run anymore."
The flame in his chest ignited. The ghost-soldiers vanished. The trench burned away.
Next – Trial of the Shadow
Now a mansion—Wayne Manor, but twisted.
Mirrors lined every wall, each one reflecting a different version of James.
The Scholar. The Killer. The Father. The Monster.
A figure stepped from the darkness—wearing his face, but darker. Eyes sunken. Smiling with blood in his teeth.
"You can't protect her," the shadow-James hissed. "You'll fail. You always fail."
James didn't argue.
He simply stepped forward—
and embraced the shadow.
Flame burst from them both, fusing.
The mirrors shattered.
And when the smoke cleared, James stood alone—but taller. Clear-eyed.
Final Trial – The Flame
He walked now through the ruins of a Romani camp, fire devouring caravans. The sky above was alive with smoke spirits—dancing, weeping, screaming in tongues.
His mother stood in the center, untouched by flame.
"James," she said, holding out a hand. "Do you remember the lullaby?"
He did.
And he sang it—soft, in Romani.
The fire calmed.
The spirits bowed.
His mother smiled.
"You've carried the curse long enough," she said. "Now carry the gift."
She vanished.
But around James, the flame circled him, not to burn—but to cloak.
His skin shimmered now—like the spirit from the past.
He was whole.
The soldier.
The shadow.
The flame.
The Center of the Hollow – Elena
He found her atop a tower made of bone and stone, curled in a circle of salt, her eyes wide with tears.
Guarding her was the thing that wore Father Rinaldi's shape—but taller, stretched, and wrong. Horns curled from under his scalp. His teeth were too sharp. His voice sounded like five men whispering at once.
"She's a doorway," the demon-Rinaldi hissed.
"Born of a bloodline tied to curse and fire. Through her, the Old Ones return."
James stepped forward.
"Then I'll burn the door shut."
He raised his hands.
The Final Battle – Within the Hollow
The demon lunged—claws outstretched—but James moved faster now. Fire trailed his fists as he struck, each hit ringing like a bell in the void. They fought through collapsing memory and shifting dream, trading blows across phantom landscapes.
The Hollow cracked.
Time bent.
Elena screamed.
The demon struck James down once—twice—but each time he rose, fire flaring brighter, the Romani runes across his chest glowing like molten steel.
Finally, James roared a phrase in the Old Tongue:
"Na avil o bibaxt!" (The curse ends with me.)
He plunged his hand into the demon's chest.
And tore the fire from its heart.
The Hollow screamed.
And collapsed.
Return to the Living World – Small Heath
It was dawn.
Tatiana stood in the street, the black candle finally dead.
And then—a crack of flame.
James stumbled forward from the smoke, scorched and ash-covered…
…holding Elena in his arms.
She was safe.
Alive.
She blinked up at him. "You came."
James kissed her forehead. "Always."