The final path to Firestone Peak was steep and narrow.
Loose gravel slid under Ashen's boots as he climbed behind Ravel, the mountain winds tugging at their cloaks. Each step felt heavier, as if the mountain itself was trying to keep them out. The peak loomed high above them, crowned by black storm clouds that never moved.
They finally reached a wide, flat ledge. At its center sat a stone archway half-buried in rubble.
Ashen stared. "That's it?"
Ravel nodded. "The entrance to the Firestone Ruins. No one's stepped inside for a century."
Ashen approached the arch. Strange runes were carved into the stone—some still glowing faintly, others cracked and broken.
"Do you feel that?" Ashen whispered.
His flame stirred in his chest again, this time with something different—recognition.
As if it knew this place.
Without waiting, Ashen stepped forward and passed through the arch.
---
The inside was silent.
The ruins stretched deep underground. The walls were scorched black, the ceilings supported by twisted columns of stone and melted iron. The air smelled of old smoke, like a fire long dead but never forgotten.
Ashen lit his palm again, casting golden light forward.
The hallway split into three paths. Ravel hesitated. "These ruins were once a forge-temple. A place where divine flame was shaped, studied… worshipped."
Ashen chose the middle path. "Then let's see what they were worshipping."
They walked deeper.
Along the walls, Ashen saw murals. Faded but still visible.
They showed a man wreathed in flame, standing against monsters of shadow. Villages burning. Armies kneeling. Then the final mural—one of the flame consuming the man himself.
Ravel looked away. "The First Flamebearer."
"The one from my dream," Ashen said.
---
They reached a vast chamber at the end of the hall.
A circular room, lined with black stone and glowing crystals. In the center stood a massive brazier, cold and empty, surrounded by stone steps.
Ashen stepped toward it, and the crystals flared to life.
The chamber lit up, and the brazier burst into golden flame without warning.
Ashen staggered back—but the flame didn't burn him.
Instead, it reached for him.
A tendril of fire curled out and touched his chest, where the Forgotten Flame lived. The two connected—and a rush of images exploded into Ashen's mind.
He saw the First.
Saw him binding the divine flame to his soul, becoming stronger than any mortal.
Saw the war he tried to stop… and how he failed.
How the fire consumed his enemies—and then his allies—and then himself.
> "The flame gives you power… but it always demands a price."
Ashen fell to his knees, gasping. The vision ended.
He looked up—and noticed a small pedestal behind the brazier. Upon it sat a gauntlet made of dark steel and golden veins, humming with energy.
"A gift," Ravel murmured. "From the First."
Ashen approached, hesitated, and placed his hand inside.
The gauntlet latched on instantly, reshaping itself to fit him.
Golden lines pulsed along the surface, and Ashen felt his flame stabilize, calm, focus.
His heart beat harder. Not from fear—from understanding.
He was no longer just a vessel.
He was becoming a bearer.
---
Suddenly, a rumble echoed through the chamber.
Stone cracked. The walls groaned.
And then, from the shadows above, something moved.
A creature dropped into the chamber—its body twisted and charred, its eyes glowing with forgotten rage. It screeched, and the brazier's flame flared in response.
Ravel drew his sword. "One of the Burned. Left behind from the Flame War."
Ashen's hand tightened in the gauntlet.
His flame rose.
Not wild.
Not blind.
Controlled.
He stepped forward.
"Let's see what this new fire can do."