The marsh stretched out like a bruise beneath the morning sky, silver mist clinging to the water's skin. Amira walked alone now—Elias and Taru gone to face their own haunted paths—her steps careful, her flame quiet.
The Marsh of Sleeping Names was no ordinary swamp. It was a place where time grew thick, where words drowned before they were spoken. Every tree leaned like a mourner. Every ripple whispered secrets best left unremembered.
But Amira had come to awaken them.
She followed the trail of ghostlight—small flickers bobbing through the reeds like lanterns without hands to carry them. The air grew heavier with every step, her memories rising around her like smoke.
Her mother's voice came first.
"You were never meant to carry all this alone."
Amira stopped.
"Not now," she whispered. "Not yet."
But the marsh did not care for timing. It remembered everything.
The water beside her shimmered, revealing the face of a girl—her younger self—kneeling beside her mother's grave, trying not to cry.
"I promised I'd protect them all," the memory-Amira said. "I promised…"
The ghostlight flickered. Her reflection vanished.
And ahead, half-sunken in the mud, rose the Altar of Hollow Oaths.
Vines wrapped the stone structure like fingers pulling it into the earth. Names were carved into every side—hundreds, maybe thousands. Most were faded. Some were smeared. But all of them were promises unkept.
This was where the Echobound were strongest: the ones who died with broken pacts, with unfinished songs, with betrayals still burning in their bones.
The moment Amira touched the altar, the world shifted.
She stood now in a different marsh—this one burning.
Flames leapt from the water. Shadows screamed from beneath the surface. And before her stood a woman cloaked in gray fire, eyes empty as stars gone cold.
"Do you know my name?" the figure asked.
Amira hesitated. "You… you're not part of the Order."
"No. I was before the Order. Before the flame was taught to obey. I am the memory of vengeance. I am the oath never fulfilled."
Amira's Lanternblade hummed at her side.
The woman raised a hand. "I only want to be remembered. I want my oath kept."
"What oath?"
The flames around them flared.
"To burn the one who broke me."
Suddenly, Amira saw it all:
A love betrayed by blood. A kingdom turned to ash. A voice silenced beneath false peace. This spirit—this revenant—had once been a guardian like Amira… but her flame had been twisted by grief.
"I cannot let you return through the living," Amira said, raising the Lanternblade.
"You already have," the spirit whispered. "Every time you remember pain more than love… I rise."
Then she attacked.
The duel was like no other—flame against flame, truth against grief. The revenant's fire seared with rage, while Amira's glowed with sorrow and resolve. The swamp churned with their clash. Trees collapsed. Shadows screamed.
But Amira did not strike to destroy.
She struck to contain.
With a cry, she plunged the Lanternblade into the altar. The runes lit up, and a ring of light encircled the revenant. Her scream shook the marsh—then turned to a whisper.
"Keep your promises, Flamewarden. Or you will become me."
And then… silence.
The fire died.
The waters calmed.
The names on the altar faded.
All except one: Isolde.
Amira whispered it aloud, placing her hand over the name.
"I remember you now."
By sunset, she lit a blossom and released it into the sky. Its glow danced toward the horizon, toward Elias and Taru.
A signal that her battle was done.
But in the east, far beyond the marsh, a city's lights flickered—and then vanished.
One of the five sites had fallen.
And the Broken Flame had taken its first soul.