The castle was silent, but it felt alive. Mike could hear a faint humming beneath the marble floors, like the heartbeat of some ancient beast. His eyes, still glowing red-orange, reflected the flickering torches along the corridors as he followed the king.
"You must learn quickly, Mike," the king said. "The shadows you faced in the Fire Trial are only the beginning. A storm is coming, and the world as you know it may not survive."
Mike clenched his fists. "The son of the World Devourer… What does that mean? Am I supposed to destroy everything?"
The king shook his head. "No. That is a misconception. Your father was a force beyond comprehension. He consumed worlds, yes, but also shaped them. You have inherited his power, but unlike him, you have a choice. You can create… or destroy."
Mike swallowed hard, feeling the weight of those words. The corridors twisted and turned, leading him deeper into the castle than he had ever been. They stopped before a massive door of black iron, etched with golden runes that pulsed faintly.
"This is the Hall of Echoes," the king said. "Here, you will confront your father's legacy—and perhaps find the path that is truly yours."
Mike took a deep breath and stepped inside.
The room was vast, impossibly so. The ceiling disappeared into shadows, and the walls shimmered with images that shifted and moved, like reflections in molten metal. Mike's eyes widened as he realized the figures were memories—fragments of worlds that his father had touched, devoured, or reshaped.
A voice echoed through the chamber. "So… you are here."
Mike turned. A tall figure materialized from shadows. Its armor was black as void, eyes like molten gold. It radiated a terrifying calm.
"Father?" Mike whispered, though the word felt strange on his tongue.
The figure's lips twisted into a faint smile. "Call me what you will. I am the Devourer, and you… you are my son. But unlike me, you burn with restraint. You have the flame within, yet it bends to your will. That is… fascinating."
Mike's hands glowed. "I don't want to be like you. I won't be like you!"
The Devourer laughed, and the sound shook the room like rolling thunder. "I am not your enemy, Mike. I am your inheritance. Power is not given—it is claimed. And if you refuse to claim it, the worlds will fall anyway. You must embrace it… or perish alongside them."
The ground beneath them trembled. Shadows erupted from the walls, forming massive beasts made of smoke and fire. Mike felt his heart race, the memories of the Fire Trial coursing through his veins.
The Devourer gestured. "Show me your flame, son."
Mike gritted his teeth. He raised his hands, and fire leapt from his palms, coiling around the beasts. They roared and lunged at him, but he moved with a speed and precision he had never known. Every strike of his sword, every wave of his fiery shield, carved through the smoke like sunlight through clouds.
But the beasts were endless. They multiplied with every fallen creature. Mike's strength began to falter. He remembered the Fire Trial and the anger that had erupted within him—raw, uncontainable, and infinite.
"You are holding back!" the Devourer's voice boomed. "Power is nothing if it is restrained! Let it burn, Mike! Consume it… and claim your inheritance!"
Mike hesitated. The fire in him pulsed violently, demanding release. He closed his eyes and shouted, unleashing a torrent of flame that surged outward, obliterating every shadow in the hall. The heat was unbearable, scorching the walls, melting the iron runes.
When he opened his eyes, he was standing alone. The Devourer's form had vanished—but his voice lingered.
"You have potential… but this is only the beginning. You will face the worlds my hunger once touched. Only by understanding them, by mastering your flame, will you survive what comes next."
The king guided Mike to the outer courtyard, where the wind whistled through jagged towers and black stone spires. "The Fire Trial showed me that you have raw talent," he said. "But talent without control is death. You must learn to channel your power—your mind, your flame, your instincts. Only then will you be ready to face what's coming."
Mike nodded. He raised his hands instinctively, conjuring a small flame above his palm. The wind tugged at it, threatening to extinguish it. He focused, letting the fire bend to his will. The flame grew, circling his hand, warm and alive.
"Good," the king said. "But that is only the beginning. You must learn more than attack or defense. You must learn to sense the energy of the world. The flame inside you reacts not just to you—it reacts to everything around you. To the fear of a creature, the sorrow of a city, the death of a forest."
Mike's mind spun. He had always thought of fire as destruction, as anger, as chaos. Now he realized it could also be guidance, a connection, a tool.
"Your first lesson," the king continued, "is balance. Without it, the flame consumes you. With it… you can create miracles—or disasters."
Mike trained for hours, the sun dipping below the horizon. Sparks flew from his hands, forming shapes, symbols, and creatures. He summoned walls of fire to shield himself, launched flaming projectiles with precision, and even learned to levitate briefly on rings of flame. His body ached, but his mind sharpened.
By the time night fell, he was exhausted—but something inside him had changed. The fire was no longer a wild, uncontrolled hunger. It was a part of him, alive but obedient, demanding respect and focus.
That night, the king led Mike to the highest tower of Syltrir Castle. The stars were bright, like shards of crystal embedded in the black velvet sky.
"There is something you must see," the king said. He drew a circle in the air with his hand, revealing a constellation shaped like a flame engulfing a world. "This is the Prophecy of the Devourer's Son. Long ago, it was said that the child born of fire and shadow would face the remnants of his father's hunger. The worlds touched by him would cry for salvation—or destruction. And the choice… the choice would be his alone."
Mike stared at the glowing pattern. The enormity of his inheritance pressed down on him. "How am I supposed to save anything?" he whispered.
"You will not be alone," the king said. "Allies will come—warriors, mages, creatures of old worlds. But beware: the Devourer's hunger never truly dies. It waits… in shadows, in hearts, in corners of the universe no one dares to look."
A chill ran down Mike's spine. He looked at the stars, feeling both awe and fear. Somewhere out there, the worlds of his father's appetite still lingered, damaged, twisted, waiting for someone strong enough to heal—or destroy them