The ruins rose like fangs from the earth.
Solreach—once a citadel of fire-scholars and elemental sages. Now, it stood like a carcass half-swallowed by stone. The wind that blew through its hollow spires was hot and dry, whispering in a tongue older than empires.
Drex stood at the threshold.
Something deep in his bones ached at the sight. Not pain—recognition.
"We're being watched," Kaelith muttered, her hand on her staff.
"I know," Drex said. "And not just by the living."
---
The Flame Below
They entered the ruins carefully, past shattered gates and walls engraved with runes—many of them burned clean through, as if erased by fire too wild to be contained.
At the center stood a spiral stair descending into the ground, its edges glowing faintly with embers that had never fully died.
"This is the Cradle," Kaelith whispered. "Where they first tried to bind fire into human flesh."
Drex touched the hilt of his blade. "Where they made me."
Kaelith didn't argue.
They descended.
---
Echoes of the Past
The lower halls of Solreach weren't just ruins—they were memories carved into stone.
They passed mural after mural: men and women wrapped in fire, turning against each other; children cradled in molten arms; the birth of the Pyreborn.
One chamber showed Drex himself.
Or someone who looked exactly like him, centuries ago, standing with his arms raised as flame spiraled into his chest.
Kaelith froze. "That's… not possible."
Drex stared at it. "It's not me."
"But it is you."
He touched the painting, and it flickered—and spoke.
> Welcome back, vessel.
---
The Guardian of the Seal
They reached the deepest chamber.
A wide stone circle, lined with braziers that lit on their own as they stepped forward. At the center: a throne of cinders.
And seated upon it was a figure of fire-bound bone.
The Fourth Guardian.
He rose slowly, robes of ember-woven silk falling in slow motion, like smoke underwater.
"Drex Malven," he intoned, voice deep as thunder. "Bearer of the Broken Flame. Do you know what you carry?"
Drex stepped forward. "No. But I intend to."
The Guardian raised his arm—and the walls ignited with glyphs that spiraled around them.
"Then face the Fourth Trial."
---
Trial of Memory
Drex was pulled into vision—not illusion, but truth.
He saw the truth of the Pyreborn:
They weren't soldiers.
They were vessels—created to imprison fragments of Rathmaelos, the flame-god who had once tried to burn the world clean.
Each vessel, each soldier, was a cage.
But only one was perfect.
Drex.
He was not just forged—he was chosen. Not by man. Not by king. But by Rathmaelos himself.
---
Awakening
Drex snapped back to the present, sweat streaming down his face.
The Guardian bowed.
"You are the Flame's Will."
Drex gritted his teeth. "Then tell me how to kill the thing inside me."
"You cannot," the Guardian said. "But you can use it. And you must—because the Fifth Seal guards more than memory."
He stepped aside.
A wall of fire parted, revealing a corridor of obsidian that pulsed with heat.
Kaelith looked at Drex. "Do you trust it?"
"No," he said. "But I trust the path. And I trust you."
Together, they stepped through.
And behind them, the Fourth Seal shattered.
To be Continued...