The journey back to the surface was quiet. Too quiet.
Elira could feel the shift in the air the kind of charged stillness that came before a storm. Her steps were steady, but inside, her thoughts whirled. One anchor destroyed. Three remained. And the guardian's words haunted her: "They will come for you now."
They emerged from the mountain into morning light, the scent of damp moss and pine sharp in the air. The birds were silent. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Thane glanced at her, his expression unreadable. He walked beside her without speaking, a steady presence at her side. Kael scouted ahead, silent as a wraith, while Lucien trailed behind, nose buried in a spell-scroll, muttering calculations under his breath.
It wasn't until they reached the edge of the valley that the silence broke.
A single arrow struck the ground before Elira's feet, quivering with force.
Kael spun, sword drawn. Thane stepped in front of Elira, shield raised. Lucien raised a protective ward.
From the shadows of the tree line, armored figures stepped into view a dozen at least, clad in black and crimson. The sigil of the Flame Court emblazoned on their cloaks.
"The Inquisitors," Lucien breathed. "They've come early."
The lead rider dismounted, removing his helm. A man with pale skin, sunken eyes, and a voice like cracking ice addressed them.
"Elira of the First Flame. By decree of the Council of Embers, you are ordered to surrender. The power you carry is forbidden."
Elira stepped forward, chin lifted. "Forbidden by whom? The cowards who abandoned the world to the curse?"
The man's expression didn't change. "You threaten the balance."
"No," she said firmly. "I seek to restore it."
At her signal, fire flared in her palm, dancing along her fingertips. The Inquisitors responded instantly. Spell sigils lit the air, arrows were nocked, and battle erupted.
Kael leapt into the fray, blade clashing against enchanted steel. Thane barreled into the front lines like a living wall, buying time. Lucien unleashed runes of flame and gravity, distorting the battlefield.
Elira stepped into the center, her power blooming. Blue fire swept from her hands, wild and raw, scattering the enemy like leaves in the wind. The air crackled with the scent of ozone and ash.
But they kept coming.
The leader summoned a cursed blade, its edge dripping shadow. He charged her.
Elira met him head-on. Their magic collided, sending shockwaves through the earth. He struck at her mind, probing her thoughts. She responded with a burst of memory the burning of her village, the cry of her mother, the whisper of a dying guardian.
His blade faltered.
She struck.
The fire tore through him, purifying the shadow. He fell, screaming, smoke rising from his chest.
The remaining Inquisitors hesitated, then fled into the trees. Silence returned, broken only by the sound of heavy breathing and crackling embers.
Thane limped toward her, blood trailing from a shallow wound. "They know we're serious now."
Kael wiped his blade clean. "They'll regroup."
Lucien looked pale. "We need sanctuary. And time."
Elira turned toward the horizon. "We go to the Archives."
Thane frowned. "The Deep Archives? They're sealed."
"Not to me," she said. "Not anymore."
---
The journey took two days, winding through forgotten paths and overgrown ruins. The group moved cautiously, wary of more Inquisitors or worse.
At dusk on the second day, they arrived at the edge of a sunken valley. At its center rose a massive stone structure half-buried by time and vines the Deep Archives.
"This is where the original Flame Mages stored their knowledge," Lucien whispered, eyes wide. "Before the purge."
Elira approached the sealed entrance. Symbols etched into the stone shimmered faintly.
She raised her marked hand.
The flames on her palm pulsed.
The stone groaned, and the entrance opened.
Inside, darkness waited. Cold and dry, filled with the weight of centuries.
They descended into the depths, torches illuminating long-forgotten halls. Shelves of ancient tomes, scrolls, and artifacts lined the walls. It was a graveyard of knowledge, untouched by time.
Lucien dove into the shelves like a starving man at a feast.
Thane kept watch.
Kael scouted ahead.
Elira followed the pull of her bloodline. Through corridor after corridor until she reached a chamber veiled in starlight.
At its center was a pedestal.
Upon it lay a book.
Bound in leather, etched with flame sigils.
She approached and touched it.
A vision engulfed her.
Fire. Screaming. A battlefield.
Her ancestor the first Flamebearer—stood at the center, surrounded by mages and warriors. They faced the dark entity. The same one from her dreams.
"You are the spark," a voice echoed. "The last ember. Rekindle what we lost."
Elira gasped, stumbling back as the vision faded. Her friends had gathered behind her.
Lucien looked at her. "What did you see?"
She clutched the book. "The truth. This curse… it wasn't just punishment. It was containment. The dark entity wasn't sealed. It was fragmented. And the anchors—they're part of its soul."
Kael swore. "So destroying them... we're freeing it."
"Not if we complete the ritual," Elira said. "There's another step. Rebinding."
Thane frowned. "What does that mean for you?"
She looked at her palm, the mark now glowing brighter than ever. "It means I carry more than power. I carry a piece of it. And to seal it again... I might have to give it up."
Lucien went pale. "You could die."
Elira met their eyes. "Or worse. But if we don't act, the entity will rise again whole and angry."
Thane reached out and took her hand. "We won't let you face it alone."
Kael nodded. "Together, or not at all."
Lucien added, "We rewrite the ending."
She smiled. "Then let's get to work."
---
For the next several days, they studied.
Elira and Lucien deciphered the rituals, decoding ancient scripts that detailed the original sealing. They pieced together the locations of the remaining anchors.
Kael and Thane fortified the Archives, setting traps and wards in case of an ambush.
Tension hung over them, but so did something new.
Hope.
In the quiet moments, Elira found herself drawn to Thane. His steadiness grounded her. They trained together, sparred with wooden blades, and exchanged quiet conversations under starlit ceilings.
He never asked for her burdens. Only shared the weight.
One night, as the others slept, she stood at the archive balcony, looking out over the valley.
Thane joined her.
"You never stop moving," he said softly.
"If I stop, I'll drown in it."
He leaned against the railing. "You're stronger than you know."
She looked at him. "You always believe in me. Even when I don't."
"Because I see you," he said. "Not just the flame. You."
She reached for his hand. Their fingers entwined.
A quiet moment.
Before the storm.
---
By the seventh day, they were ready.
Elira had the knowledge. The map. The fire.
They would head north next to the ruins of Hollowspire, where the second anchor lay hidden beneath an abandoned monastery.
As they packed their supplies, a rumble shook the earth.
A shadow passed overhead.
And a cry echoed from the sky.
They rushed outside.
Above them, a massive beast of ash and smoke circled a wraithborn dragon, its eyes glowing with corrupted fire.
Lucien whispered, "It's begun."
The anchors were stirring.
And so was the dark entity.
Elira gritted her teeth, flames blooming at her feet.
"Then let it come. We're ready."
---