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Chapter 17 – The Waking Flame
The sound of the horn did not fade.
It lingered in the marrow of the earth, in the hollow of Kaelen's bones, as though the world itself had been struck like a great drum. The silence that followed was not silence at all, but the heavy pause before something greater stirred.
Kaelen staggered to his feet, his chest still heaving from the energy that had erupted out of him moments ago. The trees of the Hollow swayed as though the horn's call had bent even their ancient roots. Sparks clung to his fingertips, reluctant to die, and the air around him carried a metallic tang—like iron drawn fresh from blood.
Lysera's hand was still on his shoulder, though her grip had tightened, not with comfort this time, but with a kind of quiet fear. She looked into his eyes as if searching for someone—or something—that had not been there before.
> "That sound…" she whispered. "Do you feel it? It was not just heard. It was answered."
Kaelen swallowed hard. His throat was raw, his skin fever-warm. Answered. The word dug into him.
"What did I do?" His voice cracked. "Lysera… tell me the truth. Am I cursed?"
She hesitated, her lips parting, then closing again. It was rare to see Lysera unsure—her sharp tongue usually cut through hesitation like a blade. But now, her eyes darted to the trees, to the shadows between the roots, as though the forest itself might overhear.
"You woke something that should have remained bound," she finally said. "Not cursed, Kaelen. Chosen. Or claimed."
Her words only deepened his unease. Chosen? By what?
The forest gave no answer. Instead, the wind carried with it a murmur—not words, not music, but a low vibration that pressed against the edges of Kaelen's mind. He staggered again, clutching his head.
The vision came without warning.
He was standing on a vast plain of ash, the sky red with smoldering embers. Around him, colossal figures loomed—half-shadow, half-light, their eyes burning with the force of suns. A woman cloaked in feathers and stormlight raised her hand toward him. Behind her, a mountain split in two, revealing a river of molten fire. Then the horn sounded again, louder, and the vision shattered.
Kaelen gasped, falling to his knees. Sweat clung to his brow. Lysera was beside him instantly, shaking his shoulder.
"What did you see?" she pressed, her voice firm now, demanding.
"Gods," he breathed. "I saw… gods."
For a moment, Lysera said nothing. Her silence was worse than denial. Finally, she helped him to his feet, though her face had hardened into something unreadable.
"The Watchers will have heard it too," she said. "And not just them. If the gods stir, then so will their enemies. You cannot linger here, Kaelen. Every moment you stay, the world will draw nearer to you."
Kaelen blinked at her, chest tightening. "But where am I supposed to go?"
Her gaze met his, unflinching. "Forward. Always forward. The path will reveal itself, but only if you keep walking it."
The trees shuddered then, as though something massive had pressed against the fabric of the forest from the other side. A ripple of dark mist coiled between the roots and branches, and a whispering chorus rose—faint but unmistakable.
Lysera drew her blade in one fluid motion. "They've already found us."
Kaelen's pulse thundered in his ears. The waking flame within him stirred again, desperate, volatile, and alive. He clenched his fists, feeling it burn against his veins.
He had no choice now. Whatever had claimed him, whatever horn had sounded across realms—he would have to face it.
And in that moment, as the shadows crept closer, Kaelen realized the truth: he was not running from destiny. Destiny was hunting him.
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Word count: ~785
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