---
The wind howled down the pass like a beast searching for its prey.
Riven stood at the edge of a forest cliff, watching storm clouds gather over the horizon. Behind him, Kael tried to catch his breath, still shaken from the revelations in the ruin. They had camped for just a few hours at dawn, but rest was shallow and dreams had been worse.
"Two days from Duskridge," Kael muttered. "And I still feel like something's following us."
"Because something is," Riven replied calmly, scanning the treetops. "They're here."
Kael froze. "The Order?"
"No. Not the average hunters."
Riven turned slowly.
"These are the Crimson Trackers."
---
Far away, in the shadow of a ridge, five figures moved soundlessly through the trees.
Each wore crimson half-masks over their mouths, and cloaks the color of drying blood. They carried no torches, spoke no words. Even the snow didn't crunch beneath their boots. They were ghosts in flesh.
At their head walked a tall man with gray hair pulled into a braid, a scar cutting down his right brow, and a blade shaped like a crescent moon across his back.
He knelt briefly, placing a gloved hand over a faint scorch mark on the earth.
"It's him," he whispered. "He passed here less than three hours ago."
Another voice replied behind him—female, sharp, precise.
"He grows stronger each day. The Hollow Flame is waking."
"Good," the man said. "Then we don't kill him yet."
The woman raised an eyebrow. "Orders?"
"Retrieve him," he said. "Or cut out the memories before they spread."
He looked up toward the cliff where Riven stood.
And smiled.
---
Riven didn't move for a long time.
The wind shifted slightly—carrying the faint scent of iron.
"I remember one of them," he said softly.
"You mean—?" Kael stepped closer.
"They were my father's shadows," Riven said. "Royal operatives. Elite. Back then, they served the throne."
> "And now," Veyron murmured, "they serve the cult that killed it. Poetic."
A faint pulse ran through the pendant at his neck.
"Kael," Riven said without turning. "You need to run."
Kael blinked. "What?"
"You're not ready for this fight. They won't care if you yield."
"But—"
"Go."
Riven's voice turned colder than steel.
Kael hesitated… then vanished into the trees.
---
It didn't take long.
The moment Kael disappeared, the first tracker stepped from the shadows behind the trees — a tall woman with black braid loops around her neck like a choker. Her eyes were emotionless, and her right hand crackled with dark blue lightning.
"Riven Caelthorn," she said flatly. "Ashborn heir. Classified threat level: Ember Sovereign."
"You flatter me."
The other four stepped out behind her.
All masked. All silent.
Riven counted their movements, the way they stood, where their hands rested on their weapons.
The man in the middle removed his half-mask.
Riven's eyes narrowed.
"You."
"Hello, prince," the man said. "It's been a long time."
"Captain Theron."
The man bowed mockingly. "Former captain. I prefer Executor now."
"You led my father's shadow guard."
"And you led us to ruin," Theron said, smile fading. "But don't worry. I won't hold it against you if you come quietly."
> "He lies," Veyron growled. "He killed your father's most loyal guard that night. I remember the scream."
Riven didn't move.
"I'm not going anywhere with you."
Theron sighed. "Shame."
He raised a finger.
The woman beside him vanished in a blink—reappearing midair behind Riven.
Teleportation sigil.
Riven spun, parried the dagger strike, and sent a flame burst from his boot that launched him backward.
The fight began.
---
Riven dodged the next strike by inches, ducking beneath a throwing spear wreathed in shadow. The moment it passed him, he twisted his wrist, igniting his blade with golden flame — not wild fire, but shaped, focused.
A technique was forming in him.
New.
Refined.
He charged the nearest tracker — a short figure dual-wielding claw blades. Sparks flew as metal met flame. The tracker moved with eerie grace, but Riven was faster. He parried, stepped inward, slammed his shoulder into the attacker's chest, and sent him flying into a tree with a burst of kinetic fire.
Two down.
But Theron hadn't moved yet.
"Still playing with the pawns?" Riven called.
Theron chuckled. "I'm waiting for you to get serious."
Another tracker circled to Riven's right — the woman with the lightning.
She clapped her hands together.
A crackling wall of net-shaped current surged toward him.
