The fire that burst from the sigils vanished as quickly as it had come, sucked back into the stone like a breath drawn and held. Aric stood at the center of the platform, the Emberblade now humming with power—not wild or violent, but steady, almost aware.
Dain rushed forward. "What the hell just happened?"
Maelis's bow was already half-raised. "Where did he go?"
Aric lowered the sword slowly, his hand still shaking. "He was never really here. Just a memory… or something close to it."
Maelis scanned the chamber. "That wasn't just some echo. He knew things—about you. About the blade."
"He called himself the First Flame," Aric said. "The original bearer of the Emberblade."
Dain grunted. "Immortal?"
"Maybe," Aric said. "Or maybe what's left of him just doesn't die the normal way."
The sigils beneath Aric's feet cooled to a dull red glow. The air remained thick with heat, but it no longer suffocated. Instead, it felt... familiar. Like the calm after a storm, where something dangerous still lingered just beneath the surface.
Maelis approached the platform carefully. "What did you say back there? That oath?"
"I don't know where it came from," Aric admitted. "It was like the blade knew the words—and gave them to me."
"That's not comforting," Dain muttered.
Aric stepped down, feeling the weight of the Emberblade settle into his bones. It wasn't heavier, but it felt more connected—like the sword had latched onto something inside him. The flame wasn't just in the blade now. It was in him.
"We need to move," he said. "There's more here. He didn't show himself for nothing."
They searched the temple, deeper into its lower chambers, where the air turned colder and the light from the blade barely reached the corners. At the end of a long corridor, they found a sealed door, covered in the same ember script.
The blade pulsed in Aric's hand as he approached, and with a single touch, the markings flared—then the door slowly creaked open.
Beyond it was a library.
Dozens of shelves, some collapsed, others half-buried in ash and rubble. The books were scorched, pages stuck together by time and heat, but some were still readable.
"This… this is history," Maelis whispered, running her fingers over a title. "Lost records from before the collapse."
Aric moved toward a central pedestal. Upon it lay a single scroll, untouched by ash, glowing faintly with the same emberlight as the blade.
He picked it up carefully, unrolling the brittle parchment.
Lines written in flame.
The prophecy of the Emberbound.
He read aloud: "'When the last flame flickers and the blade awakens once more, the world shall either burn clean… or fall into endless shadow.'"
Maelis looked up. "You think that means you?"
"I don't think it means just me," Aric said. "I think it means whoever holds the blade... decides."
Dain raised an eyebrow. "So what, you're the world's last chance?"
"No," Aric said quietly. "I'm its last choice."
The scroll crumbled into dust as he finished.
Outside, the wind howled through the ruins.
And in the distance, something woke.