The staircase spiraled downward in a dizzying descent, carved from obsidian and slick with condensation. The Core of Wakefire pulsed faintly in Darion's grip, casting a weak red glow that barely pierced the encroaching blackness. Behind him, Kellen followed with musket at the ready, and Seraphina trailed silently, her twin blades drawn and senses sharpened like a predator stalking the dark.
"This place was meant to be forgotten," Seraphina murmured, her voice echoing strangely off the narrow walls.
Darion didn't answer. He could feel it in his bones—this path was ancient, carved long before Gravesend became a ruin, long before the Empire's flags flew over these seas. The air grew hotter the further they descended, until sweat clung to their backs and the stone radiated warmth like coals beneath the skin.
After nearly an hour, the stairwell widened, opening into a circular antechamber lit by torches that hadn't seen flame in centuries—and yet, as soon as Darion stepped foot on the floor, the torches ignited one by one, fire leaping from wick to wick as if summoned by his presence.
"Creepy," Kellen muttered. "Definitely cursed. Let's turn around. Who's in favor?"
Darion stepped forward instead, past a line of ancient symbols carved into the floor. His hand trembled as he held up the obsidian phoenix medallion he'd retrieved above. It responded with a soft, glowing heat. One of the wall panels shimmered—then melted into liquid fire, revealing a hidden passage.
"Well, that's normal," Kellen said dryly. "Melt walls. Just another Tuesday."
Seraphina gave him a sideways glance. "Keep your fear masked in humor, it suits you."
He bowed dramatically. "Thank you, deadly shadow woman. Lead on, Flame Man."
Darion moved into the passage without answering. The corridor beyond was wider and smoother, polished black stone inscribed with intricate runes glowing faintly red. Every step echoed like a heartbeat, as if the very walls were listening.
At the end of the corridor stood a massive circular vault door, twelve feet high, forged from overlapping plates of metal so dark it drank the light. Embedded in its center was a crucible-shaped lock with an empty slot—perfectly shaped to hold the obsidian medallion.
Darion stepped forward, hesitated.
"You guys ready for whatever's behind this?" he asked.
Kellen sighed. "I'm not ready for breakfast and yet I eat it every day."
Seraphina gave a nod. "I trust you, Darion. That's enough."
He swallowed hard and slid the medallion into the lock.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then the entire vault trembled, a deep vibration rolling through the ground as the lock turned with an echoing clang. The door split open like a blooming flower of metal, revealing a chamber bathed in molten gold light.
They stepped inside.
The Trial Chamber
It was massive—like a cathedral beneath the earth. Molten lava flowed through carved canals across the floor, weaving in precise geometric patterns that lit the chamber from below. High above, the ceiling vanished into smoke and shadows. At the center of the room was a platform of stone suspended above a pit of fire, and on that platform stood a figure.
A man.
Or what once had been.
He wore crimson robes and armor scorched black by time, his body suspended by chains of flame that hung from the unseen ceiling. His eyes were empty sockets, and yet they burned with a hateful fire. A circlet of melted gold rested upon his brow.
"Welcome, heir of ash," the figure spoke, voice layered—both thunder and whisper, rage and memory.
Darion stepped forward slowly. "Who are you?"
"I was Lord Varrak, High Flamekeeper of the Old Empire. Keeper of the Flame's Will. I served your bloodline until the betrayal."
Darion stiffened. "My bloodline?"
"The Bearers of the Wakefire. The Pyrelords. The flame that conquered the sea and split the sky. You are their last spark."
Seraphina looked sharply at Darion. "You never told us you were royalty."
"I didn't know," he said, staring at the chained wraith. "My father never spoke of it."
"He feared it. As he should have." Varrak's eyes flared brighter. "The fire is not just power. It is judgment. It remembers."
The chains shuddered, and the chamber's glow pulsed.
"To wield the Wakefire, you must be tested. You must face the sins of your ancestors, and your own."
Kellen raised his musket. "This test gonna involve more skeletons, or…?"
"Silence, echo of a broken empire," Varrak snapped, and the musket exploded in Kellen's hands. He stumbled back, clutching his seared palm.
Darion stepped forward onto the platform. "I'll take your trial."
"You already have."
Suddenly, fire exploded upward around the platform, cutting him off from Seraphina and Kellen. The floor beneath his feet trembled. The chained figure of Varrak began to burn from the inside out.
"Face your reflection in the flame."
Varrak vanished.
And in his place stood another Darion.
But older. Armored in obsidian and crimson. His eyes burned like suns, and his sword was the same—but larger, crueler, bathed in screaming flame.
"What is this…?" Darion whispered.
"This is what you could become," the echo said. "This is what the fire wants."
The doppelgänger lunged.
Darion barely parried in time, flame clashing against flame, the shockwave hurling sparks into the sky. The echo was faster, stronger, more ruthless. Every strike carried the weight of domination, of empire reborn in ash.
"You are weak," the echo snarled in his mind. "You hesitate. You care. That's not fire. That's water."
Darion gritted his teeth, dodging a brutal overhand slash, then thrust forward with the Core of Wakefire. His flame sputtered against the echo's, as if uncertain.
The echo punched him across the face. Darion slammed into the stone, blood in his mouth, vision blurry.
He lay there, panting.
"Am I just a shadow?"
He saw his father again—standing atop a burning fortress.His mother, whispering lullabies by candlelight.Seraphina, standing beside him in the jungle.Kellen's constant jabs and laughter.Marek's broken body beneath deck.
"No… I'm not just fire. I'm more."
He pushed himself up.
The Core blazed to life—not red, but gold.
He surged forward.
This time, his blade struck true—cutting across the echo's chest. The false Darion snarled, fire spraying in every direction. Darion closed the distance, driving his shoulder into his doppelgänger and slamming him into the edge of the platform.
"You're not me!" Darion roared. "You're what I refuse to become!"
He plunged his sword into the echo's heart.
The doppelgänger screamed—and disintegrated into light.
Aftermath
The fire around the platform died down. The vault's glow dimmed. The chains hanging from the ceiling crumbled into ash.
Seraphina and Kellen rushed forward, weapons ready.
"Darion!" Seraphina cried.
He stood unsteadily, bleeding from his lip but alive. The Core pulsed gently in his hand, now etched with new glyphs.
"You passed the trial," Kellen said. "So... does that mean you're a Fire Emperor now or something?"
Darion looked down at the Core.
"It means I'm one step closer to the truth."
He turned toward the stairs leading deeper into the ruins.
And something whispered from the shadows:
"Now that you bear the Flame's favor… the Abyss will notice."