The wind howled over the plains of Varn, carrying soot and the scent of broken stone.
Kairo stood alone on the ridge, the distant towers of Red Hollow flickering behind him. Below, the Ember March prepared to move—flamebearers tending gear, whispering mantras, and marking armor with new symbols: the Phoenix Sigil, Kairo's crest.
But none of it mattered right now.
Because the flame was calling him.
And it wasn't from ahead.
It was behind.
He followed it through the dust, walking away from the army, away from the war. No one tried to stop him. They felt it too—whatever was stirring beyond the ridge was for him alone.
By dusk, he reached the remains of a village swallowed by time.
Ash-choked wells. Cracked stone huts. No life. No color.
Only silence.
Until he reached the old temple at its heart.
And the past caught up.
Inside the crumbling shrine, the air was thick with memory.
The walls still bore the carvings of the First Flame—scorched, faded, but familiar. Symbols Kairo hadn't realized he remembered danced before his eyes, flaring softly as he passed.
He reached the altar.
And the fire lit itself.
A woman's voice rose from the flame.
> "You were born here, Kairo."
He turned.
She stood at the edge of the light—barefoot, robed in ember silk, her hair braided with burning threads. Her eyes were endless.
Not human.
Not ghost.
> "Who are you?" he asked, though his heart already knew.
> "I am Flamekeeper Alenya. Last Seer of the Temple. And your mother."
Kairo's breath caught.
She stepped forward, and the fire didn't burn her—it welcomed her, wrapping around her like a child's arms.
"I saw what you'd become before you were born. I gave my life to hide you from the Ash King."
Kairo swallowed. "You died."
"I was taken. Consumed by the Flamewell to protect the last spark of the Flameborn line. I remained here, between life and ember, waiting for the Pyre to awaken."
Kairo stepped closer. "Why show yourself now?"
"Because the path ahead will burn more than flesh. It will test truth."
The flames around them dimmed.
In their place rose visions.
Kairo saw the Ash King—once a man named Voran—stand before a council of Flameborn elders, pleading for unity. Rejected. Mocked. He watched as Voran's grief festered into fury, as he delved into forbidden fire, crafting the Reavers and hollowing himself to survive.
He had not always been a tyrant.
He had been a believer.
The vision shifted.
Kairo saw himself in a future that had not yet come—standing in the Ash King's throne room, sword in one hand, the fate of the flame in the other. But something was wrong.
His eyes... were dark.
The same darkness he saw in Rael, in the Reavers.
"Is that what happens?" he whispered.
His mother's image softened. "Not if you remember who you are."
"I'm no king."
"No. You're something older. Something stronger. You're choice."
The flame surged once more.
A spark leapt from the altar—white-hot, pure—and settled in Kairo's chest.
His vision cleared.
He stood alone in the ruins, but the fire still burned, brighter than before.
A voice echoed within him—not loud, but clear.
> "You carry all of us now."
When Kairo returned to the army camp, the Ember March fell silent.
He was different.
Not taller. Not louder. But centered.
A walking flame.
Virella narrowed her eyes. "You went to the past, didn't you?"
Kairo nodded. "And now I know the truth."
Rael stood. "Then what comes next?"
Kairo looked toward the north.
> "We stop becoming the Ash King."
> "And we unmake him instead."