The air in Tharvyn stank of burnt sage and old iron. Kael crouched beside the riverbank, fingers pressing into the damp earth as he scanned the tangled reeds. Somewhere in the muck, the vial lay hidden—a glass capsule no larger than his thumb, filled with a liquid that glowed like trapped starlight. He’d stolen it from the Archivist’s vault two nights prior, but the weight of it had grown heavier since. The moment his skin touched the glass, the world had tilted. A whisper, not in words but in pressure against his skull, had slithered through his thoughts. *Find the ember.*
The river gurgled, its surface rippling as a fish broke the surface. Kael’s pulse thrummed in his ears. He’d left the village at dawn, but the forest had other plans. The trees here were older than memory, their trunks twisted into gnarled archways that loomed like skeletal fingers. Every breath he took carried the scent of moss and something else—something metallic, like blood dried into stone.
A twig snapped behind him. Kael spun, knife already in hand. The figure emerged from the shadows—a woman, her cloak stitched with threads that shimmered like oil on water. Her eyes were flat, empty, but her voice cut through the silence like a blade. “You carry the Archivist’s theft.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kael said, though his grip tightened on the knife. The vial pressed against his palm, warm now, as if alive.
The woman tilted her head. “You do. The ember chooses its keeper. But it will not forgive hesitation.” She stepped closer, and the air between them thickened. Kael’s breath came shallow, his mind racing. The Archivist had spoken of the ember—of its power to mend what was broken, to rewrite the bones of the world. But power always came at a cost.
“What do you want?” he asked, voice hoarse.
“To remind you,” she said. “That the world is not yet finished.” She turned, vanishing into the trees as swiftly as she’d appeared. Kael stood frozen, the vial burning against his skin. The whisper returned, louder this time, and the forest seemed to lean in, waiting.
—
The ruins of Vireth lay buried beneath three days’ march, their stones half-swallowed by the earth. Kael’s boots sank into the mud as he approached the crumbling archway, its carvings eroded to smudges of meaning. The vial pulsed in his pocket, a steady rhythm against his thigh. He’d read the Archivist’s texts—fragments of maps, half-erased diagrams—but nothing had prepared him for this. The air here was different, charged with a low hum that vibrated in his teeth.
A shadow shifted at the edge of the ruins. Kael turned, knife raised, but the figure was already there—a boy no older than sixteen, his clothes tattered, his face smudged with soot. “You shouldn’t be here,” the boy said, voice rough from disuse.
“And you should?” Kael countered.
The boy shrugged. “I’m the last of the Vireth Keepers. The ember’s mine to protect.” He stepped forward, revealing a scar that ran from his temple to his jaw, jagged and pale. “But it’s gone. The fire’s dying.”
Kael frowned. “What fire?”
“The one that kept the world from unraveling,” the boy said. “The ember’s not a thing—it’s a song. A spark in the dark. And it’s fading.” He reached into his coat, pulling out a shard of obsidian, its surface etched with glowing runes. “The Archivist took the vial to save it. But he failed. Now the world is breaking, and I don’t know how to stop it.”
Kael stared at the shard, the vial in his pocket growing hotter. The whisper in his mind swelled, a tide of voices overlapping, desperate. *Find the ember.* He reached out, touching the shard. A flash of light—images, memories, a city of glass and flame, a woman with eyes like smoldering coals, a scream that split the sky. When he pulled back, his hands were shaking.
“What did you see?” the boy asked.
“Everything,” Kael said. “And nothing. It’s too much.” He looked up, meeting the boy’s gaze. “What do we do?”
The boy hesitated, then pointed to the archway. “The ember’s in the heart of the ruins. But it’s not just a place. It’s a test. The fire won’t let anyone in unless they’re ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“To burn,” the boy said. “Or to be burned. Either way, you won’t come out the same.” He turned, disappearing into the shadows. Kael stood alone, the vial searing against his skin. The air thickened, and the whisper became a roar. *Enter.*
—
The chamber beyond the archway was a cathedral of stone and shadow. Pillars carved with spiraling patterns stretched toward a ceiling lost in darkness. At the center stood a dais, and on it, a single ember—no larger than a coin, but pulsing with a light that made the air tremble. Kael stepped forward, each footfall echoing like a drumbeat. The moment he crossed the threshold, the world shifted. The walls melted into liquid, the floor rippled like water, and the ember’s light flared, searing his vision.
A voice, not spoken but felt, filled his mind. *You are not the first.*
Kael blinked, the chamber solidifying around him. The ember hovered above the dais, its light casting jagged shadows on the walls. He reached for it, but the moment his fingers brushed the flame, a surge of heat exploded through his body. Pain—sharp, searing, all-encompassing. His knees hit the ground, his vision blurring. The voice returned, louder now. *You are not the last.*
Through the haze, he saw figures—shadows with faces, their mouths moving in unison. They were speaking, but the words were not in any language he knew. The ember’s light intensified, and Kael felt himself being pulled into it, his body dissolving, his mind unraveling. He saw a thousand lives—some his own, others not—each one a flicker of fire in the dark. And then, a choice.
A door. Wide open. Light spilling through it like a promise. Or a trap.
The voice whispered again. *Choose.*
Kael’s breath came in ragged gasps. The ember’s heat was searing his skin, but the door called to him, its light warm, inviting. He reached for it, but the shadows surged forward, their voices rising in a cacophony of warning. *Beware the flame that consumes.*
He hesitated. The ember pulsed, and the chamber trembled. The shadows closed in, their forms coalescing into a single figure—a woman with eyes like smoldering coals. She stepped forward, her voice a low rumble. “You think you can take the ember? It is not a gift. It is a burden. A fire that will burn you to ash if you are not strong enough.”
Kael met her gaze, his voice steady. “Then I’ll burn.”
The woman tilted her head, studying him. “You are brave, child. But bravery is not enough.” She raised a hand, and the ember flared, its light blinding. Kael felt himself falling, plunging into the fire, and then—
—
He awoke on the riverbank, the vial cold in his palm. The forest was silent, the air thick with the scent of rain. Somewhere in the distance, a bird called. Kael sat up, his body aching, his mind fogged. The ember was gone. But the whisper remained, softer now, a murmur in the back of his thoughts.
He stood, brushing dirt from his clothes. The vial had no power left, its light extinguished. But something else was different. The air felt lighter, the trees taller, the world… brighter. He didn’t know what he’d become, but the fire was still there, waiting.
Kael turned toward the horizon, where the sun dipped below the trees, casting long shadows across the land. The ember’s song still echoed in his bones, and he knew his journey was far from over.
