The desert sun scorched the road like a branding iron, each step of the mule stirring ribbons of heat that danced in the air. Between the jagged silhouettes of the Ember Plains' southern rocks and the horizon's hazy glare, Kieran Vale felt his motley grow heavy against his skin—yet every fiber of him hummed with anticipation.
Chapter 4: Through the Ember Pass
Mariselle rode ahead, cloak whipping behind her like a dark banner. By her side, Eira Wynn kept the leather rolls of her scrolls balanced against the mule's flank. Kieran, perched atop Nimbus, flipped his staff like a drumstick—testing its weight, tuning his nerves.
They'd been riding since dawn, following the narrow path known as the Ember Pass: a treacherous cut through blackened sandstone cliffs where the wind sang mournful arias and stray embers hissed from the rocks. Cult scouts patrolled ahead, and Mariselle insisted on stealth.
"We must avoid the Ritual Watch," she said in a whisper that carried farther than intended. "They scour the pass by midday."
Eira glanced up. "Do we have an alternate route?"
Mariselle shook her head. "Only this. But there's a dry creek bed—angled just beyond that ridge." She pointed to a low rise shimmering with heat mirages. "We'll skirt the Watch if we move quietly."
Kieran's grin was bone-dry. "Quiet—me?" He drummed his staff against the mule's flank. "I'm a one-man thunderclap."
Eira offered him a wry smile. "You'll manage."
He shrugged. "If I trip, at least it'll be dramatic."
They dismounted where Mariselle indicated, leading their mounts into a shallow gully hidden by overhanging boulders. The ground crunched underfoot—sand mixed with centuries of ash. Heat rose from the stones like invisible steam. Kieran unhooked a small satchel and produced a handful of cooling sigil-crystals.
"Here," he said, pressing one to Eira's brow. "Keeps the scorch off."
She accepted it, laying it against her skin. Relief washed across her features. "Thank you."
He offered one to Mariselle, but she declined, eyes flicking to the distant form of a patrolling rider. "We move."
The three pressed forward, each footstep muffled by dust. Ahead, two figures on horseback paused at a split in the path—sun-blackened gauntlets brushing long lances. Their cloaks bore the Black Star emblem: a blood-red star rising over a black eclipse.
Eira's hand found Kieran's arm. He swallowed. "On three?"
She nodded.
"One…" Kieran breathed.
"…Two…" Eira met his gaze.
"—Three!"
Kieran cocked his staff like a spear and lunged. Illusory fireworks burst at the guards' horses—brilliant sparks that blinded and panicked the mounts. One guard tumbled as his horse bolted; the other shrieked and snatched at his eyes.
Mariselle sprang forward, hidden dagger flashing. Eira called an incantation under her breath, weaving a ward that snapped like iron bands around the second guard's limbs.
Within heartbeats, both cultists lay unconscious, their horses stamped and whinnying in fear.
Kieran brushed ash from his sleeve. "And that, dear friends, is my silent approach."
Eira let out a nervous laugh. "Silent indeed."
Mariselle remounted, offering reins to Nimbus. "Well done." She poured water into their cupped hands, each drop a blessing. "We must hurry. The Watch will discover them soon."
The gully opened into a broad plain of orange-hued dunes. In the distance, the Temple of Ash rose from a field of black rock like a bleeding wound: twin pillars of obsidian arching over a spire of cracked bronze. Flames flickered atop the pillars—even at this distance—snaking upward as if they were alive.
Eira swallowed. "It's more… monstrous than I imagined."
Kieran squinted at the temple. "Like a forge for the apocalypse." He smirked. "I hope they have popcorn."
Mariselle's jaw tightened. "Inside, the Emberheart awaits. Cultists feed it sacrifices to stoke its power. We only have until midnight."
A distant horn blared—the watch's alarm. Sand exploded around them as cult riders thundered from the temple gate, lances leveled.
Kieran vaulted onto Nimbus, staff in hand. "Time for an encore!"
They charged the crest of a dune together. Kieran unleashed laughter-wards—bright, rolling waves of mirth that knocked riders from saddles like rag dolls. Eira advanced with scripted sigils, binding colt-stirrups to cobblestones of wind. Mariselle darted between foes, twin daggers rending armor, soft-hilt bone-shivs piercing flesh.
The crusade of the Black Star faltered as laughter and firelight danced across the sands. Kieran's ragged cackle echoed: half joke, half war-cry. He spun his staff, sending a shard of amplified sound that shattered lances.
Eira raised her voice, chanting the Archive's interdiction. Lines of silver script ignited beneath the temple's flames, redirecting fire into the sky like a comet.
In the chaos, Mariselle seized a fallen banner—its black-star silk slick with sweat—and ripped it to ribbons. "For Emberfall!" she shouted.
The cultists, blinded and enraged, turned inward—panicking. Kieran vaulted off Nimbus, landing on a rock. He plunged his staff into the sand and summoned a pulse of laughter so potent the earth itself rumbled. Cultists staggered, then collapsed in fits of unstoppable mirth.
