The cavern still smelled of burnt stone and blood. Wisps of smoke drifted lazily through the air, rising from the shattered remains of the Warden. Where the monster had fallen, only a crater of molten rock remained, glowing faintly like a wound in the earth itself.
Rondan sat with his back against the jagged wall, his blade across his knees. His crimson flames had dimmed, leaving only a faint ember flickering around his chest. His body was battered, but it wasn't the wounds that weighed him down—it was the whisper that still lingered in his mind.
"Break the chains. Free me."
He clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white.
Leina stood a few paces away, crouched by the glowing runes that spread across the floor. Her silver eyes scanned each line of fire, her expression grim.
"These marks… they're not fading. The Warden's death should have ended their power, but instead, it's feeding into something deeper."
Rondan's gaze hardened. "Another chain broke."
She looked at him, her cloak falling slightly from her shoulders.
"Yes. The second one. And when the last falls…" She paused, her voice low and strained. "The Forgotten Flame will no longer be a story. It will wake."
Silence pressed between them. The weight of her words seemed heavier than any blade.
Finally, Rondan pushed himself up, leaning on his sword. His crimson eyes glowed faintly in the dim light.
"Then we won't let it wake. Not on their terms."
Before Leina could reply, a sound echoed from the far end of the cavern. Boots on stone. A dozen figures emerged from the shadows—cloaked soldiers, their faces hidden behind masks of steel. Each bore the same crimson rune etched across their armor.
The leader stepped forward, voice cold and resonant.
"The chain is broken. The flame stirs. You've done what we could not, Rondan of the Northern Plains."
Rondan raised his blade, fire sparking to life along its edge.
"You'll regret following me here."
The masked man tilted his head, unfazed.
"We are not here to fight." His gaze lingered on Rondan like a predator studying prey. "Not yet. The Flame chooses its vessel, and we will be there when it burns the sky."
Before Rondan could move, the figures melted back into the shadows, vanishing as quickly as they had appeared.
Leina's hand tightened on her dagger. "They're watching you. Every step you take feeds their design."
Rondan sheathed his blade slowly, his jaw set in iron.
"Then let them watch. I'll carve my own path. And if the Forgotten Flame wants me—" he raised his eyes toward the cavern roof, his voice steady and defiant—
"—then it will have to burn on my terms."
The ember in his chest pulsed once, faint but alive, echoing like a heartbeat in the silence.