Darkness blanketed the collapsed chamber, settling like ancient dust. The air was thick, no longer with threat, but with something older—curious, aware.
Chizzy sat in the center of the scorched circle, eyes closed, her pulse still echoing in her ears. She could feel it now—not the Veil's corruption, not the danger—but a presence, vast and watching. A voice had spoken just before silence fell. Not from the Veil… but from something deeper.
Sera moved beside her, touching her shoulder gently. "Chizzy? Are you all right?"
Chizzy's lips parted, but her voice was a whisper. "Did you hear it?"
"Hear what?"
Chizzy swallowed, her eyes slowly opening. "It wasn't just the sealing. There was something… older. Something beneath the flames."
Sera stiffened slightly. "The Codex warned of echoes that awaken when the Lock of Emberbone is used. But I thought it meant emotional echoes—grief, trauma."
Chizzy shook her head. "No. This was a voice. It said I carry the First Flame—and still walk blind."
Sera blinked, pale. "The First Flame… that's legend. It predates the Keepers. That flame was said to be the breath of the Hollow itself."
Chizzy stood slowly, fire still humming beneath her skin. "What if it's not legend? What if the Ember Stone wasn't just power—it was a key? And what if it awakened more than just memories?"
The walls around them, though cracked and singed, now shimmered faintly with ancient symbols. Runes that hadn't glowed in centuries now pulsed with golden warmth. The sealing spell hadn't just closed the path—it had peeled back a layer of time.
Suddenly, the stone beneath Chizzy's feet cracked.
She leapt back with Sera just in time as a portion of the floor sank downward, revealing a spiral of carved obsidian steps leading further below—steps untouched by decay or dust.
A faint light flickered within.
"We should go," Sera said, hesitation in her voice.
"I think it wants me to," Chizzy whispered.
Against her instincts—but drawn by something undeniable—Chizzy stepped down into the opening. Sera followed, silent but watchful.
The air here was different. Not stale, but ancient. Breathing. The deeper they went, the warmer it became—not oppressive, but comforting. The steps ended in a circular chamber, impossibly wide, its walls marked by a mural that seemed to move like living fire.
At its center stood a solitary flame hovering in mid-air—blue at the edges, golden at the core.
Chizzy approached it slowly. Her own flame flickered within her chest, echoing in rhythm. The voice returned—not aloud, but within her.
"You are not the first. But you may be the last."
"Who are you?" she asked in her mind.
"I am the memory of flame. The first spark gifted to mortal kind. I have burned in many hearts. Few are worthy."
"Why me?"
A moment's pause. Then:
"Because you did not seek me—you answered when I called. You bled for others. You stood when the fire faltered. You are flameborn by spirit, not by name."
Tears welled in Chizzy's eyes. "I don't know what I'm doing."
"You do not need to. You only need to burn true."
As she stood before the floating flame, it flickered once—then entered her.
The chamber burst into light.
Sera shielded her eyes, but did not look away.
When the glow settled, Chizzy stood taller, her eyes golden, her veins humming with light not seen since the Age of Flame. She turned to Sera, her voice calm and powerful.
"I know what we have to do next."
Above them, the Hollow held its breath.