The morning broke in strange colors. Not gold, not silver — but a deep rust-red, as if the sun had bled into the sky while no one was watching. Astra woke long before Tova did, though he hadn't slept much. The Whispering Stones had hummed all night, vibrating softly against his spine as he leaned on one. The hum should've lulled him; instead it rattled something awake inside his chest.
He stood now at the circle's edge, watching the plains breathe under the crimson light. The grass seemed darker, almost burnt at the tips, as though the world had aged overnight. The crack in the sky from last night had faded, but the memory of it still hung across the heavens like the ghost of a scar.
Astra touched his face. His fingers brushed the faint warmth where his eyes had glowed blue. The warmth was still there — the light hadn't gone completely. It bothered him. Not because it hurt, but because it reminded him of the Echo, the future-self made of storms and certainty. He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd just taken his first step toward that version.
Not happening, he told himself again. I'm not turning into you.
Behind him, Tova stirred and yawned softly, sounding more human than scholar for once. Astra turned around just as she blinked the sleep from her eyes.
"You look like you didn't sleep," she said.
"Did sleep," Astra said. "Mostly. A little. Tiny bit."
"So… no sleep."
"Probably not," Astra admitted.
Tova stood and brushed dust off her robes. "The Fourth Tower isn't close. We'll have to cross the Ember Plains. They're dangerous. More than the others we passed."
Astra squinted at the horizon where the red glow pulsed like a giant heartbeat. "Dangerous how?"
"Heat storms. Phantom mirages. And…" She hesitated, eyes shifting away. "…living memories."
Astra frowned. "Memories are supposed to stay in your head."
"These don't," Tova said bitterly. "They wander the plains like lost animals. They feed on people's pasts. Consume pieces of who you used to be."
"Great," Astra muttered. "Another wonderful place to die."
Tova raised a brow. "You're getting better at sarcasm."
"Practice," Astra said. "Everything in this world tries to kill me. Builds character."
The two stepped out of the Whispering Stones' sanctuary. The Echo Shadows lunging at them last night were gone, leaving only faint streaks of black residue on the grass. Astra didn't trust it. They had a way of returning when he least wanted.
They walked for an hour before the plains changed. The grass thinned, then vanished altogether, replaced by flat cracked earth. The heat shimmered up from the ground, not burning hot but unsettlingly warm, like exhaled breath. Astra swore the dust pulsed under his boots.
Tova checked her staff's crystal. The green light flickered unevenly.
"We're close to the Ember Plains' border," she said. "Stay near me. The mirages get stronger the further in we go."
Astra nodded, but then something caught his eye — a faint figure in the distance.
He squinted. "Tova… do you see that?"
She followed his gaze. "No. And if I don't see it, Astra… it's probably not real."
But Astra stepped forward anyway.
The figure stood maybe thirty meters away, shaped like a human made of flickering smoke and light. It shifted in and out of form as if remembering itself every second. Astra's chest tightened when he saw the outline of its shoulders… its posture… the way it lifted its head.
It looked like someone he knew.
Someone he had lost.
His father.
Astra took three steps toward it.
"Astra!" Tova grabbed his arm. "Don't. That's not him."
"It looks like him," Astra whispered, and for a moment his voice cracked. "It really… it looks like him."
"And it's designed to," Tova said, gripping him harder. "The Ember Plains take your memories, Astra. They'll steal whatever you chase."
Astra's throat went dry. The memory-figure tilted its head exactly the way his father had when concentrating or pretending not to worry. The image flickered — its edges too perfect, too soft, too clean. Astra saw the lie but still felt the pull.
His father held out a hand.
Astra took a breath that hurt. "It's not him," he said aloud, as if telling himself. "It's not him. It's… it's not—"
The figure dissolved suddenly, scattering like ashes blown by wind.
Astra froze. The emptiness left behind carved a hole inside him, raw and stinging.
He didn't speak for a while.
Tova waited beside him, patient, not pushing him forward before he was ready.
Finally Astra breathed out. "This place is cruel."
"Creation is cruel," Tova said softly. "Even our own memories try to pull us apart."
They kept walking, deeper into the Ember Plains, until the ground turned dark red, streaked with black lines like veins. The air shimmered so violently that the horizon bent like melted glass.
