Night fell hard over the mountains.
The world turned to ink, shadows stretching long across the rocks as Kaelen and Aelric made camp beneath an outcropping of stone. A crooked pine tree clung to the ridge above them, its branches whispering in the wind. The stars offered little comfort — cold and distant, like the eyes of gods who had long since turned away.
Kaelen sat by the fire, hands cupped around a dented tin of broth, watching the flames dance. They cast flickering gold light over the walls of the narrow alcove, but the warmth didn't touch the chill in his bones. His mind replayed the vision from the Whispering Stones: the shadowed figure, the broken cities, the Ember burning through all of it.
He hadn't told Aelric everything. Not the way the stars had gone out in that vision. Not the feeling that some ancient part of himself had been watching too. A witness behind his own eyes.
Across from him, Aelric leaned back against a rock, chewing a strip of dried meat. He hadn't spoken much since they'd left the gorge, but Kaelen could feel the shift between them. The mercenary's usual levity was gone, replaced by a quiet intensity.
"You're different now," Aelric said suddenly.
Kaelen looked up. "How so?"
Aelric shrugged. "You carry yourself like someone who's seen something they can't unsee."
"I have," Kaelen replied, setting the tin aside. "The stones showed me... what could come. If I fail. If I lose control."
"And?"
Kaelen hesitated. "It wasn't fire. Not just fire. It was hunger. Like the Ember wanted to devour the world. Like it always has."
Aelric leaned forward, poking the fire with a stick. Sparks flared and twisted into the dark. "Then you better keep it fed just enough to listen."
Kaelen raised an eyebrow. "Fed?"
"Power doesn't sleep," Aelric said. "It grows, or it rots. Same with people."
They fell into silence again, broken only by the crackle of flames and the soft whistle of wind through stone.
Eventually, Kaelen spoke. "You said Maevor sent men after me. Why? If he already controls the realm, what does he want with the Ember?"
Aelric's expression darkened. "Because he doesn't control the realm. Not really. He sits on a throne built from corpses and stolen names. But deep down, he knows his rule is hollow. The old blood — your blood — still echoes. And the Ember? That's legacy. That's fire in the veins of a dying kingdom. It frightens him."
Kaelen frowned. "But I don't want a crown."
"Doesn't matter," Aelric said. "Power doesn't wait for your permission. It just moves. And when it does, people follow — or they try to cut you down before you stand."
He let the stick drop into the fire, his eyes distant. "Maevor's afraid the old stories are true. That the Flameborn line didn't end in the last war. That the rightful heir still breathes."
Kaelen shifted uncomfortably. "You think I'm that heir."
"I know you are," Aelric said. "The Ember wouldn't choose otherwise."
A gust of wind whistled through the rocks, making the fire gutter and hiss. Kaelen stood and walked to the edge of the ridge, staring down into the dark valley below. In the distance, faint lights shimmered — torches or campfires, too many to be chance.
He pointed. "That's not a village."
"No," Aelric said. "That's a warband."
Kaelen turned. "How close?"
"Close enough to smell us by morning if we stay."
Kaelen's hand dropped to the hilt of his sword. "Then we move?"
"We move," Aelric said, already packing up.
They traveled through the night, cloaked in silence. The stars watched. The Ember pulsed. And somewhere behind them, a king's fury gathered like a storm.
By dawn, they reached the edge of a plateau overlooking a sunken plain. At the center of the valley lay the ruins of an ancient fortress — broken towers, shattered walls, and a cracked causeway swallowed by vines. Mist clung to the ruins like breath on glass.
Aelric let out a low whistle. "Well. I'll be damned."
Kaelen looked at him. "What is this place?"
Aelric's smile was grim. "This... is the Hollow Crown."
Kaelen felt the Ember respond to the name. It flared against his chest, not in pain or warning — but recognition. Like a memory rising to the surface.
"Long ago," Aelric said, stepping toward the edge, "this was the seat of the Flameborn. Before the war. Before the fire fell. The last king stood here."
Kaelen stared at the crumbled keep, at the place where something ancient had once stood tall. "And now?"
"Now it's bones and dust," Aelric said. "And maybe, if we're lucky, answers."
Kaelen closed his eyes, feeling the Ember settle.
Beneath his feet, the ground whispered:
"Welcome home."