They left the temple before sunrise, the emberlight within it dimming as they crossed the broken plaza. Behind them, Emberreach began to fall silent again, like a slumbering beast content to return to its rest—at least for now.
But the blade was different.
Since the oath, Aric could feel it constantly, like a second heartbeat thrumming in his palm. It whispered to him—not in words, but in emotions. Urgency. Warning. Hunger.
As they walked, Dain spoke up. "So what now? We've got a sword that glows, a prophecy that basically says 'good luck not destroying the world,' and a ghost who wants the blade back. Feels like we're walking into a storm with nothing but a torch."
Maelis looked at Aric. "You saw more than you're saying, didn't you?"
He hesitated. "I saw war. Not just battles. A burning that stretched across kingdoms. I saw the First Flame leading it… before he fell."
"And now he wants the blade again," she said.
"I think he never truly let go of it," Aric replied. "I think... some part of him is still bound to it. Maybe the darkest part."
They crossed a long stone bridge that led away from the city, arches cracked and worn. The land beyond was drier, twisted trees reaching toward the sky like broken fingers. They were heading for the Vale of Mirrors, where an old seer was said to live—one who knew how to read ember marks and unravel prophecy.
But halfway across the bridge, the sky changed.
Dark clouds rolled in unnaturally fast, swallowing the sun in seconds. The wind died. And then came the sound—metal scraping against stone. Slow. Heavy.
"Behind us," Dain snapped, spinning around.
Figures stepped from the fog where the bridge met the ruins. Armored in scorched black steel, faces hidden by charred helms. Not men. Not living.
"Flamewrought," Maelis said, drawing an arrow. "Dead soldiers twisted by ember magic. They shouldn't be this far out."
There were six of them, moving with dreadful purpose, blades dragging behind them.
Aric stepped forward. "Let me."
He raised the Emberblade, and the moment it flared to life, the creatures screamed—a horrible, inhuman sound that echoed through the stones.
They charged.
The first struck, but Aric moved faster. The blade sliced through its armor like parchment, flames devouring the dark metal. He spun, ducked, and slashed—each movement fluid, guided not just by training, but instinct.
Dain and Maelis covered his sides, arrows and steel flying. But it was Aric they wanted. The blade they reached for.
He fought like a storm.
By the time the last creature fell, the bridge was scorched, smoke rising from the cracks in the stone.
Aric stood in the center, panting, eyes burning faintly with emberlight.
Maelis approached him slowly. "You're not the same."
"I know," he said.
Dain nudged one of the fallen Flamewrought with his boot. "They were sent. Someone knows the blade's awake now."
"They'll keep coming," Aric said. "Until they take it. Or I burn with it."
Maelis looked at him. "Then we better find that seer. Before the next wave is worse."
Aric nodded, the Emberblade resting on his shoulder.
The flame inside him stirred.
Not just awake now.
Alive.