The battlefield reeked of blood and smoke. Ash drifted across the torn earth like black snow, falling upon the bodies of the slain. Yet amid the ruin, Rondan stood motionless, his blade dripping crimson, his breath steady but heavy.
Above, the sky itself twisted. Clouds gathered in a spiraling storm, and from within that vortex, a faint glow—orange, searing—like an eye half-awake.
Leina landed beside him, her silver cloak tattered, dagger still warm with blood.
"You saw it too, didn't you?" she asked, her voice low but trembling.
Rondan's crimson eyes narrowed toward the heavens.
"It was watching. Not just the battle. Me."
Leina bit her lip. The stormlight reflected in her gaze.
"The Forgotten Flame isn't chained below alone. It reaches upward, through every marked general, every sacrifice. And now… it's aware of you."
A distant horn cut through the chaos. Survivors from the enemy's side were retreating, dragging their wounded. But they left something behind—an altar, jagged obsidian, its surface etched with runes that pulsed faintly with fire.
Rondan stepped forward, his boots crunching through ash. The closer he drew, the stronger the pull in his chest. His mark—hidden beneath his armor—burned like molten steel.
"Careful!" Leina hissed, grabbing his wrist. "That altar isn't meant to be touched. It's a conduit."
Rondan's jaw tightened. His voice came out low, almost a growl.
"A conduit… to me."
The ground trembled violently, cracks splitting the earth around the altar. From the depths of those fissures came whispers, faint but unrelenting, carried on unseen flames. Words in a tongue older than men, but Rondan understood them instinctively:
"Child of the crimson path… the chains fall because you walk."
Leina's face went pale. She pulled him back, but Rondan didn't resist. His eyes were fixed on the altar, and for the briefest moment, the glow in the storm above mirrored the fire in his own gaze—like two flames recognizing one another.
Then, silence. The storm dissipated, leaving only the moon and the still-burning camp.
Leina's grip trembled against his wrist.
"Rondan… if this continues, you won't just face them—you'll become what they're trying to awaken."
Rondan lowered his head, shadows hiding his expression. His voice was calm, but beneath it rumbled something darker.
"Then let it watch. Let it wait. When the chains break, I'll be ready."
The whispers faded into the night, but the altar remained—glowing faintly, like a wound in the world that would never heal.