The entrance lay hidden beneath the old Lecture Tower, past the Conjuration Wing—through a rusted spiral stairwell no one used anymore. It wasn't marked on maps, not even the older ones. But the Chronicle had whispered it to us.
Or rather, the flame inside me had.
"I feel it," I told the others as we descended. "It's not just magic down there. It's memory. Pressure."
Asher, behind me, lit a sphere of reddish fire in his palm. "If this thing's truly sealed, what are we expecting?"
"A door," said Sira. "A choice."
Riven grunted. "A nightmare."
She wasn't wrong.
The final stair ended in a stone chamber carved in concentric rings. The walls were black, veined with molten lines that pulsed faintly as we approached. In the center stood an arch—tall, ancient, fractured.
It wasn't just stone.
It was bone.
Dragonbone, Sabine muttered, tracing it with one finger.
Sigils burned across its surface, flickering like dying stars. Some I recognized from the Emberborn Chronicle. Others… I could feel in my skin.
"They react to you," Dorian said quietly. "Not just the ring. You."
"I'm not the first to stand here," I murmured. "But I might be the last."
We formed a circle. Seven of us.
Elina passed around kindling—a spark from each of us. A lock of hair. A drop of blood. A shard of fire, caught in crystal.
When the final ember was placed in the center, I stepped forward.
The ring pulsed once.
Then, without warning, the arch opened.
No sound. No quake. Just… absence.
Like reality had been pulled aside to show what lay beneath.
A staircase descended into pure black. At its base, nothing but whispers.
Riven swore under her breath. "Of course it's stairs. It's always stairs."
I looked back at them all—my Circle. My fireborn.
"If anything happens—"
"We go together," Sira said. "No speeches."
So we walked down.
The vault beneath was not made of stone or earth.
It was made of ash.
Floating, suspended in the void, we stepped into what felt like the inside of a memory. Emberlight drifted past our faces. And in the center—
A throne.
Broken. Shattered down the middle. Carved from obsidian and gold.
And on the walls, thousands of names. Etched by fire.
I found Vaerin's. I found Sabine's mother. I found—
My own.
"Elira of Hollowhearth," I read aloud, stunned. "But I've never—"
"You did," came a voice behind me.
Not male. Not female.
Just… flame.
From the shadows stepped a figure cloaked in smoke. No face. No mask. Just two burning white eyes.
The Echo.
"I remember you," it said. "Across lifetimes. Across burnings. You always return."
I raised my hand. "You're not taking me."
It tilted its head. "You think this is about taking?"
It pointed to the throne.
"You already sat. You already ruled. You already fell."
I felt the Circle behind me, flames rising.
And I realized, with dawning horror:
This wasn't a prison.
It was a mirror.
Final line, Chronicle Page — now written in fresh ember ink
The Circle is whole.The seal is broken.The fire remembers what you've forgotten.