Amina hit the ground hard, the force of the white explosion flinging her backward across the broken stone courtyard. Her shield shattered. Her breath caught in her lungs. For a moment, all she could hear was the roaring in her ears.
And then—
A voice. Young. Terrified. "Help me."
She blinked. The battlefield hadn't disappeared. But it had changed.
The construct stood frozen mid-lunge, glowing lines pulsing up and down its limbs like veins of lava. Inside its chest, behind the broken fragments of the Tree of Flame, a silhouette flickered—small, curled, shaking.
A child.
Kai staggered to her side, blood at the corner of his mouth. "That… was not just a weapon."
"No," Amina whispered, heart pounding. "It's a prison."
Valec was still locked in combat with the last of the wraiths, but even he faltered when he saw the creature convulse, its body spasming as if torn between rage and grief. The chains around its limbs glowed brighter.
And from the shadows, Ashen Var reappeared.
"You understand now, don't you?" he said, his voice like oil sliding over broken glass. "This city was never built to contain power. It was built to feed it. That child is the last ember of Amariel's failure. The first experiment in binding flame to flesh."
Amina stood slowly, her rage building like a tidal wave. "You did this. You twisted something pure."
"I preserved it!" Ashen Var barked, stepping forward. "The Flame is a force of rebirth, not mercy. Amariel was weak. She tried to contain it. I let it grow."
"You call that growth?" she snapped. "He's suffering."
The construct let out a low, trembling moan, and a wave of unstable heat rolled over them. The very walls of Lithris began to crack. Statues melted. Sigils sparked and dimmed.
"It's dying," Kai muttered. "If it breaks fully—this whole city goes with it."
"No," Amina said, voice calm despite the chaos. "Not unless we release him."
Valec stepped beside her, sword drawn, but uncertain. "You want to try purifying the flame again?"
Amina turned to face the construct.
"I want to talk to him."
Before either of them could argue, she raised her hand and stepped forward, the flame within her pulsing in rhythm with the child's heartbeat. She let it speak. Let it burn.
The air shimmered—and she vanished.
She stood in memory.
No longer the ruined city. No longer the construct's prison.
She was in a courtyard bathed in golden sunlight. Children laughed. A bell rang in the distance.
And at the center, a boy—no older than eight, with dark curls and eyes too old for his face—sat on the ground, staring at his trembling hands.
He looked up as she approached.
"Are you going to hurt me too?" he asked.
Amina knelt before him, voice soft. "No. I'm here to help."
"They all said that. Before they fed me to the Flame."
Her breath caught.
This was the moment. The experiment. The first of Amariel's trials. A child chosen to bear the unrefined core of the Flame without guidance, without kindness. A mistake the world buried—and Ashen Var had unearthed.
"What's your name?" she asked.
He looked away. "They called me Vessel."
"No. Your real name."
He hesitated.
"Tarin," he whispered.
Amina reached for his hand. It was warm. So human.
"You don't have to carry this alone anymore, Tarin."
His eyes welled. "But I don't know how to let go."
"Then let me hold it with you."
Back in the real world, the construct screamed—a roar of agony and release.
The chains binding it snapped, one by one, shattering like glass. Light spilled from its chest, not destructive, but healing. The sigils pulsed in sync. The ruined city groaned.
And then it collapsed—not in fire, but in a wave of golden embers that scattered harmlessly into the wind.
When the light cleared, the construct was gone.
Amina stood at its center, cradling a boy with dark curls in her arms. Alive. Human.
Ashen Var staggered back, horror in his eyes. "That's not possible…"
"You wanted a weapon," Amina said, rising. "But he was never yours to use."
Ashen Var raised both hands—but this time, Amina was faster. She hurled a pillar of blue flame that sent him crashing through a wall.
Valec and Kai rushed to her side.
"Is he—?" Kai asked, gesturing to the boy.
"He's free," Amina said quietly. "And now, so is the flame."
But above them, the sky had changed.
The clouds were no longer grey.
They were red.
And from far in the east, a horn sounded. One that hadn't been heard in over a thousand years.
Valec froze. "That's not possible…"
Kai's face paled. "The Red March…"
Amina held Tarin close, her eyes locked on the horizon.
"We freed the first," she said softly. "Now we face the last."