The veil of silence hung heavy after the shadowed figure disappeared, as if the world itself waited, breathless, for the next move. Amina stood still, Flame pulsing in her chest—not violently, but steadily, like a quiet heartbeat. A reminder that even in moments of peace, power lingered just beneath the surface.
Valec stared into the distance where the horizon bled into molten gold, his jaw clenched, thoughts spinning like a tempest. "What if choosing means we both lose?"
"Then we lose together," Amina said. "But we don't let the world burn because of our fear."
A slow wind stirred the ash-stained grass, whispering secrets only the ancient elements could understand. Amina stepped forward, her body carrying the full weight of Amariel's memory, of generations lost to silence, of voices screaming through time to be heard again.
She no longer walked alone.
Suddenly, a rumble echoed deep beneath the earth. The sky fractured again—not into storm, but into shards of memory. Above them, scenes flickered: images of Kai kneeling before a fallen city, of Ashar staring at a dying star, of Lumeah whispering into a dying god's ear.
Then came the sound.
A howl—not of rage, not of pain, but of awakening.
Valec turned sharply. "He's here."
From the edges of reality, something colossal stirred.
The Ancients were waking.
Through the newly split sky emerged a shape—half-stone, half-light—its wings vast as mountain ranges. It moved with purpose, tearing through what remained of the sky's order. Below it, the ground cracked open in a perfect line toward Amina and Valec, glowing with molten energy. From that fissure rose Herakar, the Binding Flame.
"No," Valec muttered. "This shouldn't be happening now. Not yet."
Amina felt it too. Herakar's emergence meant the seals were unraveling far faster than they had planned. The choice the figure had spoken of wasn't just a metaphor. It was here. Physical. Immediate.
"We have to decide now," she said. "The world won't wait."
Herakar's voice, both thunder and whisper, pierced their minds.
"The flame remembers. But will you?"
Valec staggered, clenching his head as visions overtook him—visions of his childhood in the ruined courts of Arashan, of his mother's blood spilled on sacred stone, of a promise whispered over her grave:
"I'll never be weak again."
And then—Amina's face, burning through the memory, disrupting the cycle.
She placed a hand on his shoulder, grounding him.
"You've carried this alone long enough."
Valec met her eyes. "And if I give it up… what's left of me?"
She smiled, gently. "Something real."
Behind them, the flames rose higher. The sigils that had held the Ancients sealed began to glow a deadly blue, their runes spiraling toward collapse.
Kai's power surged somewhere distant, and Ashar's presence pulsed like a heartbeat through the ground. They were readying their own choices.
"It's time," Amina said.
She walked toward the chasm, toward Herakar, where the fire called not to destroy—but to forge.
Valec followed.
As they neared, Herakar's molten eyes turned on Amina.
"You are the Echo of Amariel. The Flame Reborn. What will you sacrifice?"
Amina didn't hesitate. "My power, if I must. My life, if it brings balance."
Herakar's gaze shifted to Valec.
"And you, Broken One. What will you give?"
Valec stood straighter, his jaw set. "My vengeance."
A pulse of fire rippled out. The world shuddered. And then…
Silence.
The sigils broke.
And the sky tore completely.
From the heavens descended a pillar of flame and light—and at its center, a figure wrapped in burning robes.
Kai.
But his eyes were wrong.
"No," Amina whispered. "That's not him. That's—"
Valec stepped forward. "That's the Hollow Flame. The thing that's been hiding inside him."
Kai opened his mouth—and the voice that came out was ancient, cruel, and inhuman.
"You gave me the vessel. Now watch your world die."
The Hollow Flame raised its hand—and fire rained from the sky.
Amina turned to Valec, heart racing. "We're out of time."
He nodded once.
They ran—toward the fire.