The name echoed through Duncan's mind long after the fire died down.
Virelen.
Kael sat across the campfire, silently sharpening her spear. The others were asleep or pretending to be. The Emberblade rested across Duncan's lap, its glow long faded, but its presence still pulsed like a heartbeat beneath his skin.
"Who is he?" Kael finally asked.
Duncan didn't look up. "Not a 'he' anymore. Not entirely."
Kael frowned. "You saw something?"
"In the flame. A memory. A warning. A... place." He traced a finger along the flat of the Emberblade. "He was one of the first wielders of the Sovereign Flame. Maybe the first. But something broke him. Twisted him."
"Twisted how?"
"I don't know yet. But I need to find him. The blade is guiding me now. I think he's waiting."
Kael nodded slowly. "Then we follow."
Crossing the Obsidian Vale
Their path took them northward, along the edge of the Obsidian Vale—a jagged landscape of black glass fields and sinkholes where nothing grew. Legend claimed it had once been the site of a Flameborne ritual gone wrong. The very earth had melted.
They moved cautiously, navigating narrow stone bridges and ridges of fused rock. No beasts roamed here. Not even birds flew overhead. The Vale was silent.
Brannoc spat over the edge of a crevice. "I hate places like this. Too quiet. Feels like something's listening."
"It is," Kael said softly. "This land remembers."
Duncan stopped as the blade twitched in his grip.
Then he turned to the east.
"There. The path veers. There's something buried beneath that ridge."
Kael arched a brow. "Another tomb?"
"Not this time."
The Forgotten Shrine
At the far edge of the Vale, they found a structure—sunken into the rock, buried in the shadow of a half-collapsed peak. Its entrance was shaped like a roaring beast's maw, carved with ancient runes that shimmered faintly in the dim twilight.
The door opened without touch.
They stepped into cold, dry air—and the faint scent of old incense.
Inside lay a circular chamber with stone pillars arranged in a star pattern. At the center stood a broken statue—a warrior kneeling, head bowed, arms extended, as if offering a blade to someone long gone.
But the blade was missing.
Duncan stepped forward, and the air shivered.
Kael drew her weapon. "Something's here."
Then the statue spoke.
Echo of the First
Not with words.
With memory.
Flames erupted from the eyes of the statue, casting flickering visions across the walls.
A battle—ancient and terrible.
A lone warrior, cloaked in fire, standing against a tide of shadow and beast.
A scream—raw, inhuman.
Then silence.
The flame burned brighter, and a figure appeared within it. Not a man, not a ghost. A fragment.
Virelen.
He looked like Duncan. Taller, perhaps. Hardened by time. His armor was marked with a sigil Duncan had only seen once—etched on the inside of the Emberblade's hilt.
"You carry what I once did," the vision said. "And for that, I am sorry."
Duncan stared. "Why?"
"Because it will take everything. It always does."
Kael stepped forward. "What happened to you?"
"I tried to master the Flame. I thought it was a tool. A weapon. But it is alive. It feeds. It chooses. When I refused its will, it shattered me."
Brannoc scowled. "And yet you're still here."
"A fragment. A shadow. I linger to warn... and to test."
The vision raised its hand, and fire erupted from the floor, forming a burning gateway.
"Beyond this door lies what remains of me. If you would carry the Flame, you must pass through. You must face yourself."
Trial of the Flame
Duncan stepped into the fire.
At first, he felt nothing—just heat and light and pressure. But then, the world bent.
He stood in a mirrored chamber, endless in all directions. Dozens of reflections stared back at him—each a version of himself.
Some wore gold armor. Others bore crowns. A few wore the Hollowed eyes of the corrupted.
Then one stepped forward.
It looked exactly like him—but older. Scarred. Worn down.
"This is what you become if you win," it said.
Another stepped beside it—same face, but twisted, cruel, eyes burning red.
"This is what you become if you lose."
Duncan raised the Emberblade. "And what if I choose neither?"
They smiled—all of them.
Then they attacked.
Flame Within Flame
It was not a fight of steel, but of will.
The reflections came in waves—memories made flesh, doubts wearing his skin. Each fought with his skill, his instincts, but none had his flame.
He moved like fire.
He thought like the blade.
He became the flame.
One by one, the reflections shattered, consumed by white-blue fire until only one remained: the first, the one who had won. This version fought not with rage, but with resolve. It smiled even as Duncan's blade pierced its chest.
"Good," it whispered. "You're not me."
The chamber collapsed.
And Duncan stood once more before the broken statue, smoke rising from his shoulders, eyes glowing faintly.
Kael's breath caught. "You passed."
"No," Duncan said. "I changed."
The Final Gift
The statue crumbled.
In its place remained a shard of crystal—pure ember, dense and ancient. Duncan picked it up.
The blade pulsed in response.
It drank the shard like water to droughted roots.
And it changed.
Its edge gleamed brighter. Its weight lessened. It now felt like a part of him, not something he held—but something he was.
From somewhere unseen, Virelen's voice echoed one last time.
"You've taken the first step."
"But the path will burn everything you love."
Duncan said nothing.
Because he already knew.