The map hanging on the wall was older than the wars that had shaped the land.
Aaron stood before it, his eyes tracing the faded lines and gilded names—Takoba, Gizana, Hollowmere, Nareth, and the Vellun Coast. Each name seemed to whisper ancient secrets, growing louder as his fingers moved slowly along the winding roads connecting them.
Behind him, Frankfurt's voice cut through the stillness.
"Maro is not what it once was. In truth, it never truly was."
Aaron turned slightly, curiosity stirring. "What do you mean?"
Frankfurt's gaze remained fixed on the map. "What you call a kingdom was once a prison. A prison forged by kings who feared fire. Your ancestors weren't nobility—they were rebels, carrying stars in their blood."
Aaron's eyes settled on a symbol etched near the mountains of Nareth—a shattered crown encircled by flickering flames.
"What's that?" he asked.
Frankfurt's eyes darkened, the weight of history settling on his shoulders. "The Pyre Gate. The place where the first Skyborn were burned alive. It's said their ashes still whisper in the wind. Some even say... they never truly died."
---
Later that evening, Aaron sat with Ashen in the quiet solitude of the western tower's private chambers. The child held a book with no title, its pages shimmering softly with shifting images—memories caught in ink.
"Did you know about Nareth?" Aaron asked gently.
Ashen's gaze didn't lift from the book. "It's where I was meant to die."
Aaron's breath caught.
Ashen's voice was steady, distant. "When I was little, they took me there. They called it a 'testing ground.' They burn children like me there, to see if the flame within is pure... or cursed."
Aaron's fists clenched tightly. "And you escaped?"
Ashen's pale eyes locked with his. "No. Someone freed me. But I never saw who."
---
Deep beneath the Pierce estate, in the Hall of Chains, Kain carried a flickering torch as he approached.
Frankfurt stood beside an iron coffin, suspended in a circle of rune-stones. Frost clung to its edges, but a faint blue flame pulsed from within.
"Is that... a Skyborn?" Kain asked quietly.
Frankfurt nodded. "The last confirmed Skyborn before Aaron. Burned in the year of the Black Sun. But her heart never stopped glowing."
He glanced at the torch in Kain's hand. "Bring Aaron down tomorrow. He needs to see this."
---
That night, Aaron dreamed of Nareth—not as it was, but as it burned.
He stood atop a mountain of white ash, surrounded by towering statues of flame. The sky cracked open above him, and from its fissures descended figures with fire running through their veins and wings stained with soot.
One of them turned to him and spoke with a voice like thunder.
"We are the fire you forgot."
---
Aaron woke with a gasp, his bedsheets scorched at the edges.
Ashen stood quietly at the door, his eyes glowing faintly.
"You saw it too," the child said.
Aaron sat up, heart pounding. "Saw what?"
Ashen stepped forward. "The call. The mountains are waking. And they remember your name."