The flame had a voice.
Kael had always believed fire was a force, not a song. Not a whisper. Not something that could call your name like it knew you before your first breath. But now, as the light of the gauntlet poured through the crystal cage, as Sena's eyes opened and fixed on him—he heard it.
Not in his ears. In his bones.
Sena blinked, not with fear, but awareness. Like she had always been awake beneath the surface of that dream. Like she was waiting for the right name to wake her.
"Kael," she said softly.
Elira stiffened beside him.
Kael took a step forward. "How do you know me?"
Sena tilted her head. "We remember each other. Vessels always do."
The moment her foot touched the mirrored floor, the palace trembled. Light fractured. The Warden's voice echoed faintly from high above, but it was no longer a command. It sounded like retreat. Or fear.
> "Two flames awaken. One path closes. Another... opens."
And then silence.
They didn't speak for a long time after leaving the throne chamber. The City of Glass shifted around them as if the act of freeing Sena had changed its rules. What had once been endless streets now bent inward, forming a corridor that led to a crystalline archway.
A new gate.
Kael walked ahead, gauntlet still warm. Sena followed, barefoot, her hair flowing behind her like smoke. She never stumbled. Never glanced at the strange reflections that danced in the mirrored walls. She walked like someone who had done this before.
Elira broke the silence first. "We need to talk about what she is."
Sena didn't even turn. "I'm right here."
"Exactly," Elira replied. "You were asleep in a cage. Now you talk like you've lived through ten lifetimes."
Kael glanced back. "She has."
Sena finally looked at Elira. "I was the Vessel of Flame before Kael. Before Theren. Before they called us Vessels at all. I remember fire when it was still sacred."
Elira frowned. "You look fifteen."
Sena offered the faintest smile. "Flame doesn't age. It only consumes."
They reached the gate by nightfall—though night here was just the absence of light above. The arch pulsed faintly, showing cracks of what lay beyond: sky, wind, and something massive stirring in the clouds.
Kael touched the edge of the portal. The gauntlet glowed in response.
"This leads to the Shattered Vale," he said. "That's where the third Vessel waits."
Sena stepped beside him. "The Oathbearer. The one who held the winds."
Kael turned to Elira. "You don't have to come."
She scoffed. "Too late for that. I already left home, fought glass soldiers, and jumped realms with you. I'm not stopping now."
Kael gave a rare nod of gratitude. "Then stay close."
They stepped through together.
Wind.
The Shattered Vale was nothing but endless cliffs, floating islands of rock drifting through a storm-tossed sky. Lightning cracked above, splitting mountains in the distance. There were no cities. No roads. Just stone, sky, and ruin.
The platform they landed on groaned beneath their feet. Kael scanned the horizon, then pointed to a distant spire of rock twisting into the clouds.
"That's where we go," he said.
Sena narrowed her eyes. "We're not alone."
Kael felt it too—the pressure in the air, like breath held too long. The sky pulsed unnaturally. Something was watching.
And then the wind spoke.
> "Flame travels where it is not welcome."
A shape descended from above—not a bird, not a person. A creature of cloud and wind, its body amorphous, wings beating with thunder.
Kael raised the gauntlet. "We don't want a fight."
The creature responded with a scream that split the rock beneath them.
And then it charged.
The battle was chaos.
Kael hurled fire in sweeping arcs, the gauntlet amplifying his strikes. Sena moved like a dancer, each step drawing flame from the air, shaping it into spears, shields, blades. Elira kept her footing, using terrain and speed to land cuts where it mattered.
But the creature wouldn't fall.
Every wound it took turned to mist. Every blow reformed.
"It's not real!" Elira shouted.
Kael's eyes widened. "It's a guardian! A trial!"
Sena nodded. "Then we don't kill it. We survive it."
They focused on defense—dodging, blocking, enduring.
And eventually, the storm calmed.
The creature dispersed.
The winds silenced.
And from the sky, a single feather fell.
Kael caught it.
It burned.
And the path to the spire opened.
At the summit of the spire was no door, no throne.
Only a man.
He sat cross-legged, eyes closed, body scarred from countless wars. His left arm was gone. In his right hand, he held a pendant—shaped like a wing, wrapped in silver flame.
Kael approached slowly. "You're the Oathbearer."
The man opened one eye. "Was."
Sena stepped forward. "We need you."
He studied them.
Then, softly: "The wind doesn't return to the fire lightly."
Kael lowered his gaze. "The gods are unmaking the Vessels. You're next."
The Oathbearer sighed. "Then let me fall fighting."
Kael stepped closer. "No. Let's rise together."
The wind stirred.
And the third flame awoke.