The staircase spiraled downward like the spine of a dead god tight, narrow, and wrapped in heat.
Elira descended first, her palm resting against the wall. It was warm to the touch, almost breathing. She cast a light from her fingertips—soft and blue to guide them.
Behind her, Kael followed in silence, jaw clenched against pain and memory.
He knew these halls. And he hated them.
The deeper they went, the hotter the air became, until sweat slicked their skin and the flames of ancient torches flickered to life on their own—as if responding to Kael's presence.
"How far down does this go?" Elira whispered.
"Far enough that the gods forgot it existed," Kael replied.
Eventually, the tunnel opened into a vast chamber.
They stepped out onto stone carved with sigils that shimmered gold and red. In the center of the room stood a raised dais—and upon it, the Ember Throne.
It was no throne of comfort.
It was jagged, blackened iron, forged with bones and embers, pulsing faintly with life.
Elira approached slowly.
The moment her foot touched the dais, the sigils flared and something ancient stirred.
A voice echoed through the chamber, neither male nor female, neither young nor old.
"Two who should not burn together… yet do."
Kael grabbed Elira's arm. "It's starting."
"The Pact has been broken. The price must be paid."
Elira's knees buckled as pain sliced through her chest hot and real.
Kael grunted, clutching his side. The bond between them lit up like fire threading through veins.
Then came the whisper, directly into Elira's mind:
"Choose. Flame… or flesh."
And in that moment, she saw it Visions of Kael burning from the inside out… and herself beside him, flames rising.
Unless she chose.
Unless she gave something up.
But what?
Elira gasped, the weight of the voice in her skull pressing against her bones like a second spine.
Kael staggered beside her, sweat pouring down his face, flames crawling beneath his skin.
"Elira don't listen to it," he rasped.
But the voice was inside her now, pulling memories to the surface.
Kael's eyes the night he kissed her.
His hand against her thigh beneath the stars.
The way he whispered her name like it was the only word he'd ever learned.
"You carry his flame," the voice whispered. "But what burns cannot last. Choose: sever the bond, or be consumed by it."
Her breath caught.
"What does that mean?"
"One must surrender. One must kneel to the throne."
Kael stepped between her and the Ember Throne. His sword was sheathed now. There was no fight left in his limbs—only choice.
"I'll do it," he said. "I'll kneel. I'll burn for you."
Elira shook her head fiercely. "You're hurt. You don't even know what it wants."
"It wants a sacrifice. That's what these places always want."
"He is right," the voice said, almost kindly. "But not all sacrifices end in death. Some… end in revelation."
The Throne pulsed brighter.
Kael looked at Elira, fire in his eyes, pain on his lips.
"If one of us doesn't give in, we both die."
Elira stared at the throne, the vision of the fire swirling in her mind.
"No," she whispered. "There's a third path. There always is".
She stepped forward.
"No more rules made by ghosts," she said aloud. "If this throne wants a soul then it takes mine only if it asks. We didn't ask for this bond. But we carry it."
Kael reached out and took her hand. Their fingers intertwined and together, they stood before the Ember Throne.
The flames surged.
Then Silence.And the Throne… breathed.