"Every flame begins as a spark.
But sparks also ignite wildfires.
So tell me, child—
Do you wish to burn the world,
or be burned by it?"
—Inscription in the Lodge's inner hall.
The Watchers' Lodge smelled of incense and old blood.
High ceilings loomed above, filled with shadows that seemed to breathe on their own. Shelves lined the walls, carrying jars of organs, preserved insects, and powders sealed in black glass. Strange symbols were etched onto the floor in white chalk, circling a brass basin that pulsed with heat.
Elias stood at the center, his book pressed against his chest.
Arkwright's voice echoed through the chamber.
"Tonight, you either ascend—or die."
He held up a vial. Within it swirled liquid fire, shifting between red and gold, sometimes resembling molten eyes that blinked slowly before melting back into the flow.
"The Ember Veil potion," Arkwright said. "The foundation of the Trickster-Observer Pathway. Drink it, and you may gain control of flame, perception, and disguise. Fail…" He didn't finish. He didn't have to.
Jonas grinned from the sidelines. "No pressure, Vale."
Serah's gaze lingered on Elias, colder, quieter. "Do not resist the burn. Guide it, or it will consume you."
Elias took the vial.
The heat licked at his fingers even through the glass. His book vibrated faintly, as though aware of the power sealed inside.
He uncorked it.
The scent was sharp, metallic, almost sweet—like honey mixed with ash. For a moment, he hesitated. One sip, and I may never return to being human.
But hadn't he already crossed that line? The day he awoke with a torn book and a card whispering of fate, hadn't he already chosen?
He drank.
The fire hit his throat like molten lead.
It poured down his chest, flooding his veins, spreading into his limbs. Pain exploded in his skull. His skin blistered and peeled as though flames crawled beneath it. His vision fractured—one world became a thousand overlapping images, whispers tearing at his mind:
"Burn. Burn. Burn. We will wear your face."
His body convulsed. He fell to his knees, clutching his chest. His heart hammered, then stuttered. For a breath, he thought it had stopped.
The Lodge's walls seemed to dissolve. He was no longer standing on stone but on endless black water, a single ember floating above him.
A voice laughed.
"So another performer enters the stage.
Will you dance, boy?
Or will you combust before the curtain rises?"
The ember lunged, sinking into his chest. His body ignited. He screamed soundlessly as flames swallowed him—
—then the book opened.
Pages turned by themselves, glowing with pale silver light. Words etched into his vision:
"Sequence 9: Observer"
The one who sees without being seen.
The flames calmed. The pain receded. The whispers hushed, cowed into silence.
Elias rose to his feet, his eyes glowing faintly like smoldering coals. The chalk circle beneath him burned away, leaving scorched sigils.
When he looked up, the others stared.
Jonas' grin faltered. "Well, damn. He didn't combust."
Serah exhaled slowly. Her dagger hand relaxed, though her gaze remained wary.
Arkwright's expression was unreadable. "Sequence 9," he muttered. "Observer. You passed the first threshold." He leaned closer, his voice low. "Remember, Vale. Every step from here will tempt you to madness. If you lose control…"
"I know," Elias interrupted softly. His lips curled in the faintest smile. "…you'll pull the trigger."
For a second, their eyes locked—Arkwright's steel against Elias' ember glow.
But Elias wasn't afraid. He felt… amused. Detached.
Already, he could see the thin crimson threads coiling around each of them, the signs of their paths, their fates tugging like strings on a stage.
---
"The first step is always the hardest.
The second is always deadlier.
And the third… well.
Few live to see it."