The cavern walls groaned, stone splitting like brittle bone. Dust rained from above as the earth shuddered with the aftershock of Rondan's eruption. The last of the Guardians had fallen silent, reduced to piles of ember-stained ash, yet the air still burned with the echo of that forbidden fire.
Rondan pulled his sword from the fractured ground, his hands trembling. The runes carved by the flame still shimmered faintly on his arms, glowing like brands pressed by the gods themselves.
Leina coughed through the dust, her cloak torn and her silver eyes locked on him.
"You shouldn't have been able to do that. No mortal should."
Rondan didn't answer. His chest rose and fell as if each breath carried the weight of an army. Deep inside, the voice still lingered—hungry, restless.
"More… unchain me…"
A low rumble silenced even the whispers of flame. The cavern's far wall cracked open, not from collapse, but from something pushing through.
From the fissure stepped a figure wrapped in armor blackened by fire, its surface etched with glowing veins of crimson. Where its face should have been, only a hollow helm burned with twin flames. Every step it took left scorched prints in the stone.
Leina's dagger was already in her hand, her voice sharp with alarm.
"That's no Guardian. That's a Warden."
Rondan raised his blade, though his arms felt heavy.
"What's the difference?"
Her reply was grim.
"Guardians protect the chains. Wardens punish those who try to break them."
The Warden stopped a few paces away, its voice a guttural resonance, like fire forced into words.
"Catalyst of the Flame… you awaken too soon. Return to ash."
The ground cracked under its weight as it raised a colossal weapon—an axe forged from obsidian and fire, its edge glowing white-hot.
Rondan's crimson eyes narrowed, his exhaustion drowned beneath the storm rising again in his chest.
"If you want me in ashes… you'll have to burn with me."
With that, he charged, the whisper of the Forgotten Flame roaring louder than ever.