They reached the ridge overlooking Emberreach by dusk the following day. The ruined city stretched below them like a scar across the land, its towers shattered and crooked, its streets swallowed by ash and twisted roots. A faint glow pulsed from its heart—dim, like an ember buried beneath soot.
No birds flew above the ruins. No wind stirred the trees. The silence was alive.
"That's it," Dain muttered, resting a hand on the hilt of his axe. "Emberreach."
Maelis squinted into the haze. "I thought it would be bigger."
Aric stood still, eyes locked on the glowing center. "It's not what it was. But something's still breathing down there."
They made their way carefully down the ridge, avoiding loose rock and overgrown stone paths. As they entered the outer rings of the city, a strange warmth met them—barely noticeable, but unnatural. The air felt heavy, filled with a scent like burnt parchment and metal.
They passed broken statues, rusted armor, and bones too old to name. The old banners of the Emberlords, faded red and gold, still clung to ruined gates. Symbols of power long buried.
At the center of the city stood a massive temple, cracked and leaning, but still intact. Its steps were wide and scorched. As they approached, the Emberblade in Aric's hand pulsed once—bright and sharp.
The door opened before they touched it.
Inside, the chamber was circular, lined with pillars carved in ancient script. In the center stood a raised platform, and on it, a circle of stone marked with flame sigils. Surrounding it were seven thrones—six empty. One held a figure.
He was still. Cloaked in black and ash, his face covered by a silver mask that shimmered like heat. He didn't move as they entered, but his presence was overwhelming—like a storm held in place by will alone.
"You've come," the masked man said. His voice was deeper than thunder, yet soft as ash. "As the blade commanded."
Aric stepped forward. "Who are you?"
The man rose slowly. "I am what remains of the First Flame. The one who carried the Emberblade before you… and who watched it fall."
Maelis reached for her bow. Dain tensed, hands ready. Aric didn't move.
"Why call me here?" Aric asked.
The figure looked at the blade. "Because the blade remembers. Because the world forgets. And because you must choose—burn for it… or with it."
"What does that mean?"
"You are Emberbound now," the figure said. "Your fate is not just to wield the blade, but to carry its burden. Its truth. Its curse."
The chamber trembled. The sigils lit with fire. The six empty thrones cracked, fire spilling from beneath them.
The masked man stepped back. "Swear the Emberbound Oath, and the blade will obey fully. Refuse… and it will burn your name from history."
Aric felt the fire rising around him, pulling at his soul. He looked at Maelis and Dain—but their faces were distant, the world fading.
He stepped onto the platform. Raised the blade.
And spoke.
"I am the flame that stands. I burn, I fall, I rise. Let the ember remember me."
The fire surged. The chamber roared.
And the masked figure vanished—leaving behind only ashes and a whisper: "We are not so different, you and I."