The morning sun crept into the high windows of the Flame Temple, casting golden stripes across cold stone. But no warmth reached me. Not in that moment. Not after what I had seen.
I stood still in the sanctum, motionless, watching the sacred flame dance in its pool of light. Once, it had whispered comfort. Now, it pulsed with an unfamiliar rhythm, like a heartbeat that wasn't mine. Like something buried too long had begun to stir.
The Source.
The spiral.
The truth I'd seen below the temple the night before wouldn't leave me. My dreams had become shards of memory flashes of towers lost in time, figures in robes chanting in forgotten languages, fires burning with no color I could name. Always, I awoke with the taste of smoke and a feeling that the world had subtly shifted while I slept.
Lucian entered my chamber without knocking. He didn't need to. We were past that now.
"They're back," he said.
I turned slowly. "The scouts?"
He nodded. "Only two made it. They never reached the Ashen Caves. Something intercepted them."
"What kind of something?"
"One was burned," he said, his voice tightening. "But not by any flame we've seen. The other's in a trance. Keeps murmuring about shadows that speak and fire that doesn't warm."
My heart clenched. "Then the darkness is spreading faster than we thought."
"And the Council won't wait long before pointing the blame at you again."
I looked back to the sacred flame. "Let them. They deserve the truth. Even if it frightens them."
When I entered the Council chamber, the room quieted at once.
The circular hall still felt the same the mosaic sigil of the Flame at its center, the elders seated like carved statues on their elevated platforms. But the energy had shifted. I could sense it in the air: suspicion, unease, the friction of ideas that no longer fit neatly into their assigned roles.
I didn't wait for them to summon me.
"I found something," I said, my voice carrying through the chamber. "Beneath the temple. Beyond the sealed levels. Past the chamber of the cursed blade."
Vira leaned forward, frowning. "You went below the sanctum?"
"I followed the Flame," I said. "And it led me to the Source."
Gasps rippled.
Saran rose slowly, as if preparing for battle. "The Source is a myth. An allegory. Nothing more."
"No," I replied. "It's real. I saw it. I felt it."
I described the obsidian disc, the spiral, the pulsing glow that came not from fire but from memory. I told them of the echoes, the visions, the feeling of something ancient and sentient reaching out to me.
"You expect us to believe," Saran said, "that you spoke to the origin of fire?"
"No," I said. "I expect you to listen. Because something is awakening beneath us. Something older than Emberreach. Older than the First Flame. And if we keep pretending our flame is the only one, we'll be consumed by the truth we tried to bury."
Vira looked shaken. "What would you have us do?"
"I want permission to descend fully," I said. "To uncover the truth. To face whatever's waiting below, not with fear but with purpose."
Saran sneered. "And what if what waits below is our end?"
I met his gaze evenly. "Then we should meet it with our eyes open."
By dusk, I was ready.
Lira met me at the gates to the sanctum levels, her hair pulled back and her robes stripped of sigils plain and practical.
"You sure about this?" she asked.
"I've never been more uncertain," I replied. "But I'm sure it has to be done."
Lucian joined us last, armed but silent. We descended together.
The deeper we went, the colder it became. The torches burned strangely paler than usual, flickering with blue and white, as if the fire itself was holding its breath.
The spiral corridor wound downward endlessly, lined with glyphs that pulsed as we passed. They seemed to watch us, these old carvings, their symbols twitching with recognition or warning I couldn't tell which.
We passed the chamber with the obsidian disc again. It glowed faintly, responding to my presence, but I pressed on.
Past that was a gate.
Not metal. Not stone.
Light.
A threshold made of pure Flame not our golden fire, but something crystalline and ever-shifting, like starlight frozen in motion. As I stepped through it, a warmth washed over me not burning, but familiar. Like coming home to a house I didn't know I'd once lived in.
Beyond that gate, the path widened. The stone gave way to ancient roots, to metal veins long dead. And finally, to a vast open space a ruined city, encased in stone and time.
Pillars etched with runes stretched into the dark. A massive dome stood cracked in the center, pulsing faintly with light. It was neither warm nor cold. Just... steady. Patient.
"This was once alive," Lira whispered. "A city of the first bearers."
"No," I murmured. "This was before the bearers. Before us."
In the heart of the dome, atop an altar untouched by decay, floated a flame.
Small.
White.
And eternal.
The moment I stepped close, the visions came again. This time stronger. Clearer.
Worlds born in fire. Stars igniting with purpose. Flames passed from hand to hand not as weapons but as gifts. The Source, a seed placed across the cosmos. Ours was but one branch of its ever-burning tree.
Then the voices returned.
You carry the seal, but the Flame is not yours to wield alone.
To know the truth, you must give your own.
I reached into the fire.
It did not burn.
It welcomed.
Memories poured from me my mother's death, my awakening, the cursed blade, Lira's betrayal, the council's judgment, Lucian's unwavering presence, and my desperate need to understand.
The fire drank it all.
And in return
Knowledge.
I saw the First Flame not as a villain, but as a bearer corrupted by knowledge hoarded, not shared. I saw others like me across time names long erased who tried to light the world with what they found. I saw that every time the Flame was kept from the people, a darkness rose to take its place.
And then I saw myself.
Not as a bearer.
Not even as the Seal.
But as a catalyst.
A spark.
I pulled my hand free. In my palm danced a flame unlike any I had ever known spiraling white and gold, infinite and contained. The Hidden Fire.
"Are you all right?" Lucian asked, voice hoarse.
"I am," I said. "But Emberreach won't be not if we keep this buried."
"We have to tell them," Lira whispered. "Everything."
"No," I said, closing my fingers around the flame. "We have to show them."
Above us, the Flame Temple stood serene in the moonlight.
Below, the ancient Source pulsed again.
And in the deepest dark, something stirred—something watching.
Not all were ready for a new fire.
Some would rather see it extinguished before it changed the world.