Eira disarmed the last two survivors with a whisper and a flick of parchment. "We must press on."
Under a blood-red sky, they crested the ridge beside the temple's outer walls. Flames licked the brittle stones, and ash drifted like snow. Several hulking figures in iron masks roamed the courtyard—wolfish brutes whose howls rattled glass.
Mariselle pointed to a side door guarded by a single sentinel: a pale youth whose eyes burned with the temple's glow. "He's the Emberheart's sentinel—never sleeps."
Kieran narrowed his eyes. "Sentinel, huh? Good thing I have insomnia."
He stepped forward, staff held like a conductor's baton. The youth snarled, lance raised. Kieran clicked his tongue and snapped the sigil-crystal around his neck. A gust of cool wind rushed in, quelling the fire around them for a heartbeat.
The sentinel hesitated—its ember-eyes flicked. Kieran did a somersault, landing behind it. He tapped its helmet with the staff. "Hello, friend."
The sentinel spun, lance crashing against the staff, sparks flying. Kieran danced backward, laughter swirling as wards crackled beneath the youth's boots.
Eira circled around, her scroll held high. She drew a glowing rune in midair—Ruptura Vinculum: Breaking Bonds. The sentinel's armor rivets loosened; its metal fell apart like brittle clay.
Mariselle darted in, blade pressed to the youth's throat. He froze, eyes wide.
"We don't want to kill you," she said quietly. "We only want the Emberheart."
The sentinel's lance clattered to the ground as tears of soot slid down its cheeks. "I serve... duty."
Kieran sheathed his dagger and stepped closer. "Then serve something better: mercy." He held out a flask of water. "Drink."
The youth drank, and the last embers in his eyes extinguished. He fell to his knees, shaking.
Mariselle dropped to one knee beside him. "May your mind find peace."
Eira set a cooling hand on the youth's shoulder. "You are free now."
The side door groaned open on rusted hinges. Inside, the main hall blazed with pyroclastic light—rivers of molten glass lining the walls, orange fires dancing in basins. At the far end, a dais held a pedestal: upon it, a chunk of coal pulsing with inner life, veins of star-metal glowing like embers in a newborn star.
Mariselle swallowed. "That is the Emberheart."
Kieran's gaze locked on the living coal. The air around him crackled—his heart pounding in unison with the Emberheart's pulse. He could feel its warmth reaching into his bones, whispering promises of power.
Embrace me, it seemed to call. Together we burn the world anew.
He shook his head. "Not today."
Eira stepped forward, chanting words of unbinding. Silver ribbons of magic rose from her scrolls, wrapping the Emberheart in chains of moonlight. It hissed and glowed brighter—its heat searing the runes into the floor.
Kieran planted his staff beside the pedestal and glanced at Mariselle. "Ready?"
She nodded, drawing her dagger. "Three… two… one."
They struck in unison: Eira's chains snared, Mariselle's blade pierced the coal's shell, and Kieran's laughter-ward crashed through the hall like a tidal wave.
The Emberheart shattered, shards of living coal scattering. The molten rivers recoiled, flames extinguishing in protest. The temple trembled.
A distant roar answered—a wolf's howl from above. Through cracks in the ceiling, ash rained down like mourning petals.
Eira's ward snapped shut, dragging the last ember-shards into a silver reliquary. She clutched it to her chest. "It's done."
For a heartbeat, silence reigned—then alarms blared, distant horns echoing through the desert night. Cultists from the inner sanctum poured out, armed with searing blades and frantic zeal.
Kieran hefted his staff. "Let's dance, shall we?"
They fought their way through collapsing corridors as the Temple of Ash convulsed. Walls fissured, molten glass wept down pillars, and the earth beneath their feet rattled. Kieran led the charge with wild laughter that shielded them from the worst of the flames. Eira's wards guided their path, a lantern in the gloom. Mariselle flanked them, cutting down any who dared intercept.
They burst through the main doors into the courtyard where their mounts waited, sweat-glistening and ready. Above them, the onion dome of the temple cracked, sending a plume of embers skyward. Fire roared through the chambers as the structure began to collapse from within.
Kieran vaulted into the saddle. "Hold on!" he shouted. Nimbus reared as Eira and Mariselle clambered onto their beasts. They galloped away just as the twin pillars exploded in a cathedral of flame, the heat so intense it waved across the sands like a living thing.
Behind them, the Temple of Ash shattered—a dying star of obsidian and fire.
Eira leaned in close, voice over the wind. "We did it."
Mariselle's eyes were fierce with triumph. "The Emberheart is no more."
Kieran let loose a triumphant laugh that rolled across the desert. "One down, one to go!"
Between the blazing ruins and the endless dunes lay the road to the final ritual—the Temple of Nightfall. And as they sped northward under a sky still tinged with ash, Kieran knew the world would soon tremble again. But this time, they would be ready.
In the ashes of ruin, they forged their bond. In the coming eclipse, they would stand together.