The winds were colder now.
Even with the sun rising over the charred remains of Hollowspire, a strange chill hung in the air—a weight, like the world itself was holding its breath.
Kael Stormbond adjusted the straps on Cinder's saddle as Finnel packed up the last of their gear. Lira stood near the edge of the leyline scar, arms crossed, eyes distant.
Their destination was clear: The Emberpath—one of the old dragon roads that led to the Vaults of the First Flame.
But something darker traveled with them now.
Not fear.Not even grief.But purpose.
The Emberpath
It was said that the Emberpath was once carved by a dragon so large its claws split the earth like paper. The road shimmered faintly under the morning light—lines of ancient runes etched into stone, half-buried by ash and time.
Kael ran a hand along one.
"These are warnings," Cinder said in his mind. "From before your time. From when dragons ruled unbound."
Finnel knelt beside one glyph. "This one means 'sacrifice'…"
Kael glanced at Lira. "Still think we're ready for this?"
Lira's eyes sparked faintly. "No. But I'm not letting Raven reach the Vaults first."
They rode out—three riders, three dragons, a world on the brink behind them.
The Ghost Village
By dusk, they reached a place not marked on any map.
A ruined village, swallowed by silence.
Burnt trees. Houses collapsed inwards, as if crushed by some terrible force. But there were no bodies—just… shadows burned into the walls. As if the people vanished mid-scream.
Cinder growled. "This is not natural."
Kael dismounted. He could feel it too—like a heartbeat under the soil. Old fire. Twisted.
Inside the village square stood a single unburnt house. Its door creaked open on its own.
"Finnel," Kael said, "stay outside. Guard the dragons."
Finnel nodded, though fear flickered in his eyes.
Kael and Lira stepped inside.
The Memory Flame
Inside, everything was perfectly preserved—chairs, food on the table, even clothes hung to dry. But the air was still. Too still.
Then Kael saw it—a flame hovering in mid-air, no source, no heat. It pulsed softly.
"A memory flame," Lira whispered. "Old magic. From before the Shattering. It records… events."
The flame flickered—and then, in a ghostly shimmer, a scene played before them.
Villagers screaming. A storm of ash-black wings descending. A boy, no older than Finnel, hiding under a table as a masked figure stepped through the flames—dragging a chained dragon behind him.
Kael clenched his fists.
"That's Raven."
Lira nodded grimly. "Or what he became."
The illusion faded. The flame pulsed once—and vanished.
The Burnt Message
As they turned to leave, Kael noticed something carved on the wall—hidden beneath soot.
He scraped it clear. Four words:
"THE FIRST VAULT WAKES."
A pulse of heat rushed through Kael's rune, and through Cinder, who howled outside in warning.
Finnel burst in. "Something's coming!"
Final Scene – The Ashhound Pack
Out of the black forest charged a pack of Ashhounds—twisted beasts made of ember bones and smoke, eyes burning with hollow fire. Dozens of them.
Cinder and Thalorin leapt forward.
Kael unsheathed his blade, rune glowing hot beneath his armor.
"Protect the flame!" he shouted.
As fire met shadow, Kael knew: this was no longer a hunt.
This was a war.