The path beyond the Flame Gate wasn't a path at all.
It was a wilderness of ruins and sky-roots—trees growing upside down from clouds, their branches threading through broken archways that hovered midair. Time didn't move here. It looped—and Raen had learned to ignore the clocks.
But something was different now.
The blade in his hand, Silence Between, pulsed like a heartbeat. And with each pulse, the world bent slightly, just enough for him to notice the rules were changing.
That's when the beasts came.
Not hostile. Not welcoming. Just… curious.
A massive hound made of smoke and silver eyes padded beside him in silence. A moth the size of a wagon flitted overhead, trailing emberdust that made Raen cough. Even the trees seemed to breathe, reacting to his presence.
Then came the voice.
Not from the sky. From the space between his ribs.
"Call us."
Raen stopped.
"Call you?"
The silver hound tilted its head.
"Your soul has been marked by creation. Flame remembers you. Name us, and we come."
It wasn't command.
It was invitation.
Raen closed his eyes.
He remembered.
The hound—loyalty born in loneliness. The moth—beauty made from burned dreams. The whispering vines—shelter woven from betrayal.
He opened his mouth.
And named them.
The world shivered.
Symbols—fractured, glowing—etched themselves into his palm. His body didn't just gain power. It accepted it, like recognizing a forgotten friend.
New Shatterborn Echo: Aspect of the Summoned Flame.
He could now call creatures born from memory and meaning. Each one tied to a part of him.
But the cost—
A moment of dizziness struck him. His thoughts slipped sideways. One second he remembered Lyra. The next, he thought she had never existed.
He gritted his teeth.
Not all power comes clean.
---
Later, he stumbled into a courtyard made of drifting stones and water suspended mid-air.
A boy sat atop a shattered throne, legs swinging.
Not a boy, Raen realized.
A prince.
He wore no crown, but his eyes were silver and bored. A sword leaned lazily against the stone beside him, untouched.
"You look like someone who just got kicked in the soul," the boy said, grinning.
Raen blinked. "…Who are you?"
The boy stood, gave an overly dramatic bow. "Prince Keir of the Ninth Flame. Or former prince. Depends who's asking."
Raen said nothing.
Keir looked him over. "You're from the Gate, right? You smell like regret and ego."
Raen raised an eyebrow. "And you smell like abandonment."
Keir grinned wider. "Touche."
Then—
His face grew serious. "You're the one they're whispering about. The one who cut Aevia."
Raen's fingers gripped Silence Between. "You spying for the Godmarked?"
Keir shook his head. "I'm done with gods. They made me heir, then tried to burn me alive because I saw something I shouldn't."
Raen hesitated.
"…What did you see?"
Keir's smile dropped completely.
"I saw the gods afraid. Afraid of the Threadrift. Afraid of you. And me."
Silence.
Then a butterfly landed on Raen's shoulder—one of the summoned kind.
Keir blinked. "Okay, that's new. You a druid now?"
Raen shrugged. "It's complicated."
Keir gestured at the floating stones. "Well, if you're not going to kill me, help me kill this boredom. There's a vault below here. It's sealed. Rumor is it contains a Flameborn Beast."
Raen narrowed his eyes. "And you want me to help you open it?"
Keir's grin returned. "Well, I was going to trick you into it. But since you seem like the stabby type, honesty felt safer."
Raen sighed. "Fine. But if something bites me, I'll feed you to it first."
Keir laughed. "Deal."
---
The descent into the vault was not heroic.
Raen fell twice.
Keir triggered three false traps.
At one point, they argued for twenty minutes about whether a rune meant "death" or "cheese."
It meant "cheese." And it summoned mold rats.
By the time they reached the core chamber, both were bleeding, irritated, and oddly… smiling.
"This feels like a terrible idea," Raen muttered.
Keir tossed him a flask. "You say that like terrible ideas aren't half your personality."
Raen smirked. "You don't know me."
"I don't need to. I can smell the angst from here."
The chamber doors groaned open.
Inside was silence.
And in the center—
A cocoon.
Glass. Smoke. Fire.
Raen stepped forward.
Inside the cocoon lay a creature—half stag, half storm. Its antlers were made of fractured time. Its heart glowed like embers.
A Flameborn Beast.
Raen reached out.
The creature opened its eyes.
"You are not the first who tried to name me," it said, voice like thunder and lullabies. "But you may be the first who listens."
Raen knelt.
He didn't command.
He remembered.
A life in the forest. A flame that would not die. A creature that watched over exiled children.
He whispered the name.
"Ashveil."
The cocoon cracked.
The creature stepped forward.
And bowed.
Raen's heart skipped.
Keir clapped, stunned. "Okay. I'm officially your sidekick now. No takesies-backsies."
Raen groaned. "I already regret this friendship."
"You'll regret it more when I start singing ballads about you."
Ashveil growled lowly, amused.
And for the first time in a long, brutal while—
Raen laughed.
A real laugh.
Broken. But real.
---
[LORD APPENDIX – Aspect of the Summoned Flame]
This rare Shatterborn echo grants the wielder the ability to summon creatures tied to their identity, emotions, and memories. Each summon comes with a price—fragments of memory or pieces of the self—but provides unique abilities and battlefield flexibility.
Ashveil, the Flameborn Stag: A powerful creature bound to Raen's soul through remembrance. Capable of traversing unstable timelines, generating shields of flame-mist, and communicating with dream-beasts.
Prince Keir of the Ninth Flame: A former heir to a forgotten divine line, cast out after rejecting the gods. Skilled with illusion magic, sarcasm, and deeply inconvenient curiosity.
---
To be continued...