Chapter 14: The Seeds of Reckoning
The storm that rolled over Eldhollow in the wake of the temple explosion seemed to reach further than weather should. Whispers of strange phenomena swept across the regions, from sudden floods in Sunmere to unexplained quakes shaking the once-stable cliffs of Bastow. Everything felt… off-kilter, as if the explosion had triggered something deeper than stone and ash. Elowen knew, in her bones, that the veil between realms had thinned.
The night after their escape from the temple, Elowen sat on the cliffside outside the crumbling holdfast of Kaer Wren. The stars, usually a comfort to her, shimmered unnaturally—patterns rearranging subtly in the skies. She clutched the glyph pendant in her palm, its once-dormant etchings now pulsing with a soft violet light.
Kai found her there, his silhouette framed in the flickering torchlight from inside the hold. "It's changing, isn't it?" he said quietly, sitting beside her.
"It's already changed," Elowen replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "This isn't just about stopping the Ascendants anymore."
Kai leaned forward, clasping his hands together. "It's about whatever's trying to come through."
A wind stirred, carrying with it the scent of burnt ozone and something older—like wet stone and iron. They didn't speak again that night. There was nothing more to say that hadn't already been felt in the marrow.
The following morning, the council convened in the great hall of Kaer Wren, though "great" was generous. The space was part ruin, its vaulted ceiling cracked and open to the sky, ivy creeping down the once-proud columns. The table was makeshift, formed from planks salvaged from the wreckage.
Elowen, Kai, and Innes stood at one end, facing a gathering that had grown: insurgents from the Western Pines, a trio of mystics from the Obsidian Dunes, and Lord Veyron himself, recently arrived from Bastow with a contingent of grey-cloaked strategists.
"We are not ready," Veyron said plainly, not bothering to hide the weariness in his tone. "My city barely holds itself together. Strange beasts stalk the cliffs. Trade has collapsed. And your plan is to march on Astrenar?"
"No," Elowen said. "My plan is to stop the Ascendants from finishing the breach. If they do, there won't be a Bastow to protect."
Innes stepped forward, laying out a rough map on the table. "There are three anchor points in the arcane lattice. One lies beneath Astrenar's heart. But the others? They're vulnerable. We strike there. Disrupt the flow."
A gruff voice interjected. It belonged to a towering man with skin like weathered stone—Halvar, one of the mystics. "And what of the Flameborn? Our seers speak of them awakening again. We've felt their stirrings beneath the sands."
Elowen exchanged a glance with Kai. "We'll need allies," she said. "Unlikely ones."
Three days later, Elowen and a small group rode south toward the ruins of Soltharyn, an ancient city buried beneath the Dunes—said to be the prison of the Flameborn.
Their journey was marked by strange omens. At one point, the horizon fractured like glass, revealing a brief vision of a shadowy figure standing atop a spire of bone, eyes like molten gold staring back through the veil. The vision shattered as quickly as it appeared, leaving a ringing silence in its wake.
"Whatever we do," Kai said, "we're already being watched."
The sands welcomed them poorly. By the second day, a swirling storm forced them to shelter in a canyon of cracked obsidian, heat radiating from the stone as if the land itself remembered fire.
That night, Elowen dreamt of the past—not her own, but something older. She walked through Soltharyn as it once was: a city of flame and marble, filled with golden-skinned beings whose voices hummed in harmonic resonance. At the heart of the city stood a gate, its frame wrought from a dying star. A key was offered to her in the form of a flame-born child, its eyes reflecting the cosmos.
When she awoke, her pendant burned against her chest.
They found the entrance beneath a crescent dune, half-buried and sealed by rune-etched stone. Innes deciphered the sequence quickly, though her fingers trembled as she did.
"This seal was meant to hold for eternity," she murmured. "It's already weakening."
The gate groaned open, exhaling a plume of ancient heat. They descended.
Soltharyn was not dead—it merely slept. Flames flickered along walls etched with living glyphs. The air hummed with latent magic, thick and syrupy. Elowen could feel the city's pulse in her teeth.
In the center of the temple square, they found the Flameborn.
It stood alone—tall, humanoid, glowing with an inner furnace. Not fully awake, not yet. But aware. It turned to Elowen and spoke without words. Images flooded her mind: the First War, the sealing, the cost.
And then a choice.
A hand extended. Trust, or annihilation.
Elowen stepped forward.
She placed her hand in its own.
Fire engulfed her. Not destructive, but illuminating. Memories poured into her: the making of the world, the truths buried beneath kingdoms and crowns. The Ascendants were not the first to try tearing the veil.
When she came back to herself, the Flameborn was gone. But its fire remained—coiled within her like a second soul.
Innes stared. "What did you do?"
"I made a pact," Elowen said. "We're not fighting the Ascendants alone anymore."
They returned to Kaer Wren changed. The fire within Elowen gave her an edge of command she'd lacked before. Her presence pulled eyes, silenced arguments. Even Veyron held his tongue.
Preparations accelerated. Innes and the mystics began weaving wards along the perimeters of the stronghold. Kai drilled the insurgents, sharpening their ragged edge into something resembling an army.
And then the message came: the second anchor had been moved.
Not destroyed. Relocated—deeper into the veil.
"They're ahead of us," Innes said, voice tight. "They know we're coming."
"Then we go deeper," Elowen replied. "We follow where they don't expect us to."
She stepped to the map and pointed—not to Astrenar, but to the coast, where the ruins of Tyrell's Maw opened into the sea.
"There's a breach point there. One the Ascendants abandoned years ago. We reactivate it, cross the threshold, and hit them from within."
Veyron scoffed. "You're talking about entering the Veiled Realms themselves."
"I'm not talking," Elowen said. "I'm leading. Anyone who can't follow can stay behind."
Silence fell. Then Kai stepped to her side.
"I'm with you."
One by one, the others did too.
And so the decision was made. Not for battle. For war.
Not against a kingdom. But against the very fabric of reality the Ascendants sought to unravel.
The seeds of reckoning had been sown. Now came the fire to burn them into bloom.
As the sun rose over Kaer Wren, casting golden light over battlements and banners, Elowen stood atop the highest tower, the pendant at her throat glowing with restrained fury. The horizon called—not with hope, but with challenge.
The reckoning had begun.
--- End of Chapter 14 ---