Mount Vareth rose like a blade from the earth, its slopes veiled in eternal smoke. Here, the legends said, the Ember Crown had been forged in fire and sealed away when the gods fell silent.
Kaelen reached the base at dusk and found the remnants of an ancient road—blackened, cracked, and etched with forgotten runes. At its end stood a gate taller than any fortress wall, its center shaped like a blazing sun.
The stone and the obsidian shard in his pack glowed fiercely. When Kaelen pressed them into the gate's center, a deep tremor rippled outward.
With a grinding groan, the gate opened.
The air inside the mountain was thick with heat and sorrow. Great caverns opened before him, lit by rivers of lava that flowed like blood. Statues lined the walls—warriors, kings, gods—all bowing toward a single, massive throne carved into the rock.
On it sat a figure: cloaked in red flame, eyes burning like coals.
"Aelis!" Kaelen called, stepping forward.
The figure stood—and her voice, unmistakable, echoed across the cavern. "Brother."
It was her. But not the girl he remembered.
Her hair was fire. Her eyes were embers. And on her brow rested the third piece of the Crown—a circlet of living flame.
"I was chosen," she said. "To wake the Cindermind. To become its vessel."
"You were taken," he said, voice low.
She shook her head. "No. I answered. I was dying, Kaelen. Burned in the raid. But it saved me. It gave me purpose."
"It made you a weapon."
"It made me a queen."
She raised her hand, and flame danced in her palm. The Cindermind stirred behind her, an immense silhouette of fire and ancient hatred.
"You can leave," she said. "Forget me. Or join me. Kneel—and we will burn away the rot of this world."
Kaelen took a breath. The sword was in his hand again.
"I won't kneel to fire."
"Then die in ash."