The air beneath the tower changed the moment they stepped through the hidden passage.
Gone was the scent of ash and ruin. In its place was something older—dust, stone, and the faintest trace of ozone, as if the air itself held a lingering charge.
Reven led the way, the Flamecore hovering just above his open palm, its glow casting flickering light along the narrow stair. Kaela followed close behind, sword drawn. Lirien moved in silence, wings brushing the stone walls when the passage narrowed.
The staircase spiralled deep. Too deep.
"How far down does this go?" Kaela muttered.
Lirien's voice was hushed. "Farther than it should. This tower wasn't built by human hands."
The stone changed after fifty steps. The carved walls gave way to seamless, black surfaces—smooth, cold, and humming faintly. Lines of light began to pulse along the edges, reacting to the Flamecore.
"This isn't a vault," Reven said. "It's a machine."
Kaela touched the wall. "Or a weapon."
They emerged into a chamber unlike anything they'd seen.
Circular. Vast. And alive.
Pillars of dark alloy rose from floor to ceiling, connected by bands of glowing script. The centre of the room held a suspended sphere, larger than a man, rotating slowly. Inside it, faint outlines moved—shapes and fragments like memories trapped in glass.
Lirien's breath caught. "This is Remnant tech. First-era. Maybe older."
The Flamecore floated from Reven's hand, as if drawn. It drifted toward the sphere, light streaming between the two.
Kaela stepped forward. "Wait—what if—"
The connection locked.
The room exploded with light.
Images flooded Reven's mind—too fast, too much. A burning sky. Cities swallowed by war. Towers falling, forests dying. A voice crying out, over and over, until it became a roar.
Then silence.
When Reven opened his eyes, he was standing in the chamber. But alone.
The others were gone.
The sphere hovered before him, motionless.
And then it spoke.
"You seek the truth behind the fire. But do you understand what fire is?"
Reven stepped closer. "I didn't ask for this."
"You did. The moment you chose to survive. The moment you chose to burn."
Memories surged through him—childhood, the attack on his village, the first time he used the fire. The day he killed. The day he saved.
"Who are you?"
The voice shifted. Now a chorus.
"We are what remains. The memory of those who came before. The ones who built, and fell. You hold the last echo of their gift."
The Flamecore rose higher. The sphere cracked open.
Inside it was a second core—identical, but inert. Dormant.
"There were nine. One remains awake. One has found its bearer. If the others rise…"
The voice trailed off.
Reven reached out.
As his fingers brushed the second core, his mind snapped back.
He gasped, collapsing to one knee.
Kaela caught him. "Reven!"
"I'm fine," he managed. "I saw… everything."
The second core hovered beside the first. Still dormant. But now glowing faintly.
Lirien's expression was grim. "There are more."
"Eight," Reven said. "And not all are meant to save."
They returned to the upper tower. The Ashborn were gone. The sky above Veilmar had changed. A storm churned above the horizon—dark, swirling, and unnatural.
Reven turned to the others. "We're out of time. The Flameborn aren't just relics. They're keys. And someone's already searching for the rest."
Kaela sheathed her sword. "Then we move faster."
Lirien looked out toward the storm. "And pray we're not already too late."