The journey northward took them into lands untouched by the warmth of the Flame. The air grew thinner, colder, and every step was met with the crackle of frost beneath their boots. As they crossed over broken lands where ancient kingdoms once stood, the landscape became a labyrinth of jagged peaks and icy plains.
Ember felt it before they saw it—the presence of something other. A shadow that shifted in the corners of her vision, barely more than a flicker, but powerful enough to rattle the senses. The Frostlands were alive in their own way, and something old watched them, something that had forgotten more than it should.
Kaelen kept his sword drawn, scanning the horizon. "We're not alone."
Lysra's hand hovered near her dagger. "Not a soul for miles, but I feel it, too. Something in the air. Something waiting."
Ember didn't speak, her gaze fixed ahead. "This place is a crossroads. It's a hub of memories, too—forgotten alliances, lost time. Something in Emberhold is holding all these pieces together."
They reached the gates of Emberhold by nightfall, and the fortress stood in front of them like an ancient sentinel, its towering spires reaching for the stars. Snow swirled in gusts, blurring their vision. It was as if the entire place was suspended in a moment, not bound by time, but by a purpose greater than itself.
"Shouldn't we be expecting a welcome party?" Lysra remarked with a smirk.
"No," Ember said, her voice low. "Not a party. But perhaps… something more."
Suddenly, a figure emerged from the shadows, tall and cloaked in fur, blending seamlessly into the night. The figure moved with such grace that it was almost unnatural. Ember's heart skipped a beat, her mind rushing through the potential dangers they could face here. This person was a shadow—not in the sense of stealth, but something darker. Something forgotten.
"You've made it," the figure spoke, their voice carrying the weight of ancient winds. "I've been waiting for you."
Ember stepped forward, her hand instinctively resting on the pommel of her sword. "Who are you?"
The figure chuckled softly. "A shadow of the past. A keeper of secrets. I've seen many flamebearers, but none quite like you. You carry not only the fire but the weight of it. You remind me of someone…"
"Who?" Kaelen demanded, his hand tightening on his sword hilt.
The figure's smile was a flicker of something lost—a connection to something long forgotten. "It doesn't matter. What matters is that you are not alone here. The flame you seek burns in more than just you. There are others who've made their way through the cold, seeking what you seek. And they are not as kind as you might hope."
Ember's eyes narrowed. "Then we'll deal with them as they come."
But the figure only smiled more broadly. "You will find that it's never as simple as you think. The past doesn't let go so easily."
With that, the figure stepped aside, revealing the entrance to Emberhold. But something in the air shifted, and Ember could feel the weight of their words settle on her. She wasn't just dealing with Echo-born and corrupted sparks anymore—she was stepping into a place that played by rules older than time itself.
As they entered, the temperature dropped further. The walls of Emberhold were etched with the remnants of lost stories—scenes from a time before the Flame shattered, when the Flameborn walked freely, guiding the world with power and wisdom. Here, Ember could feel the weight of their history pressing down on her.
"You're entering a place where time doesn't just pass—it stops," the figure's voice echoed from the shadows. "But you'll soon realize that your greatest enemy here is not the cold or the forgotten. It's the time that refuses to move."
The moment they crossed the threshold, Ember felt it. The air was thicker. A presence loomed, something in the heart of the fortress, its energy like a ticking clock, forever counting down to something they could not yet understand.
"Do not trust the quiet," the figure's voice came again, now from far off, as if it had been waiting, or watching them all along.
"Is it just me," Lysra said, eyeing the walls warily, "Or does this feel like a trap?"
Ember's flame flared gently in response, guiding her through the shifting paths of Emberhold. "It's a trap," she said quietly, "But it's one we must walk through. We have no choice."
The passage ahead narrowed, and the group moved cautiously through the labyrinth of frozen stone. In the distance, they could hear something—echoes of footsteps, indistinct, but growing louder. But it wasn't just one set of steps—it was many.
Then, from the shadows, another figure emerged.
A woman, tall and lithe, moving with the deadly grace of a trained assassin. She was dressed in the attire of a lost order, one that had once guarded the Flame itself. Her eyes were cold, her hands steady, as though she had walked through countless battles without hesitation.
"Another shadow," Ember muttered, drawing her blade. "We are not here to fight, but we will defend ourselves."
The woman smiled, her gaze flicking to Ember's sword. "You misunderstand. I am not here to fight you. I am here to guide you."
"Guide us?" Kaelen scoffed. "By trying to kill us?"
"No," the woman said softly. "By giving you the choice you've longed for. You seek the last spark. But what if it isn't the spark that's waiting for you?" Her smile widened. "What if it's something more?"
Ember's heart skipped. The flame inside her flickered, recognizing the challenge—this was no mere assassin. She had seen many faces in her travels, but this one felt… timeless. This woman was more than a reflection of the past—she was the living embodiment of a choice long made.
"Then guide us," Ember said, her voice steady. "But know this—I will not be led blindly."
The woman's laughter echoed through the empty hall.
"Good," she said. "Because the flame you seek is already inside you—but to find it, you must be ready to confront what even the Flameborn have forgotten. Are you ready for that, Ember Solara?"
The question hung in the air like a challenge.
And Ember's only answer was the quiet, steady burn of the Flame within her.