The air inside Thondra Kottai was still, but not dead.
It felt ancient—heavy with memory, with history, with the scent of sacred oils and tempered flame. The team stepped cautiously through the threshold, their weapons drawn but lowered. The moment they entered, the great door closed behind them without a sound.
Ashwan took the lead.
Golden lights began to rise from the floor, illuminating the walls—not torches, but floating flame orbs, each engraved with Tamil mantras too old for even Yalini to recognize.
The inside of the tower was massive.
Far larger than what the exterior suggested.
It spiraled upward endlessly, its ceiling hidden by a glowing red-gold mist. The floor beneath them was obsidian stone—polished and warm to the touch. And on every surface, murals flickered into view—painted in moving light and fire.
> "This place… it's alive," whispered Ruvana.
Yalini stood beside a mural. Her fingers hovered above a shifting scene showing a battle between flame-wielders and void beasts. She read the glyph beneath it slowly:
> "The First Gate. When Flame was born from Dharma."
Thyrol muttered, "These aren't just decorations. This tower is a library. A living memory."
Ashwan kept walking until they reached a wide chamber at the base of the inner spiral. There, upon a circular dais, sat a single empty throne—burnished with gold, shaped like a lotus in bloom, and surrounded by twelve unlit flame-bowls.
Inscribed behind the throne was a simple phrase, glowing faintly:
> "En flame-ai yaar thookkirargalo, avargal than indha arasu."
(Whoever bears my flame, they are the rightful ruler of this citadel.)
The others looked to Ashwan.
He was silent. Still.
And then, the throne reacted.
The ember of the Final Flame that still lingered in Ashwan's soul flared, answering the call. The twelve flame-bowls lit in sequence—one by one, forming a perfect circle of golden fire around the dais.
A pulse ran through the entire tower.
Then the throne spoke.
> "You carry the shard. You bear the will.
You have returned to what was abandoned.
Keeper of the Veil… heir of the Dharma Flame…
Will you sit upon the Flame Throne and accept what was lost?"
Ashwan didn't move.
Not yet.
Because deep in his soul, Agniyan's voice whispered:
> "This is no honor.
This is a vow.
If you sit… there is no turning back."
Ruvana stepped beside him. "You don't have to. Not now."
Ashwan looked up into the spiral tower's glowing mist. He thought of the dying clanspeople. The cracked leyline beneath Veil Fortress. The rising tide of the Clanscourge. The children growing up without sun, beneath broken skies.
"I do," he said.
> "If this tower remembers the old ways, then it must remember what comes next."
"That fire is not a weapon. It is responsibility."
He stepped forward and sat on the Flame Throne.
The fire reacted instantly.
Golden light burst upward in a ring, spiraling through the entire tower. Murals across the walls blazed with color and sound—scenes of ancient battles, long-lost civilizations, and gods bound in flame contracts with men.
At the very top of the spiral, a symbol ignited:
> The Sigil of the True Flamekeeper.
---
Ashwan's vision blurred.
He saw beyond time.
He saw a war before the Clans existed.
He saw the Flame Thrones—not just one, but seven—each in a tower across the world, built as part of the Vel Covenant to protect the world's balance. And he saw how six of them had fallen.
Only Thondra Kottai remained.
And now, its throne had chosen again.
---
When the light faded, Ashwan stood once more—not changed in form, but in presence.
Ruvana looked at him, awe in her voice.
> "What are you now?"
Ashwan turned to face his team.
And behind him, the throne spoke one final time:
> "The Last Flame Throne has awakened.
The Flamekeeper walks again.
Let the world tremble—for hope has lit its fire anew."