Astra wiped sweat from his forehead. "Tell me we're close."
"Not close," Tova said. "Just deeper."
"That sounds horrible."
"It is."
Astra didn't respond — mainly because the ground trembled beneath them.
Tova stiffened. "Stay still."
The earth cracked open to their right. Something crawled out.
Astra's stomach dropped. It looked like a wolf made of molten rock — glowing red-hot bones visible under shifting plates of cooled lava. Its eyes were empty hollows, filled with flickering fire. It growled, and the ground around its paws burned black.
Tova whispered, "A fire-beast. Ember Plains guardian. We can't outrun it."
"Then what do we do?"
"Don't provoke it," she said. "Walk slowly. No sudden—"
The beast lunged.
Astra shoved Tova aside as the creature slammed into the ground where she'd stood. Heat blasted Astra's face; his eyebrows nearly crisped.
The fire-wolf turned toward Astra, growling deeper this time — like a furnace breathing.
Tova raised her staff and shouted a chant. Green energy burst out, striking the wolf's flank. The beast stumbled, molten cracks splitting open—then closed again instantly.
"It heals too fast!" Astra yelled.
"It's not healing!" Tova shouted back. "The fire inside it is reshaping its body!"
"Which is basically the same thing!"
The wolf lunged again — this time directly at Astra. Instinct took over. Astra raised his hand, and the Seed inside him surged like a wave breaking against rock.
There was no time to think.
A blast of blue light erupted from his palm.
The wolf's lava-plates shattered. Its body flew backward, crashing into the cracked plain and exploding into embers.
Astra blinked in shock. His hand trembled, glowing faint blue around the fingertips.
Tova stared at him. "Astra… do you realize what you just did?"
"Uh… panicked?"
"You released Seed-energy without a tower's trigger. That shouldn't be possible."
Astra swallowed. "Is that bad?"
"It's… dangerous." Tova's eyes darkened. "Every time you use the Seed outside a tower, it shifts. And once it changes enough, it changes you."
Astra stared at his glowing fingers until the light faded. A stubborn lump rose in his throat.
"I don't want to become that Echo," he muttered.
"Then you must learn control," Tova said. "Power without discipline destroys everything."
Astra almost joked about his cooking abilities being worse, but the air grew suddenly colder. A low, pulsing hum rolled across the plains, vibrating in their bones.
The red glow on the horizon brightened — the distant shape of the Fourth Tower flickering through the heat haze like a beating heart.
Astra felt it. Deep inside. A pull so strong it almost dragged him forward.
"It knows I'm coming," he whispered.
Tova nodded slowly. "It's calling you. The Fourth Tower is unlike the others… it deals with memory, time, and identity. If you enter it unprepared, it might unravel who you think you are."
"Too late," Astra muttered. "Everything's unraveling anyway."
They walked another hour, until they reached a ridge overlooking a massive valley. The heat swirled through the air in spiraling patterns, rising like smoke. In the valley's center, half-buried beneath red dunes, stood a colossal structure.
The Fourth Tower.
It wasn't sleek like the Third or jagged like the Second. It was swollen, rounded, shaped almost like a giant heart turned to stone — throbbing with light, flickering with pulses that matched Astra's heart.
Astra stepped forward involuntarily.
Tova put a hand on his shoulder. "Astra… before we go in… there's something you must know about the Ember Plains."
He turned. "What?"
Tova looked genuinely afraid — more than any monster or shadow had made her look.
"The Tower will show you the truth of your past," she said. "Not the version you remember… the version you avoid."
Astra felt ice fill his chest.
"What truth?"
"I don't know," Tova admitted. "But the Ember Plains take the memories you run from… and the tower weaponizes them."
Astra's hand tightened into a fist.
"I'm not running."
Tova nodded once. "Then let's face it together."
The two started down the ridge.
The ground trembled with each step.
The sky darkened.
And the heart-shaped tower pulsed harder, as if excited — or hungry.
Astra stepped forward anyway.
He didn't know whether the Fourth Tower would reveal answers… or break him into pieces.
But either way, the next chapter of destiny had already opened its mouth.
And Astra walked straight into it.