The sky above Viraelon was darkening—yet it wasn't night.
A burnished haze veiled the sun, and the air trembled with unseen power. Ashen stood on the ridge overlooking the Vale of Ruin, his crimson cloak snapping in the dry wind. Below, the land was split—scorched earth and shattered trees stretching out like a wound in the world.
Kael's latest strike had not just left a scar. It had sent a message.
"They said the Vale was sacred," Lyra said quietly, stepping beside him. Her arm was wrapped, and the newly fitted brace where her left hand had once been gleamed with runes. "Now it's hollow. What was he looking for?"
Ashen didn't answer immediately. His eyes were fixed on the cracked altar that had once channeled the Breath of the Ember Veil. It was nothing now—just ash and stone.
"He wasn't looking for anything," Ashen said. "He was showing me how much further he's come."
Lyra's gaze flicked toward him. "And what about you? You saw what he did to the Vale. That kind of power—he shouldn't even be able to touch it. But he's manipulating origin fire like it's his own."
Ashen looked down at his hand. A faint flicker of flame pulsed in his palm—warm, steady, alive. Emberfang was stirring again.
"He's not just using it. He's devouring it," Ashen muttered. "The origin beasts left remnants in these shrines. Kael's found a way to corrupt them. Take their essence, strip them raw."
Lyra's expression darkened. "Then we need to stop him before he finds the others."
Ashen nodded, then turned to her. "I need to go through the Veil. There's no avoiding it now."
Her mouth tightened. "The Ember Veil tests more than your strength. It bends your will. Your past. Are you ready for that?"
"I have to be."
She hesitated. "Then I'm coming with you."
He shook his head. "No. Only one can pass through. That's the rule. You know that."
She stepped closer. "Then let me be there when you come out the other side."
There was a long silence between them—intimate, strained by the uncertainty ahead. Then Ashen reached out and clasped her shoulder gently.
"You already are."
The Ember Veil was not a place. It was a boundary.
At the far edge of the ravaged Vale, a canyon split the land in two. Crimson mist rolled from the chasm like breath from some sleeping titan. At its heart hovered the Ember Gate—two massive stone obelisks etched with runes older than the kingdom itself.
As Ashen approached, the gate pulsed in recognition. Firelight shimmered across his body. The mark of Emberfang on his chest began to glow, and a heat unlike any other coiled beneath his skin.
He stepped forward—and the world folded.
Time bent.
Memory shattered.
And fire engulfed him.
He stood not in flame, but in moments.
The Trial of the Veil did not test one's fire.
It tested the soul.
He was on the mountain again—young, alone, face streaked with ash, his father's sword buried in the snow beside him. The howls of the beasts echoed through the peaks. And again, he watched himself flee. Again, he saw the moment where he failed to protect them.
But this time, he didn't flinch.
"I know what happened," he said to the vision. "I know what I was. What I wasn't."
The wind howled. Snow bit at his skin. His younger self looked up, eyes wild with fear.
"You were weak," the shade said.
"No," Ashen said, stepping forward. "I was unfinished."
The world shattered again.
He found himself at the shrine—Emberfang bound in chains, roaring, eyes alight with primal fury.
"Why did you choose me?" Ashen asked the beast.
The answer came not in words, but in a surge of heat—of rage, of survival, of purpose.
He saw it now. Emberfang hadn't chosen him because he was strong.
The beast had chosen him because he refused to stay broken.
Outside the Veil, Lyra stood with her back to the rising wind. The sky was streaked with burning clouds, and a distant rumble echoed through the canyon.
Then, the obelisks flared.
A wave of heat blasted outward. Trees bent. Stone cracked.
And Ashen stepped from the gate.
But he was changed.
His armor glowed faintly with ember-etched runes. His eyes burned—not just with fire, but with understanding. A thin mantle of flame hovered around his form like a second skin.
Lyra breathed out slowly. "You passed."
Ashen nodded once. "And I know where we go next."
Meanwhile, deep beneath the shattered Vale, Kael stood within a vault of obsidian. The corruption crystal in his hand pulsed in sync with the beating of his heart.
Behind him, the remains of a lesser beast—slain, consumed—melted into the runes drawn on the floor.
"Another spark taken," he whispered. "Another breath devoured."
He turned to the projection hovering in the air—a shadowed figure cloaked in red and smoke.
"He's getting stronger," Kael said. "The Veil didn't kill him."
The figure's voice was like glass cracking in flame. "Then you'll have to break him."
Kael smirked. "Gladly."
He stepped forward, and for a brief second, the illusion around him flickered—revealing not just Kael the rival, but something darker underneath.
Something older.
Something no longer fully human.
That night, Ashen and Lyra camped beneath the shattered stars.
He sat by the fire, slowly rotating a cracked origin crystal in his hand. Its light pulsed with Emberfang's signature—but it was dimming.
Lyra joined him, sitting close. Her shoulder brushed his, and neither of them pulled away.
"What did the Veil show you?" she asked softly.
He stared at the flame. "Everything I tried to bury."
She nodded slowly. "And?"
He turned to look at her. "I didn't run this time."
Their eyes met—quiet, fierce, steady.
"You're not alone in this fight," she said.
"I know."
She rested her head against his shoulder.
Above them, a single ember drifted skyward, carried by a wind that whispered of war.