They left the Hollow Crown at dawn.
Mist clung to the ground like memory, thick and silver-white. It whispered against their boots, slid over the stones, and curled through the broken gates as if reluctant to let them go. Kaelen didn't look back. He couldn't. The weight of Serith's warning pressed against his shoulders like chainmail — the Flamebound Circle, the Void, the vessels. Each word was a stone in his pack, and the road ahead stretched farther than he could see.
They moved northeast, as Serith had directed, following old goat paths and deer trails that twisted between mountain spines and ravines. The world turned wild around them. Hills grew teeth. Winds howled with voices not their own. Even Aelric stopped telling stories.
By the third day, Kaelen began to understand why.
They came to a bridge of broken slate, arching across a chasm too deep to see the bottom. The air shimmered there — not with heat, but with something else. Something wrong. On the far side, a marker stone jutted from the cliff's edge, worn by wind and time. A single rune had been carved into it: 𐌔 — the sigil of Stormwrought.
"Aerthalas," Aelric said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Kaelen peered over the edge. "This is the path?"
"If you want to call it that," Aelric muttered. "The Shattered Path, more like. Used to be a trade route between the old eastern kingdoms. Fell apart after the Stormfall."
Kaelen narrowed his eyes. "Stormfall?"
Aelric looked grim. "The day the sky broke."
They crossed the bridge one at a time, the stone groaning beneath their weight. Kaelen kept one hand on the Ember beneath his shirt the whole time. It was pulsing faster now, like it remembered what lay ahead even if he didn't.
The land beyond the chasm bore the scars of some ancient fury. Trees twisted in impossible angles. Rivers ran black with ash. Whole ridgelines had been carved open like wounds. And at the heart of it all, cloaked in thunderclouds and lightning that never ceased, lay the city of Aerthalas.
Once, it had been called the City of Storms — a high seat of scholars and seers, its towers crowned in silver and starlight. Now, it was a graveyard of stone and silence. No birds flew here. No wind carried scent. Only the rumble of distant thunder, slow and constant, like the breathing of a wounded god.
They reached the outer gates by sunset.
Or what remained of them.
The gates had been blasted open — not by siege engines or fire, but by something deeper. The stone had melted and reformed, twisted like wax in a forge. Charred runes lined the outer arch, flickering dimly in the gloom.
"This wasn't war," Kaelen said, running his fingers over the stone. "This was... sorcery."
"Not just any," Aelric said. "Stormbound magic. The kind that breaks the air and burns the names out of things."
Kaelen frowned. "You've seen this before?"
"No," Aelric said. "That's why I'm terrified."
They entered cautiously, blades drawn.
The streets were choked with vines and broken masonry. Statues lay face-down in shattered fountains. Lightning crackled across the sky every few seconds, arcing between the tallest spires — still standing like jagged teeth against the clouds. At the heart of the city, a dome-shaped temple loomed, half-collapsed but pulsing faintly with light.
"The Ember's drawn to it," Kaelen said. "I can feel it."
Aelric nodded. "Then that's where we're going."
But they didn't get far.
As they passed a wide plaza strewn with broken columns, a cold wind rose — sudden and sharp, slicing between the buildings like a knife. Kaelen felt the Ember shudder. A low hum rippled through the air, and the shadows thickened.
Something moved behind them.
Kaelen spun, sword raised — but it wasn't just one figure.
They came from the alleys, the rooftops, the broken windows. Dozens. Maybe more. Not human. Not anymore.
Figures of charred flesh and stormlight, eyes like searing coals. Their armor bore the crests of ancient noble houses, long since thought extinct. Their mouths didn't move, but they screamed — silent, soul-deep wails that clawed at Kaelen's mind.
Aelric stepped beside him, blade already drawn. "Stormwoken."
Kaelen swallowed. "What are they?"
"Those who lived through the Stormfall… but didn't survive it."
The Stormwoken moved in unison, slow and inevitable, surrounding them. The plaza cracked beneath their feet as if the city itself wept. Kaelen raised the Ember, and it flared in response — casting firelight in all directions.
The Stormwoken recoiled — briefly.
Then they charged.
Steel met shadow and lightning.
Kaelen fought like the fire was inside him — fast, sharp, unrelenting. Aelric moved like water, flowing from one strike to the next. But there were too many. The Stormwoken didn't bleed. Didn't flinch. Each time one fell, two more took its place.
"Kaelen!" Aelric shouted. "We need cover!"
Kaelen looked to the temple. Its doors stood open now, glowing faintly from within. "There!"
They sprinted.
Lightning slammed into the ground behind them, shattering stone. One Stormwoken lunged at Kaelen — only to be blasted backward by a sudden flare of Emberlight. The pulse nearly knocked Kaelen to his knees.
He stumbled into the temple just ahead of Aelric, and the moment they crossed the threshold, everything stopped.
Silence.
The Stormwoken froze at the threshold, unable to pass. They hissed, screamed, clawed at the air — but did not enter.
Kaelen collapsed against the wall, panting. "What... just happened?"
Aelric wiped blood from his cheek. "You activated a ward. Old, but strong. This place was built to keep them out."
Kaelen turned to face the inner chamber.
A wide hall stretched before them, lit by flickering blue lanterns. Murals covered the walls — a history in paint and goldleaf. And at the far end, on a pedestal of obsidian, rested a crystal vessel glowing with stormlight. Inside it swirled a fragment of wind and flame, bound together in impossible harmony.
Kaelen stepped forward. The Ember in his chest pulsed once — then grew still, as if in awe.
Aelric exhaled. "One of the Vessels."
Kaelen reached for it.
But before his fingers touched the glass, a voice filled the temple.
"Who dares disturb the Heart of Storms?"
They turned.
A figure stood between the pillars — tall, robed in blue and silver, her hair like threads of lightning. Her eyes glowed white. Not alive. Not dead. Something else.
Kaelen stepped forward. "I am Kaelen of Thornmere. Bearer of the Ember. Heir to the Flame."
The woman regarded him for a long moment. Then she smiled, sad and knowing.
"Then the world is ending... again."