The Emberwoods weren't a place—they were a memory made solid.
Twisted trees with trunks like blackened bone. Leaves that shimmered red and gold even in moonlight. Shadows that whispered names long buried.
Seraphine stood at the treeline, shivering. "This place… it's alive."
Veyra nodded grimly. "It's not just alive. It's aware."
Kael remained silent.
Because the deeper they walked, the more the woods whispered his name.
"Kael."
"Ash-blood."
"Heir of Broken Flame."
According to the old scroll Lilwen had found in the Temple of the First Flame, the last Ember Witch lived in the heartwood, a hidden glade protected by time, blood, and fire. She was said to be older than any kingdom. A guide. A seer. A wielder of Veilfire—magic born not from flame, but from the space between life and death.
They needed her.
Because if Kael's bond with Seraphine was weakening the Veil, only the Ember Witch could teach him to control it—before it tore open completely.
But the woods did not give paths freely.
As the group moved deeper, the trees thickened. Daylight vanished. And with it, direction.
Ezren frowned. "We've been walking in circles. Look—same sigil on that stone."
Seraphine touched it. "This moss wasn't here before."
Lilwen's eyes widened. "I think it's… testing us."
Kael exhaled. "Then let's be tested."
That night, the woods played their first game.
Dreams.
Kael dreamt of a boy—small, dark-haired, running through halls of fire and stone. Not yet the demon prince. Just Kael.
His mother's voice echoed, singing an old lullaby in the tongue of wolves.
But then the song shifted.
Turned sharp.
Bitter.
"You are not one of them," she whispered.
Suddenly the boy was alone—surrounded by his stepfather's laughter, his siblings' scorn, his own screams buried in stone.
Then a door appeared.
Of bone. Of flame.
From behind it came a voice not his own.
"Let me out, Kael. You are the key. You always were."
He woke with a gasp.
And found Veyra gone.
The woods were not kind to searchers.
Every step they took seemed to lead them deeper—and farther from each other.
Kael ran through the mist, calling Veyra's name, Seraphine close behind.
Then the trees moved.
Not subtly. Not metaphorically.
They turned.
And the path split.
Kael and Seraphine were forced one way.
Ezren and Lilwen another.
And through it all, a low chant began to rise from the branches:
"Flame that unbinds… blood that awakens… truth that burns."
At the heart of the twisting path, Kael and Seraphine found a clearing lit by an unnatural glow.
A woman stood there, barefoot on ash, with eyes like dying suns.
Hair like smoke. Skin like ember-cracked bark.
The Ember Witch.
"I have waited for you," she said without turning. "Heir of Thorn. Starborn flame. Unmaker of the Veil."
Kael stepped forward, wary. "Then you know why I've come."
She turned. Her gaze made his heart stop.
"I know what you are. But do you?"
Seraphine reached for Kael's hand. "He's not here to destroy."
The Ember Witch's smile was sad.
"Then he must learn to choose. Because you cannot mend the Veil… without understanding why it was torn."
She raised her hand.
The flames around her shifted—into visions.
Kael saw a great war, eons ago.
Demons and humans fought side by side… against something worse—things made of silence, unshaped things that fed on light and flame.
To seal them away, the first demons tore the world's skin and created the Veil. A boundary. A prison.
But every prison has a key.
Kael saw his own face—not his current one, but older, different, ancient—carving a rune into a blade.
Zerakh's Fang.
It was his hand.
He had made it.
The blade that could unmake the seal.
The Ember Witch whispered, "You are not just heir to Velkaris. You are heir to the original fire."
When the vision ended, Kael staggered.
Seraphine held him up.
"You created the Veil," she said softly. "In another life."
"Or I was the weapon they used to do it."
The Ember Witch nodded.
"The traitor seeks to break the Veil not for power, but to release what lies beyond."
Kael's voice was hoarse. "The ancient hunger."
"The Hollowed Ones," the Witch confirmed. "If the Veil falls, they return. And no kingdom—human or demon—will survive."
"But," the Witch said, "there is still hope."
She stepped closer, pressing a glowing ember into Kael's palm.
It didn't burn—it calmed.
"This is Veilfire. Neither flame nor light. Only those who have touched both life and death may wield it."
Kael felt it sink into his skin.
Seraphine touched his arm. "What now?"
The Witch looked between them.
"You must find the Three Flames of Origin. One lies beneath the Cradle Sea. Another in the lost city of Nhaar'Ven. And the last… is buried where you were born."
Kael froze.
"But I was born in Velkaris."
The Witch shook her head.
"You were born in Vael'Ruun. The demon city that vanished in fire. Your true home."
As the Witch's words settled like thunder, Kael suddenly sensed danger—a ripple through the Veil.
Ezren's voice echoed through the woods:
"KAEL!"
They ran.
Burst into the clearing to find Ezren and Lilwen backed against a tree—Veyra standing before them, dagger in hand, eyes wild, a strange sigil glowing on her neck.
"Veyra?" Kael called out.
But she didn't answer.
The sigil flared—and her voice changed.
Twisted.
Other.
"You were never meant to live, Kael. But we let you, so you could bring us back."
Seraphine gasped. "She's possessed."
Veyra lunged.
And the woods themselves screamed.