The Godforge was broken long before Kael was born.
Once, it had been the heart of Ashira's flame — a volcanic sanctum where divine blacksmiths shaped relics from living fire, where chosen warriors were crowned with embersteel and soulbrands. Now, it was a ruin choked in smoke and silence. The mountains here bled ash instead of snow. Lava seeped through cracked stone like old blood.
Kael stared at the path ahead.
"What exactly makes her a witch?" he asked.
Lira didn't look up. "She talks to fire. And sometimes, it talks back."
Marren chuckled dryly behind them. "Once watched her melt a man's heart through his armor. Just for asking her age."
Kael winced.
The wind shifted. The air grew hotter, thicker, laced with sulfur. Even the embers in his chest flickered uneasily.
At the mouth of the forge-canyon stood a black arch, carved with forgotten symbols—some still glowing faintly with divine flame. Beyond it, molten light pulsed like a slow heartbeat. They passed through in silence.
The forge smelled of ash, iron, and old magic.
Then came the voice.
"Three souls. Two dim. One aflame."
Kael froze.
She stepped from the smoke like a shadow walking on coals.
Tall. Ragged. Wrapped in layers of scorched silk and fire-bone. Her skin was blackened from heat, veins glowing ember-red beneath it. Her eyes burned without pupils—just two molten orbs set in a face both ancient and terrible.
"I know that fire."
Kael swallowed. "You're the Cinder Witch?"
"I was once First Flame," she rasped. "Now I am what remains. You are the Ashborn."
He nodded.
"I need to learn."
She stepped closer. The heat around her twisted the air.
"You do not learn the fire. You survive it. If it still wants you when it's done—then perhaps it will let you shape it."
Kael held his ground.
"Then burn me."
Lira muttered, "You're insane."
The witch laughed. It was a horrible, echoing sound.
"Very well. Step forward, little spark. Let the fire remember you."
Kael stepped into the circle of heat.
The world vanished in flame.
He saw visions.
A city made of light and smoke, consumed by fire from within.
A woman with burning wings falling from the sky.
A child born in ash, crying flames.
A god chained beneath the earth, screaming through every volcano.
You are not Ashira's heir.
You are her correction.
Kael screamed as fire filled his veins. It stripped him bare—mind, memory, will. It burned through his name, his face, his fears.
Then something deeper stirred.
Not the fire.
Himself.
And it pushed back.
When Kael opened his eyes, the Cinder Witch knelt beside him, watching.
"You survived."
He coughed smoke. "Barely."
"You've seen it now. The truth behind your flame."
He sat up slowly. "What am I?"
She touched his chest, where the fire still glowed faintly.
"You are not her vessel.
You are her undoing."