"Some legacies are not written in books, but in the scars of those who carry them."
The fire had changed the world not just in Khareth. Not just in Ashen and Lyra,Everywhere the Third Gate's opening sent shockwaves—through kingdoms, empires, and forgotten places where people whispered of gods walking again.
And some... called for war.
Far across the Scorched Crescent, in the high desert of Halbraith, the Smoke Council gathered. Hooded figures sat on thrones carved from dragonbone and shadowglass. Each bore a sigil on their necks—the Flame-Eaters, exiles of fire who had once tried to devour the power Ashen now held.
"Three gates," growled the First Hood.
"Three too many."
"They have awakened the Flameborne," hissed the Seeress. "We must strike before the Fourth Gate burns away the Veil."A red-eyed man stepped forward. His skin shimmered like coal.
"Let me go. I'll break the Ember Knight before he fulfills the prophecy."The Council nodded.They unleashed Korran, the Scourge of Vale.A man once like Ashen. Until the fire hollowed him out.Ashen, Lyra, and Riven took refuge in the Dead Wastes. Ashen needed time—his body was healing, his mind unraveling. Since merging their flames, he shared Lyra's thoughts in moments of high emotion.At night, he dreamed her dreams of cages-
of voices— a woman who called her Solara.
"You've never told me your real name," Ashen said as they watched twin moons rise.
"I don't know if it's mine," Lyra said quietly.
"Solara... it feels borrowed. Like something I wore once and forgot how to take off."Riven kicked at the ash.
"Names are illusions. You know what matters? Who comes after you when the world burns. That's your name."They all looked at him.
"What?" Riven shrugged. "I can be deep."He came with the wind.The skies darkened as Korran entered the Wastes. The sand fled before him. The air turned still.Ashen felt him before he saw him. A fire, inverted—cold and greedy.
"He's like me," Ashen muttered.
"No," said Lyra, her eyes wide. "He's what you would've become if you let the Flame consume you."When Korran stepped into camp, his face bore scars in the same pattern as Ashen's runes—only his were burnt through the skin.
"Ember Knight," Korran said. "Come see what mercy looks like when the fire no longer loves you."
They fought beneath the shattered moons.Ashen's blade was fury and memory. Korran's was silence and despair.Every strike echoed across the Wastes. Flame met flame. Ashen screamed as his soul fractured under Korran's relentless blows.
"You are not chosen," Korran growled.
"You are used. Just like I was. Just like she will be."He lunged for Lyra.Ashen lost control.He exploded in fire—not red, but white—and unleashed the true flame. The kind that doesn't burn flesh. It burns fate.He didn't kill Korran. He unmade him.
After the battle, Ashen was different. He spoke less. Dreamed deeper.In the flame, he began seeing faces. One was his mother's.But another—one he didn't expect—was the face of the Seeress of the Smoke Council.She whispered:
"You are the Fourth Gate."He woke screaming.
The next morning, wanderers arrived in the Wastes. Marked with minor flame-runes, survivors of fire-touched villages. They called Ashen and Lyra Ash-Father and Ember-Mother.Ashen tried to tell them he wasn't a god. But they followed anyway.Lyra knelt beside a child who had glowing eyes like hers once were.
"They were changed when the Third Gate opened," she whispered.Ashen stared at the growing crowd. He wasn't just running anymore.He was leading.And what followed... was not peace.It was a war of flame.
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