The ascent to the Emberspire began at dawn, but the sun did not rise.
The sky above the crater was veiled in heavy ash, as though the Spire itself denied light entry. Ember led the way, her steps guided by the pulse of the Flame within her, a warmth now quieter—less wild, more watchful. Every inch of the ground radiated ancient power, not hostile, but alert.
Kaelen walked beside her, silent for most of the climb. When he finally spoke, his voice was laced with memory.
"I once stood where you are now. The Circle offered me peace… power… absolution. But their peace was silence, their power was control, and their absolution was surrender."
Ember didn't stop walking. "And you accepted it?"
"I almost did," he said. "Until I saw what the Spire hides. What it asks of those who touch its core."
Behind them, Orin, Lysra, and Niall followed cautiously. The closer they came to the Spire's entrance, the more the world seemed to fold—sounds echoing strangely, shadows twisting, time slowing.
Finally, they reached the gate.
A towering arch of obsidian and flame, carved with runes older than language. The entrance was guarded—not by soldiers, but by flame-born echoes: spectral figures, glowing and translucent, bearing the forms of long-dead warriors.
Ember stepped forward.
The largest of the echoes turned its head toward her, speaking in a voice like cracking embers. "Only those who carry the true Flame may enter."
She raised her hand. The pale fire ignited around her fingers—not hot, but pure. The echoes bowed and parted.
The gates opened.
Inside, the Emberspire was impossibly vast. The halls were lined with shifting murals—flames that danced into scenes of the world's first fire, of cities born from light, of betrayals and fallen gods. The air grew denser, as if memory itself had weight.
At the heart of the Spire, a stairway spiraled endlessly upward. At its top, the Flame's Core waited.
Kaelen turned to Ember, his voice low. "From here, no one can guide you. This path is yours alone. What you choose will echo forever."
Ember nodded, then looked to her friends. Lysra touched her shoulder. Orin gave a single nod. Niall whispered, "Don't lose yourself."
With that, Ember stepped onto the first stair.
Above her, the Flame waited—not as a weapon, but as a choice.