Three nights later, the Veil Fortress felt colder than usual.
Not from weather—the leyline still pulsed beneath the city, providing heat to its roots—but from something deeper. As if the earth itself were holding its breath, bracing for something it remembered long ago but feared to name.
In the War Hall, Ashwan stood over the flame map, his eyes fixed on the red mark that glowed where none should glow—deep within the Mistlands, where the Thondra Kottai had been seen.
The Unburning Fortress.
A myth even the most ancient of flame texts barely mentioned. It was said to be the first bastion humanity ever built against the Void—the flame's first covenant with man, from a time before time was tracked.
> "Ashwan," came Priestess Yalini's voice from behind, "the tower has begun pulsing."
He turned. "What do you mean?"
Yalini held up a carved flame crystal, humming gently with a warm golden rhythm. "The scouts left a tether—an echo anchor. It was quiet for two days. But now, it's sending… a beat."
Ashwan frowned. "Like a signal?"
"Like a heartbeat," she said softly. "Alive. Rhythmic. Deliberate."
Ruvana leaned on the map table. "So the fortress isn't just standing… it's awakening."
---
At the southern watchtower, the Mist Ring churned unnaturally. Its usual quiet rolling had given way to spiral flows, as if pulled by an unseen force. Every so often, flashes of red-gold would shimmer inside the fog—like lightning that refused to strike.
Ashwan stood watching it, Vel spear planted beside him.
Thyrol joined, fidgeting with his flame-reader compass. "Mist's behaving like it's tethered. Something's drawing it inward—not dispersing it. That's not weather. That's ritual."
Ashwan looked toward the direction of Thondra Kottai. "A defense system, maybe. Or a lock."
Thyrol glanced up. "Locks don't open on their own unless something wants out."
---
Later that evening, as the fortress quieted into its chant cycles, a messenger flame appeared before Ashwan—a fire butterfly, an ancient signal from the Old Fire Roads.
It hovered briefly, then burst into a flame symbol: a glyph unseen in centuries.
Ashwan paled.
> "This glyph… this is Agniyan's original seal."
Yalini, reading over his shoulder, gasped. "That glyph was lost after the Second Dimensional War. No temple on Vayundhara even remembers how to write it."
Ashwan stared into the flickering shape.
And it changed.
Forming a single Tamil phrase:
> "Neer Varavendum."
(You must come.)
---
The next morning, the command council assembled before dawn.
Ashwan stood at the head, flanked by Ruvana, Yalini, Thyrol, and four elite volunteers. Each was handpicked—not for brute strength, but for resilience, clarity, and the ability to walk through flame without fear.
"We cross the Mist Ring," Ashwan said.
Ruvana nodded. "Scouting formation?"
"No," he replied. "Contact formation. We're not just observing anymore. The fortress is calling. We answer."
He looked to each face in the room.
"The enemy tried to kill the Flame. Now the Flame is speaking. It's not just survival we fight for now… it's inheritance."
---
As they approached the Mist, the fog began to part—not retreating, but coiling away, clearing a path through the unseen. Like breath exhaled from a mountain.
And then they saw it.
Rising from the dead lands like a forgotten god:
Thondra Kottai.
A tower of seamless black stone, adorned with fire-sigil carvings that shimmered faintly with golden light. No moss. No cracks. No signs of age. It didn't look like it had survived the invasion.
It looked like it had slept through it.
And now…
it was awake.
Ashwan stepped forward.
The moment his foot touched the stone path, the door at the base of the tower rumbled.
Symbols lit one by one.
Then it opened.
And from within echoed a voice—not heard by the ears, but felt by the soul:
> "Keeper… step into the flame."