The hall of the Emberforge stood like the spine of a long-dead titan — vast, ancient, and scarred by time. Carved into the heart of the mountain, its pillars were blackened by centuries of smoke, and the air tasted of iron and old magic. Torches lined the walls, their flames burning an eerie blue, casting long shadows across the marble floor.
Kaelen knelt at the center of the chamber. His hand rested over his heart, while his head bowed low. Around him, a circle of Wardens, each draped in ceremonial cloaks of red and gold, chanted in low, guttural voices. Their words were old, a language spoken only in these sacred halls — the tongue of the First Flame.
Above him, on the high dais, stood Warden-Commander Theron, his silver hair shimmering like threads of moonlight under the torchlight. In his hands, he held the Emberbrand — an ancient sword whose blade pulsed with living fire.
"Kaelen of Ashreach," Theron called, his voice carrying across the hall. "You who survived the Fall, who bear the Mark of Flame, who carry the Last Ember in your veins — do you swear your life to the Warden's Path?"
Kaelen raised his head. His eyes, once filled with doubt, now blazed with steady determination.
"I swear."
The chanting rose in volume, reverberating through the stone walls. Theron descended the dais and approached Kaelen. The Emberbrand hummed, the air around it warping with heat.
"Repeat the Oath," Theron commanded.
Kaelen's voice, though hoarse, rang clear:
"By flame and by shadow, by blood and by bone, I vow to stand against the darkness. I vow to guard the realms of men, elf, and spirit. I vow to carry the fire, even when hope lies cold and dead. I am the Warden of the Last Ember."
Theron laid the flat of the Emberbrand against Kaelen's shoulders. The heat seared through the fabric of his tunic, branding his skin beneath — a mark that would never fade.
"In the eyes of the First Flame," Theron proclaimed, "you are no longer apprentice. You are Warden."
The room exploded in a roar of approval. Kaelen rose to his feet, his legs shaking slightly — not from fear, but from the overwhelming weight of the moment. Around him, the Wardens bowed their heads in respect.
At that instant, Kaelen felt it — a surge of power unfurling inside him, like a dormant fire stirred awake. The Ember that lived within his blood now responded to him fully, no longer shackled, no longer hesitant.
It recognized him.
It belonged to him.
Theron stepped forward and clasped Kaelen's forearm. "You walk a path few survive, Kaelen. Remember this — your flame is a light for others, but it is also a weapon. Never forget the cost of wielding it."
Kaelen nodded. His chest ached with the weight of the oath he had sworn, but it was a burden he embraced fully. He thought of his mother's voice, long gone but not forgotten. He thought of the Ashen Court, and the horrors they had unleashed. He thought of the dead city of Ashreach, and the graves he would never visit.
There would be no turning back now.
From the shadows at the edge of the chamber, Elowen watched silently, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
Beside her, an old Warden with hollow eyes muttered under his breath, "Another ember joins the pyre. May he burn brighter than those before him."
Kaelen stood at the center of the hall, the last ember in a dying world, and for the first time, he did not feel afraid.
He felt ready.