The wind howled like a beast.
High above the clouds, the Worldspire loomed—an impossibly tall mountain that pierced the heavens, its peak hidden behind a veil of storm and lightning. At its summit lay the Skyforge, a mythical forge said to burn with celestial flame, powered by the last breath of a dying star.
It was also where the third Ember Key was sealed.
Callan, Solenne, Shura, and Ren stood at the base of the Worldspire's ascent, staring up into a wall of stormclouds that roared with unnatural fury.
"Tell me again why this key couldn't be hidden somewhere warm and cozy?" Ren muttered.
"Because the gods didn't believe in comfort," Solenne replied.
"No," Callan said, stepping forward. "Because I didn't."
The climb was no simple trek. The path twisted like a serpent's spine, carved into frozen stone and jagged cliffs that threatened to collapse at the slightest misstep. Snow battered them from all sides, visibility reduced to arm's length as the wind screamed through the ravines.
Wards flickered around their bodies—Solenne's enchantments protecting them from freezing, but only barely.
They passed shrines carved into the rock, half-buried under centuries of snow. Each shrine bore the crest of the Flameborn Legion, and each one triggered memories in Callan's mind.
The Skyforge had not been a sanctuary.
It had been a battleground.
Three hundred Flameborn had held this pass in the final days of the Demon War—guarding the forge while Callan descended into the abyss. None had survived.
He found the remnants of their final stand near a frozen outpost: shattered spears, armor frozen into the cliff, a banner that still fluttered with stubborn defiance despite the passage of time.
"They died protecting your secret," Shura said, kneeling by one of the bodies entombed in ice.
"I told them the forge was the last hope," Callan replied. "I never expected them to follow me to the end."
"But they did," Solenne whispered. "And they would again."
The storm intensified as they neared the summit. Lightning struck the mountain around them, bolts dancing across the ridges like the claws of angry gods. Callan pressed forward, leading the way into a narrow tunnel that opened into the Skyforge.
And then they saw it.
The forge was a monolith of obsidian and silver, its flames untouched by snow or time. A ring of molten light spun above it, and in its center hovered the Ember Key, burning with a flame not of this world.
But they weren't alone.
A figure stood between them and the forge, tall and regal, cloaked in storm. His armor was etched with ancient runes, and lightning danced across his skin like veins of power.
Callan froze.
"Valien," he said.
Solenne blinked. "You know him?"
"He was the first," Callan replied. "The first mortal to take my mark. The first Flameborn."
Valien turned.
His eyes glowed with fury.
"You are not worthy to take this flame again."
Callan stepped forward. "You swore loyalty to me. Why are you guarding the key?"
"I swore loyalty to what you were," Valien thundered. "But you abandoned us. You buried us in ash and silence. And now, you return to claim the fire as if you still hold its blessing?"
"I never stopped carrying it."
"Then prove it."
Valien raised his hand, and lightning exploded from the sky, shattering the ground between them.
The battle began.
Callan lunged through the storm, his blade meeting Valien's in a crash of light and sound. Each strike sent shockwaves through the forge chamber, flames dancing madly with every collision.
Valien fought like a god, unrelenting, wielding lightning as if it were an extension of his soul. He moved with the grace of a swordsman and the fury of a storm.
Callan matched him.
Old muscle memory surged through his limbs—moves he hadn't used in a lifetime. Each swing reignited a spark of the warrior he once was. The power of the Flameborn responded, coursing through him.
"You trained me!" Valien roared.
"And I'll finish you if I must!" Callan replied.
Elsewhere, Ren and Shura faced off against stone sentinels that rose from the forge walls—constructs powered by the forge's core. Solenne tried to hold the crumbling ceiling at bay with her wards, lightning tearing at her defenses.
Callan ducked under a slash, then slammed his shoulder into Valien's chest, knocking him back. But Valien spun, crackling with energy, and drove his knee into Callan's ribs.
The impact cracked bone.
Callan staggered, blood in his throat, but didn't fall.
"You fight like a shadow of what you were," Valien spat.
"Maybe," Callan grunted. "But even shadows can burn."
He threw his sword aside—and unleashed the full force of his inner fire.
Flame erupted from his core, not just red or gold, but violet and white—demonic flame, reborn and reforged. It consumed the storm, pushing back the lightning. Even Valien reeled.
Callan stepped forward, hand wreathed in light.
"No more guilt. No more chains. I choose this path."
He drove his palm into Valien's chest.
The storm shattered.
Valien collapsed, armor smoking, the lightning in his veins extinguished.
Silence fell.
Callan knelt beside him.
Valien opened his eyes slowly. "The flame... chooses... you."
"I don't want its blessing," Callan murmured. "I want to make things right."
Valien closed his eyes—and smiled.
Then faded into ash.
The Ember Key drifted into Callan's palm, warm and pulsing with life.
The forge quieted.
Three keys now.
Only one remained.
Callan looked to the sky beyond the forge dome. In the distance, lightning still flashed—but this time, it wasn't from the storm.
It was war.