The chamber was vast—far larger than the Hall of Names, as though they had stepped not into a room, but into a realm unto itself. No walls, no ceiling. Only a sea of hovering platforms suspended in a void of deep blue starlight. They floated like shattered thoughts, spinning slowly in a rhythm Kaelen could almost hear—like a heartbeat buried in the silence.
Kaelen stepped forward onto the nearest platform. It was smooth obsidian, etched with faint silver glyphs. As his foot touched it, the symbols flared to life, trailing beneath his steps like ripples in water.
Seris followed, her eyes wide. "This place… it's older than the Ember. Older than the Hollow King."
"Feels like a library," Aelric muttered, sword drawn. "If a library could stare back."
Kaelen walked cautiously from platform to platform. They shifted to meet his steps, forming a path. The Ember at his chest pulsed steadily now—no longer like a second heart, but like a third. One that did not belong entirely to him.
Each platform they passed displayed images—living scenes locked in crystal-light. Memories. Some played silently, others with whispers on the edge of hearing. Kaelen caught glimpses: A city built of glass and flame. A battle beneath a black sun. A woman with a crown of vines holding a child wrapped in red.
One platform showed a tower rising from the sea, pierced by a falling star.
Kaelen turned to Seris. "Are these visions of the future?"
She shook her head. "No. These are pasts—forgotten ones. Lost to time. The Ember doesn't just burn… it remembers."
Aelric knelt beside a scene frozen mid-motion: a warrior in golden armor bleeding out before a circle of elders.
"Do you think any of these people knew what they were carrying?" he asked.
Kaelen didn't answer. His eyes were locked on the next platform.
It was different.
Darker.
The scene it held wasn't light, but shadow—smoke rising from broken towers, bodies strewn across scorched earth. A storm of ash and fire swept through the vision, devouring all.
And at the center stood a figure wrapped in flame.
Kaelen.
Or someone like him.
But older. Wounded. Burning from the inside.
Seris touched the edge of the vision. It recoiled from her, sparks bursting into the air.
"This… this is a warning."
Kaelen stepped back. "Or a promise."
At the heart of the memory vault stood a single stone altar—round, cracked, ancient. Upon it rested a sphere of pure crystal, humming with threads of gold and crimson. Kaelen felt its pull immediately.
The second Vessel.
He approached, each step dragging the weight of countless memories. The closer he got, the heavier it became—until his breath came in ragged gasps and sweat clung to his brow.
Seris murmured behind him. "Only one born of the Ember can touch it."
Aelric raised a brow. "Well, good luck not dying, mate."
Kaelen placed his hand on the Vessel.
It was like falling into light.
He stood in a world of fire.
Not destruction—something more sacred, more profound. A great forge, suspended in the void, with titanic anvils floating like islands. Sparks fell like meteors.
Before him, a woman waited.
She was robed in starlight and dusk, her skin the color of embers, her eyes glowing with quiet sorrow. Her voice echoed without sound.
"Kaelen. Flame-heir. Bloodbound."
He tried to speak but found he could not. The Ember burned in his chest, and in this place, it was not a stone—it was a flame itself, dancing above his heart.
The woman reached forward.
"I am Aenya. First Bearer. I forged the Ember when the world was still young."
Visions spiraled around her—of gods and stars, wars fought across skies, dragons made of language and thunder. She showed him the forging of the Ember, the price paid in blood, the long chain of those who carried it forward.
"The Ember does not choose lightly," she said. "It remembers. It connects. It judges."
Kaelen fell to his knees. "Why me?"
"Because the world forgets, Kaelen. But fire never does. You were born in shadow, yes—but your heart was always light. And now, you must decide."
"Decide what?"
The forge around them dimmed. Aenya's expression grew grave.
"The Hollow King is rising again. He has touched the world through dreams and bone, but soon he will awaken in full. The last time he reigned, the skies bled. You must stop him."
Kaelen's hands trembled. "How?"
Aenya leaned forward and placed her hand over the Ember.
"By becoming what you fear."
The flame surged.
And Kaelen screamed.
He collapsed at the altar, the crystal Vessel now empty—its essence absorbed. His skin glowed faintly. The mark on his arm—once a pale glyph—had flared into a full sigil of fire, pulsing like a living brand.
Aelric helped him sit up. "You were out for almost fifteen minutes. Thought you'd cooked your brain."
Kaelen wiped blood from his nose. "I saw the first Bearer. She showed me…"
He trailed off. Words failed.
Seris pressed a hand to the altar. "The Vessel's been claimed. We should go. The Hollow King will feel it."
"Where to now?" Aelric asked.
Kaelen stood slowly, the Ember thrumming like a storm beneath his ribs.
"There's one more Vessel," he said. "And then… we find him."
Seris nodded. "Then we head east. Beyond the Gloamspire."
Aelric groaned. "East? That's swamp and ghost country."
Kaelen sheathed his sword, gaze steady.
"Then we burn a path through."
From deep within the Vault, far beyond their hearing, something stirred.
A throne of bone trembled.
And in a place where light dared not enter, the Hollow King opened one eye.
"Soon."