Dawn came slowly in the Lanternspire.
Not as golden light spilling over mountains or birdsong greeting a new day, but as a shift in the air—subtle and metallic. The world didn't brighten so much as quiver. The sky, caught in perpetual twilight, revealed slivers of copper among the clouds, as if something beneath the horizon were smoldering.
Kael stirred long before the others.
Sleep had offered no reprieve, only glimpses of flickering light beneath shut lids, the echo of Wren's voice clawing through dreams that weren't entirely his own.
He rose quietly, stepping beyond the circle of sleeping forms. Liora still lay curled in her cloak, her small hand resting beside her cheek, hair splayed across the cold stone like ink spilled from a broken vial. Seran stood further down the ledge, already armored, gaze fixed on the basin's center.
Kael joined him in silence.
"She's changing," Seran said after a time, as though they'd been mid-conversation all along.
Kael didn't answer right away.
When he finally spoke, it was low. "It's not just the Lanternspire. It's the world. I feel it. Like the ground itself is... leaning."
"It is," Seran said simply. "Not many sense it. Fewer still admit it."
Kael glanced sideways. "And you?"
Seran shrugged. "I'm a Dawnward. We don't get the luxury of denial."
Below them, the basin pulsed.
That morning, the humming became clearer—more rhythm than resonance. A kind of subterranean beat, soft but insistent, like a heartbeat beneath layers of earth and time. The deeper they moved into the Spire's core, the more it shaped the air itself.
They traveled in silence, save for Liora's occasional observations—"The stones are singing again," or "Something is waiting, just ahead."
No one asked what she meant. Not anymore.
The air turned dry, and then warm.
Then hot.
By mid-morning, they reached the lip of a yawning fissure, a crack in the crater floor where heat poured upward like breath from some slumbering creature. A narrow bridge of stone arched across it, chipped and scorched, with faint symbols etched along its length—none in any known language.
Seran approached first, hand resting on the hilt of his lance. "This is it," he murmured.
Kael stepped beside him, shielding Liora instinctively. "The Trial?"
Seran nodded. "The Flame of Weight. Everyone who passes into the Lanternspire must face it."
"And what is it?" Kael asked, eyes narrowing.
Seran didn't reply immediately. He stared down into the chasm, where flickers of fire spiraled in unnatural shapes—like birds, or faces, or screaming mouths.
"It's... a memory," Seran said at last. "Not yours. Not mine. But the world's. It burns through you. And what's left… is what was always meant to remain."
Kael scowled. "You brought us here knowing she would face this?"
Seran turned. "It was not my decision. The Spire called her. And it will not let her pass until she answers."
Liora stepped forward.
Kael moved to stop her, but she slipped past his reach—not recklessly, but with quiet certainty.
"I'm ready," she said, her voice distant. "It's been calling since the first night in the valley. I just didn't know the words yet."
Kael looked to Seran.
Seran gave the faintest nod. "She walks it alone."
The bridge swallowed her in moments.
Not physically—it remained there, solid and stone-bound—but something in the air shifted as soon as her feet touched it. The light twisted. Heat shimmered. The colors drained slowly from the sky around her, turning the world into shades of molten gold and ash.
Kael watched helplessly, heart pounding. Every muscle in his body begged to run to her, to snatch her back from that searing path. But Seran's hand on his shoulder kept him rooted.
"She must walk her own fire," Seran whispered.
On the bridge, Liora faltered.
The heat grew, but not in any natural way. This was not the warmth of flame—it was the weight of sorrow, the ache of time pressing in on all sides. Her vision blurred. The world spun.
And then—she was somewhere else.
Not the bridge. Not the Lanternspire.
She stood in a city of burning towers.
The streets were lined with ash. The sky bled rust and violet. All around her, people screamed—not in fear, but in worship. They knelt before a figure wreathed in chains of fire, their faces hidden behind masks of iron and tears.
And at the center of it all stood a girl.
No older than Liora.
But with eyes as old as stars.
She turned—and Liora saw her own face staring back.
Kael watched, trembling.
He could see Liora's body still standing halfway across the bridge, arms spread wide, as though caught in an unseen current. The heat around her rose in a silent crescendo, rippling with golden strands of light that formed runes above her head—runes that moved, as though alive.
"She's being judged," Seran murmured. "Not for what she's done, but for what she might become."
"And if they find her lacking?"
Seran didn't reply.
Kael took a step forward, fury boiling in his veins.
But just then—it broke.
A flash.
Like lightning under the skin of the world.
The runes shattered, dissolving into fireflies of gold. The heat snapped back like a whip. The bridge cracked—but held. And Liora collapsed.
Kael was already moving, leaping onto the stone despite Seran's shout behind him.
He reached her within seconds, scooping her up. Her body was warm, too warm, like she'd walked through a furnace. But she was breathing.
Her eyes fluttered open.
"I saw it," she whispered. "The City of Cinders."
Kael carried her back across the bridge. Seran met them, silent and pale.
"Did she pass?" Kael asked.
Seran looked at Liora with a mixture of reverence and fear. "She was never meant to pass. But the fire bent. That has never happened."
That night, the fire crackled low.
The riders whispered among themselves, throwing uneasy glances toward Liora's resting form. The air had cooled again, but Kael knew something fundamental had changed.
He sat with her, brushing damp hair from her forehead. She stirred and looked up at him.
"Why did the fire show me… myself?" she asked quietly.
Kael didn't know how to answer.
But Liora continued, her voice slow, distant. "It wasn't me. Not really. But it was. I was older. Stronger. People were afraid of me. But they also loved me. I think... I think I burned a city."
Kael froze.
She looked up. "Do you think the fire showed me what I'll become?"
He shook his head slowly. "No. I think it showed you what might happen if you forget who you are."
Liora turned her face into his chest. "Then don't let me forget."
Kael held her tightly, silent for a long time.
Outside their camp, wind stirred the ashes. The Lanternspire no longer hummed.
It waited.