The red haze of Pyrrhus rolling beneath him did little to settle Kael Thornwind's restless heart. Each exhalation sent a plume of ember-scented wind through the griffin's feathers, and the world below shimmered with rivers of lava and smoke-wreathed crags. At his side, Rorin guided his mount with seasoned poise; Marla's wide eyes reflected equal parts wonder and anxiety. Kael leaned forward, fingers brushing the shard against his chest as though drawing strength from its steady pulse.
They touched down at the Citadel Haven, a fortress carved into a dormant volcano's rim. Molten rivulets cooled into black glass walls, and iron gates engraved with blazing runes stood open, welcoming—or warning—arrivals. Zephyrian guards dismounted first, saluting the citadel's wardens. Kael slid from his griffin's back so quickly his legs trembled from the sudden loss of momentum. He steadied himself against the volcanic rock and inhaled deeply. The air burned sweet, like honey boiled in a forge.
A pair of citadel sentinels approached: one a stony giant of a man with arms like oak trunks, the other a lithe woman with hair braided in vivid crimsons that flickered in the heat. Both wore mail painted in deep bronze, and each carried a heavy hammer—symbols of the Ember Imprint's mastery over fire and forge.
"Welcome, travelers," the giant-man intoned, voice like falling anvils. "I am Varric Flinthand, Keeper of the Ember Flame, and this is Captain Syra Emberlock." He bowed with surprising grace for his bulk. "Zephyrus says you bear the Star Imprint. Pyrrhus awaits your trial, Adept Thornwind."
Kael straightened, nodding respectfully. "Keeper Flinthand, Captain Emberlock—I am honored. I seek to learn the Ember Imprint's secrets, so that my power may be tempered with your flame. Will you guide me?"
Syra's eyes glowed with curiosity. "Many come with reckless fire in their veins and little wisdom in their hearts. The Ember Imprint can burn as much as it forges." She extended a gauntleted hand. "First, you must prove your resolve. Follow me."
Marla and Rorin remained at Kael's side as they passed through the gates and entered a vast courtyard strewn with obsidian pillars and smoldering braziers. Blacksmiths hammered metal near roaring kilns, sparks flying like fireflies into the burnt-orange sky. The clang of their hammers echoed across the courtyard like distant thunder.
Syra led them toward a circular pit hewn from cooled magma. Rorin grunted with recognition; Marla stared in awe; Kael felt his pulse quicken. This must be the Gauntlet of Ash—an arena where would-be adepts tested their affinity with flame under the harbor into the magma's edge. He swallowed, stroking the starshard beneath his tunic.
Flinthand's voice boomed. "Adept Thornwind, welcome to Pyrrhus' crucible. Demonstrate your courage by entering the Pit of Ash. Face the Ember Wraith within, and emerge with your core unbroken." He waved a massive hand, revealing steps that led down into the circular chamber.
The Pit's walls glowed with residual heat; the floor was covered in fine ash that sifted between Kael's boots. He peered down and saw the Ember Wraith—a shifting silhouette of crimson flame, eyes like molten gold. It hovered at the pit's center, its form flickering and reforming like living fire. Its whisper rose, crackling words in an ancient tongue he could not comprehend.
Kael inhaled, tasting the ember-sweet air. Memories of Embervale's crater flickered behind his eyes; Marla's gentle voice urging caution; Rorin's stoic faith in him. He tightened his jaw and stepped forward. Each footfall stirred embers into the air, drifting like glowing motes. At the pit's base, the Wraith's flame-coalesced arms reached toward him, beckoning and warning in equal measure.
The first roar of magma from deep within the mountain shook the arena. Flinthand's voice rang out: "Strike true, or be consumed."
Kael clenched both hands at his sides, summoning the starshard's warmth inward. The Ember Wraith lunged in a swirl of red flame, closing the distance in an instant. Kael pivoted, thrusting both arms forward. Blue-white aether met crimson fire at the pit's center, steam hissing as two primal forces collided. Sparks showered in blinding arcs. Kael reeled back as the Wraith's heat slammed into him, but he forced his footing against the ash-covered ground.
He let his core's calm wash over him, recalling Seraphine's lesson in control. The Ember Wraith shrieked, a sound like steel scraped on stone. It lashed out with a flaring arc of flame that cut across the ash like a scythe. Kael summoned wind to his command, rotating it around himself in a shimmering tornado that deflected the fire-blade harmlessly upward, sending embers dancing across the arena walls.
