The Sea of Glass shimmered under a pale sun, its endless surface of crystalline shards stretching to the horizon. It wasn't a sea of water, but of fractured stone—each shard razor-sharp and whispering with old magic. Long ago, it had been a lush basin, until the Flame Wars had scorched it into this glittering wasteland.
To cross it meant facing not only the terrain, but the memories buried beneath it.
Ember stood at the edge, wind tugging at her cloak, white flame flickering gently at her shoulders. Behind her, Orin tested the footing of the first narrow path, his boots crunching against the glass. Lysra ran a hand over the air, whispering old stabilizing words, and Niall had already begun charting their course from a worn map of half-truths.
"It shifts," Niall said. "Even the stars won't guide us here. The Sea listens. And sometimes… it lies."
Ember met his eyes. "Then we'll listen back."
They traveled carefully, each step deliberate. The shards reflected not just the sky above, but visions—moments from their past, twisted and flickering like candlelight in wind.
Lysra paused when she saw herself, a child with a staff too big for her hands, weeping over a burning temple.
Orin saw the moment he left his brother behind on the battlefield, again and again.
Ember saw the night her parents vanished into flame, only this time, she heard them whispering to her from the fire: "It must begin again, through you."
The Sea tested them—not physically, but emotionally, spiritually. Each reflection was a temptation to doubt, to linger, to turn back.
But together, they pressed forward.
Halfway through, a storm rose—glass twisting upward into the sky like a cyclone. The Sea had awakened.
"I think it senses what you are," Lysra said, shielding her eyes.
"Then let it see," Ember answered.
She raised her hand, and instead of fighting the storm, she called to it. Her flame wrapped around the shards, not destroying them, but harmonizing. Light bent around her, and the path stilled beneath her feet.
The Sea parted.
For the first time in decades—maybe centuries—it allowed passage.
And as they stepped onto the final stretch, the far edge of the Sea revealed the rising silhouette of the Emberspire, glowing like a promise in the distance.