The road twisted upward into the Spine of the World, where the air grew thin and the winds howled with the voices of the dead. Snow clung to the jagged cliffs, and the stars above pulsed red like dying hearts.
Kael stood at the cliff's edge, Ashbreaker strapped to his back, watching the narrow path vanish into the mist.
"Are you sure they still exist?" Seraphine asked, her breath frosting in the cold.
"No," Ezren answered grimly, "but the flame that sealed the Hollowed was not forged by men or gods. It was made by the Ember Sisters—and if even one of them lives, we need her."
Kael nodded. "The visions in the tomb… they weren't just warnings. They were directions."
Three days into the mountains, they reached the Gates of Silence—an ancient stone archway carved into the rock, untouched by time. No writing. No runes. Just silence.
Veyra knelt, brushing her fingers over the stone.
"There's a sigil," she whispered. "Faded… but familiar."
Kael stepped closer. His palm tingled, the flame inside him stirring.
He placed his hand on the stone.
The mountain breathed.
The snow shook loose. The gate cracked down the center, glowing with ember light. The stone folded inward—revealing a hidden corridor that pulsed like the throat of a living beast.
The Sisterhood had not died.
They had retreated.
The inside was warm—not from fire, but memory. The walls glowed with flickering orange veins, like ancient roots burning from within. Murals lined the stone: women wreathed in flame, casting light against monstrous shadows with no name.
Seraphine paused, tracing the artwork. "These flames… they're alive."
Ezren nodded. "The Sisterhood didn't wield fire. They became it."
Suddenly, a voice echoed from the dark:
"Who walks with the Flame of Three?"
They turned to see a woman stepping from the shadows, her robes spun of ash and light. Her hair was white fire. Her eyes… ember-black.
She studied Kael, gaze piercing. "The tomb has opened. The Lock has awakened."
Kael met her stare. "I'm not here to ask for protection. I need knowledge."
The woman gave a faint smile. "Then you've come to the wrong place."
Kael's jaw tightened. "The Hollowed is stirring. Lucen means to break the Veil."
Another voice—older, sharper—spoke from the upper balcony.
"And you think your blood can stop it?"
A second Sister descended, this one cloaked in cinders, her hands seared with old burns. She was older than any of them—perhaps even the war itself.
Kael didn't flinch. "I don't think. I know."
The two Sisters shared a long look.
Then the younger nodded.
"Very well. Let the Trial of Ember begin."
They led Kael alone to a cavern of living flame. A spiral of heat and light encircled a floating obsidian shard—the last remnant of the Prime Flame, the source of all fire before the Veil was created.
The elder Sister, Mhyra, raised her hand.
"To wield the truth, you must endure it. Step into the heart of the ember. Let it burn away your lies."
Kael stepped forward.
The fire rose like a wall—hungry and ancient.
And he walked into it.
It wasn't pain.
It was revelation.
Visions crashed into him—like a river of memories not his own.
He saw the birth of the world: flame and void entwined in love.
He saw the Veil forged—not as a barrier, but a prison—to hold something too powerful, too insatiable.
He saw Valkhar scream as he was bound in chains—not because he was evil, but because he refused to join the betrayal.
And he saw Lucen, not just a prince—but a Key made from twisted soulfire, forged by beings outside the world.
"He was made, not born," whispered the flame.
Kael staggered, eyes wide.
And then came the final truth.
He was not the Lock.
He was the Flame breaker.
The last shard of the original fire—the only being capable of unmaking the Veil… or reforging it.
The ember hissed.
"Choose."
When Kael emerged, the room was silent.
Ashbreaker now pulsed with new runes—gold and crimson. His eyes no longer glowed—they burned.
Seraphine ran to him, steadying his trembling frame.
"What did you see?" she whispered.
Kael's voice was hoarse.
"Lucen was never the true enemy. He's the blade—but not the hand that wields it."
Ezren stared. "Then who?"
Kael looked at them all. The air around him shimmered.
"The gods who built the Veil are still alive. And they want this world back."
Mhyra stepped forward.
"You carry the final fire, Prince. But you are not ready."
Kael looked up, determined. "Then make me ready."
She nodded once, solemn.
"Then we begin."
Far away, Lucen stood before a black mirror.
From it, a voice oozed like molten silver.
"The boy knows."
Lucen closed his eyes. "Let him. It changes nothing."
The mirror pulsed.
"No, Prince. It changes everything."
A thousand eyes opened in the dark.
The gods behind the Veil were waking.
And the world would soon burn anew.