Seizing the moment, Kael raised the shard in his left hand, feeling its glow intensify. He called upon the Star Imprint's luminescence, wrapping it around the swirling wind to temper its form. The cyclone of wind and starlight surged forward, engulfing the Ember Wraith in a cage of pearly flame. The Wraith writhed, molten fury trapped within, and the arena trembled with the clash of elemental will.
Kael held the cage steady as the Wraith's form flickered, its molten eyes locked on his. He stepped closer, until the cage's inner heat licked his boots, and closed his eyes. He reached inward, folding the Star's essence into the wind's current and beckoning the fire's spirit to calm. He pictured the Wraith not as adversary, but as partner—two flames dancing in harmony rather than conflict.
A thunderous crack echoed as the Wraith's form pulsed, then at last stilled. The cage of wind and starlight collapsed into a single bloom of pale ember, which drifted to the ash-laden floor and dissipated in a shower of glowing sparks. A hush fell. Kael opened his eyes to see the Ember Wraith kneel before him—its molten form shimmering in newfound repose. It bowed its head, and then, like smoke carried on a breeze, it vanished.
Silence lingered until Flinthand's booming laugh shattered it. "Remarkable!" he roared, striding into the pit and clapping Kael on the shoulder. "Few have conquered the Wraith, and fewer still have done so with compassion."
Syra joined them at the pit's edge, her crimson braid swinging as she nodded in approval. "You wield fire not to destroy, but to create. That balance marks a true Adept." She handed Kael a hammer carved from cooled obsidian. "Take this Emberforge Hammer. In the hands of a Tempered Adept, it will bend any metal to your will. Use it wisely."
Kael accepted the hammer reverently, feeling its weight balanced perfectly. He wrapped both hands around the handle and raised it above his head. A surge of aether rippled along the hammer's head, igniting runic patterns in faint orange glow. He felt the Ember Imprint awaken in his veins—a heart of living flame woven into his star-lit core.
Rorin emerged from the shadows, eyes shining. "That was a sight," he said, palling Kael on the back. "I've faced down storms of scorpions, but this… this was something else."
Marla pressed forward, concern softened into pride. "Are you all right?" she asked, brushing ash from Kael's sleeve. "That heat—did it burn you?"
Kael ran a gloved finger along his forearm. The mark of a small ember rune glowed beneath his skin—proof of his trial. "A warmth," he said, voice hoarse with exhilaration. "But it's part of me now."
Flinthand beckoned them onward. "The Trial of Pyrrhus is complete. But mastery comes only through practice. Stay in the forge's district three days and nights. Shape metals, bind runes, and let your Ember Imprint temper your spirit."
Kael nodded, stepping from the pit. Around them, the courtyard's blacksmiths paused their work, bowing heads in respect. Sparks that flew from hammers morphed into trails of turquoise light as Kael's Emberforge Hammer hummed quietly in his grip.
Syra led them down a scorched-stone avenue lined with open-fronted smithies. The air here was a hymn of hammer on steel, of bellows breathing life into forges, and the hiss of quenched metal. Kael's senses trembled with anticipation—and fatigue. His muscles ached from bearing the Ember Wraith's onslaught, yet his spirit crackled with triumph.
In one smithy, Kael set to work crafting a simple horseshoe. He hammered glowing iron on an anvil, each blow singing in harmony with the Ember Imprint's beat. Sparks burst in controlled arcs. Marla watched, awe in her eyes; Rorin offered measured advice on rhythm and stance. After several hours, Kael stepped back from a perfect, rune-bound shoe that bore both starlight and embers in its metal veins.
Over the next days, Kael forged blades and buckles, practiced runes, and endured the forge's heat with growing confidence. Each completed task honed not only the metal but his bond with fire—teaching him respect for its power and patience in its shaping. He measured each strike, balanced each breath, and poured both star and ember into every piece.
On the third night, as Kael hammered molten steel beneath the forge's lantern, Flinthand returned, eyes bright. "Your work honors Pyrrhus," he declared. He motioned to a massive iron door at the smithy's rear. "Beyond is the Hall of Ember, where the Council's forges stand. Step through, and you will craft your own blade—an Adept's weapon. Do so, and your Trial is complete."
Kael paused, sweat beading at his brow. His hands trembled slightly from exhaustion and yearning. He placed the hammer on the anvil and turned toward the massive door. Through its narrow window, he glimpsed red-hot forges and the silhouettes of master smiths shaping weapons of legend. In his heart, Kael felt the Star Imprint's steady thrum, guiding him forward.
He nodded at Flinthand. "I'm ready."
As the iron door creaked open, Kael Thornwind stepped into the heart of Pyrrhus's power—ready to forge not just a blade, but his destiny in fire and starlight.