Atop the spires of Solgard's high altar, the priests gathered beneath banners of gold and light.
The Hall of Aegis was a sanctified space, open only to the chosen — high clerics, divine interpreters, and royal proxies. Sunlight passed through the stained-glass dome above, casting shimmering rays across the marble floor. A mural of fire and purity burned across the walls: the holy judgment of the Flameborn Pantheon.
But the room felt colder than it should have.
At the center of the chamber stood High Seer Veylan, his crimson robes trimmed with flame-thread, his voice sharp as a blade.
"Three towers burned," he said. "A village spared from a cursed beast. Whispers of a cloaked man who walks through fire."
He turned slowly to face the gathered priests.
"This is no coincidence."
Murmurs spread.
One priest stepped forward, young and proud. "Perhaps it is a rogue flame-wielder, High Seer. An old talent, unregistered. There are still pyromancers who refuse the crown's sanction."
"No," Veylan said. "This is older than pyromancy. Older than sanctioned gifts. The flame described… it doesn't obey. It consumes."
He paused.
"And it remembers."
Below the altar, in the temple crypts, acolytes burned incense and prayed over sealed vaults. Each vault held fragments of forbidden knowledge — relics from a time before the pantheon, before the current faith had crushed the old gods beneath flame and silence.
One of those relics had begun to stir.
A stone ring etched with six symbols — each long erased from public record. Each one the mark of a forgotten god.
Now, one of them glowed faintly.
Red. Flickering. Hungry.
Back in Velmire, Kael stood on the rooftop of an abandoned bell tower, cloak pulled tight against the wind. The city buzzed beneath him, unaware of what walked among its alleys.
He'd spoken with Darin the day before. It had left a weight in his chest he didn't quite know how to carry.
That someone still remembered him — still believed in him — made it harder to stay cold.
He didn't want warmth. Warmth made you care. And care led to pain.
He was trying to forget how to feel.
He turned his gaze upward.
The stars were faint tonight, hidden behind a red haze that had begun to settle across the sky. It wasn't natural. The people thought it was dust, or weather, or something drifting from the Ashfold.
Kael knew better.
The remnants were waking.
And they were watching.
A sound behind him.
Kael turned — fast — hand twitching toward the hilt of his blade.
A figure stood in the doorway of the bell tower — cloaked in tattered green robes, hood drawn low, face hidden behind a mask of cracked porcelain.
They did not speak.
Kael didn't either.
But he could feel it.
Remnacy.
Not as strong as his. Not born in fire. But real.
The figure stepped forward. Slow. Measured.
Kael raised a hand.
"I won't warn you twice."
The masked figure stopped. Tilted their head.
Then, they knelt.
Kael blinked.
"I serve the ones you carry," the figure said, voice distorted, neither male nor female. "I heard their flame in the wind. I saw the second spark ignite. You have awakened the Second Remnant."
Kael's fingers twitched.
"Who are you?"
"A Watcher," they said. "One of the old blood. We remember the gods you now echo. We remember what they were… and what they burned to become."
Kael stepped closer.
"Then tell me what's happening."
The Watcher rose.
"The remnants stir because you stir. The more you awaken, the more the veil tears. The world will remember what it tried to forget. And not all will welcome the truth."
Kael narrowed his eyes.
"Do you serve me?"
"I serve the remnants."
"Then stay out of my way."
The Watcher hesitated.
Then bowed again. "The next will come soon. Be ready."
They vanished into smoke.
Kael stared at the space they'd left behind.
Another Remnancer. A follower of the old gods.
He didn't trust them. But he couldn't ignore them.
At that moment, across the city, a name burned itself into the stone wall of a church courtyard — seared in flame that no water could put out:
KAEL VIRELION
Gasps rose from bystanders.
Some crossed themselves.
Others fled.
But one woman, veiled and old, whispered:
"…He's returned."