The first thing Kael felt was cold.
Not the bite of winter wind, but a deeper kind of chill — a soul-aching freeze that gripped his lungs and squeezed. He hit his knees on hard crystal ground, coughing, his breath curling in unnatural patterns before him.
A moment later, Elira landed nearby with a hard roll, catching herself on one elbow.
"Stars," she gasped. "You weren't kidding about it hurting."
Kael didn't respond.
His eyes were locked ahead.
They stood at the edge of a massive plain of translucent crystal. Towers climbed into the sky like frozen lightning, bending pale violet light into shifting patterns. The sky itself was wrong — no sun, no moon, only drifting rivers of light overhead, like glowing mist caught in eternal motion.
The City of Glass.
He had seen pieces of it before — in dreams, in memory. But the real thing pulsed with a presence that no recollection could hold.
"Elira," he said, standing slowly. "Don't touch anything."
She raised an eyebrow, but nodded.
The deeper they walked, the more Kael felt it — the city wasn't empty.
It was watching.
Footsteps echoed too long. Voices faded too early. Statues lined the streets — men, women, children, mages, warriors — all caught in motion, every detail perfect. Too perfect.
"Elira," he whispered, stopping in front of one. "They're not statues."
She stepped closer, her hand resting on the hilt of her blade. "What are they?"
"Trapped."
She didn't ask by what.
At the city's heart, they found a courtyard ringed by broken glass thrones. In the center stood a man, mid-scream, his arms reaching toward something long gone.
Kael knew the face.
"Theren," he said. "First of the Flamebearers. Before me."
Elira studied the statue. "He came here?"
"He was looking for answers. But he came alone. He wasn't ready for the Warden."
"The what?"
Before he could answer, the ground shifted.
Tiles moved like gears, forming a path toward the mirrored palace that towered above everything else. At its peak — a throne.
And on the throne: a figure. Robes of silver and shadow. A face like a mirror, reflecting only Kael and Elira.
The Warden had awakened.
"Don't run," Kael said, voice steady.
"Wasn't planning on it," Elira replied, but her grip tightened.
The Warden did not speak. It only tilted its head, studying them like curiosities. Kael stepped forward.
"I seek the Vessel. The one you hold."
The Warden's reply wasn't sound — it pressed straight into Kael's mind.
> "Then you must pay the price of memory."
The city shattered.
Glass lifted like dust caught in a storm. It reformed — not shards, but shapes. Soldiers. Warriors of light and fire, forged from the city itself.
Kael raised the gauntlet.
Flame roared to life around his arm.
"Elira—left side!"
She was already moving, ducking and striking. One fell. Then rose again.
"They reform!" she shouted.
"They're constructs!" Kael replied, unleashing fire that reduced three more to cinders. "Keep them down long enough to move!"
The Warden remained still, watching.
Judging.
Then — silence.
The soldiers froze. Turned to dust.
Kael stood, cloak scorched, gauntlet still glowing.
The Warden's voice rang out across the city.
> "You are not as he was."
Kael spat.
"I'm not supposed to be."
The mirrored throne cracked. A staircase formed.
> "Then enter," it said. "Take what you came for… if you can hold it."
Inside, everything gleamed. Reflections twisted — Kael in fire, Kael in rage, Kael alone. He ignored them.
At the heart of the palace, a cage hovered above a pool of liquid light. Inside: a girl. No older than fifteen. Eyes closed. Fire curled beneath her, quiet as breath.
Elira's voice was soft. "That's the Vessel?"
Kael nodded. "The next one."
"She's dreaming."
"And if we wake her wrong…" he began.
"She'll burn everything," Elira finished.
Kael raised the gauntlet.
Its glow matched the flame beneath the girl.
The cage began to dissolve.
And then—her eyes opened.
The world held its breath.