The wind howled as Kael climbed higher into the mountains. Snow drifted around him in slow spirals, silencing the world. His breath came in clouds, his fingers numb beneath his gloves. The path was narrow, clinging to the edge of a jagged cliff. Above him, the sky burned with red and violet streaks, like the world was bleeding light.
He had followed the map etched in the back of the book—hand-drawn lines leading to an ancient temple hidden near the peak. It was said that those chosen by the flame would face a trial here. Kael wasn't sure if he was ready, but the mark on his wrist glowed brighter with every step, guiding him forward.
At last, he reached a stone arch carved into the mountainside. It was cracked and worn by time, but the symbol at its center—the same spiral of flame that marked his skin—shone faintly in the frost.
As Kael stepped through, the wind stopped.
The air grew still. Too still.
A voice echoed from the darkness.
"To wield the flame, you must face the shadow it casts."
Suddenly, the light vanished. And from the silence, a figure stepped forward—his exact likeness.
Same face. Same eyes.
But where Kael's gaze held fear and fire, the doppelgänger's eyes glowed with cold, hungry darkness.
It moved like a mirror, matching his stance, his breath. When Kael reached for the dagger at his belt, the shadow did too—but faster.
Steel clashed.
Kael was thrown back, stunned by the strength of the copy. Every strike he made was countered. Every breath, mirrored. It was like fighting himself—but stronger, crueler, merciless.
"You are not me," Kael growled, dodging a blade aimed at his heart.
The shadow smirked. "No. I am what you fear you'll become."
Doubt.
Weakness.
The guilt of leaving Aerin behind. The fear of failing again.
The shadow fed on it.
Kael's knees hit the stone floor. Blood from a cut on his brow clouded his vision. The mark on his wrist dimmed.
But then, from deep within, he remembered the flame in the woods.
The whisper.
Flamebearer.
He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes—not to surrender, but to remember who he was. Not perfect. Not unafraid. But chosen.
The mark flared.
Light burst from his hand as he opened his eyes, casting the chamber in brilliant fire. The shadow hissed, shielding itself, but Kael stood tall now, filled with something deeper than strength—truth.
He rushed forward, not with rage, but resolve.
His blade pierced through the heart of the shadow.
It staggered, flickering like smoke.
Then it was gone.
The chamber brightened. The silence lifted. The air moved again.
Kael stood alone, chest heaving, the mark on his wrist glowing steady and strong.
He had passed the trial—not by being stronger than the shadow, but by refusing to become it.
The path forward opened behind him.
And Kael, no longer just a bearer of flame, stepped into the light of who he was becoming.