Riven rolled beneath it, then pointed a palm at the snow.
Infernal Bind.
A stream of fire erupted upward into a spiral, encircling her and sealing her movements. It wouldn't hold long — but it was enough.
> "Not bad," Veyron noted. "You're shaping techniques from instinct now. Let it flow."
Riven turned toward Theron.
"I remember you killed my uncle," he said.
Theron shrugged. "He tried to hide you. Sloppy work."
"Then this is overdue."
Riven charged.
---
Their blades met in a storm of sparks and magic.
Theron's crescent-blade weapon was heavier but curved elegantly — made for parrying and disarming. He used half-moon arcs to redirect Riven's strikes, forcing Riven to rely on speed.
But Riven was no longer the boy he once was.
> "Flame is more than fire," Veyron whispered. "It's motion. Emotion. Memory. Use it."
Riven stepped back, closed his eyes for a heartbeat — and let the Hollow Flame rise.
Golden-orange light licked around his body, dancing along his arms and blade.
Theron blinked. "You've started remembering."
"I've started remembering what you took from me."
He vanished.
A burst of golden flame shot forward — Riven reappeared behind Theron in an instant, blade whistling through the air.
Theron barely raised his weapon in time, but the impact knocked him back three meters. He slammed into a tree, coughing blood.
"You little—"
Riven didn't stop. He advanced again, chaining strikes with growing speed. Every swing carved embers into the air. Sparks showered like fireflies. The Hollow Flame wasn't just burning—it was singing.
Theron shouted something — a glyph flared beneath his feet.
A black sphere of compressed void energy blasted outward, forcing Riven back. His boots slid across the dirt, smoke trailing behind.
"You're getting dangerous," Theron muttered. "We can't let you live much longer."
He raised two fingers to his throat, whispered a command:
"Red Protocol. Activate the Sealborn."
Riven froze.
Sealborn?
> "He's calling something old," Veyron warned. "Something they kept hidden in the mountains."
A hum filled the air.
From the trees, something stirred.
Not a man.
Not a tracker.
But a creature—twice as tall as Riven, pale gray skin wrapped in sigil-marked bandages. It had no mouth, only a sealed iron mask, and its hands were too large to be human.
Chains dangled from its back, each one burned with glyphs of suppression.
Theron stepped back.
"Let the Sealborn test him."
---
The creature moved with horrifying speed.
It was on Riven in seconds.
One fist came down — Riven barely rolled aside. The impact left a crater in the earth.
The air turned dense. Like gravity had thickened.
Riven swung upward — his flame slash scorched the creature's shoulder. The bandages sizzled.
But it didn't scream.
It didn't even bleed.
The creature's chest glowed — a glyph surged — and a shockwave of silent force blasted outward.
Riven hit a tree. Hard.
The air left his lungs.
> "This thing is a magic suppressor," Veyron said. "It was built to consume spellcasters. You have to end it fast."
Riven's blade trembled.
The Hollow Flame sparked.
He rose slowly.
Then—
> "Use the new technique. The one tied to memory. Let me show you."
Riven closed his eyes.
Flames gathered along his arm. Not wild. Not pure. But shaped by grief.
He whispered:
"Ashbrand: Echo Fang."
The fire curved into the shape of a long, serrated blade, glowing with golden-orange light and flickering with afterimages.
He lunged forward.
The world slowed.
He slashed once—
—twice—
—and on the third strike, the flame echoed, replaying the cuts again like aftershocks.
The Sealborn staggered. Its mask cracked. Its body split open, glowing from within—
And then it collapsed.
Smoke and ash scattered in the air.
Theron took a step back, stunned.
"You've already begun learning Ashbrand forms…"
Riven lowered his arm, still glowing faintly.
"You should run," he said quietly. "Before I remember more."
Theron didn't reply.
He just disappeared into the trees.
The Crimson Trackers followed, retreating into the mist.
---
Kael emerged moments later, wide-eyed. "What was that thing?"
"A weapon," Riven said. "Designed to erase people like me."
"You beat it."
"No," Riven replied. "I remembered how."
And deep within him, the Hollow Flame pulsed with quiet hunger.
It wanted more.
---