The mirror vanished.
So did the threads.
The River of Names stilled as if nothing had happened.
But Aero's flame refused to die down.
It wrapped around his fists in coils of translucent white—no longer a fire of rage or instinct.
This was a sentient heat.
Kaeli approached him slowly. "They know you're watching now."
"No," Aero whispered. "They were already watching."
He turned his back to the River. "The First Court isn't dead. Not fully. They've left fragments—echoes of themselves—inside people like me."
Kaeli's lips parted, but Mica stepped forward.
"Echoes… like reincarnation?"
"Not quite." Aero stared at the sky. "They didn't need to be reborn. They just needed hosts."
That night, they camped far from the River, in a ravine of crystal spines and bone-dry roots.
Kaeli placed soulmetal shards in a circle. Protective warding, humming faintly.
Aero sat alone. Not meditating. Just listening—to the heartbeat of the world.
His life sense extended for miles now. He could feel dying animals. The crawl of vines deep underground. The pulsing emotions in his friends' bodies.
Kaeli was curious, nervous.
Mica was boiling. With rage. With grief. With longing.
Aero exhaled. "I didn't know wind could scream until I met her."
Mica found him later, tossing stones into the dark.
"You good?" she asked.
"No."
"Same."
She sat beside him, staring ahead.
"I saw your vision. The mirror showed me too."
He tensed.
"You were the last one. The last heir of their flame."
"Not willingly."
"I know. That's why it scares me."
She hesitated.
"You're strong, Aero. Stronger than anyone I've met. But there's something inside you, and it's ancient. And angry."
He didn't reply.
So she changed the subject.
"Tomorrow, we leave the River. Kaeli says there's a monastery up the ridge. Old Order of the Eye. Before the Empire."
"Think they'll help?"
"They're monks. They don't help. They judge."
Aero chuckled for the first time in days.
Mica grinned.
"There. That sound. Keep making that."
The monastery wasn't empty.
It was worse.
Occupied.
Ravens circled the stone towers. The monastery gates were sealed, the entire complex surrounded by banners marked with black fire glyphs.
Kaeli paled. "That's not the Order's seal."
Mica drew her daggers. "Who's inside?"
Kaeli muttered, "The Inheritors of Flame. Cultists. They worship the First Court as gods."
Aero's blood ran cold.
"So they're my fan club."
They infiltrated under cover of a dust storm.
Inside the monastery, torches burned with blue fire. Statues of the Thirteen surrounded the central temple—each with a face scorched blank.
The cultists chanted in old tongues, kneeling before a pedestal of ash.
On it—
A mask.
Bone-white. Shaped like a dragon's skull.
And behind it…
A man.
He wore charred robes. No face. Just a crown of embers where eyes should be.
Aero recognized the feeling before the man even spoke.
Life force.Twisted.Inverted.Rotting inward.
The man turned.
"Heir of the White Flame," he said, voice like cracked earth. "We have been waiting."
Aero stepped forward.
"Who are you?"
"I am the first Inheritor. I carry the will of the Flamebound. I keep the names of the forgotten gods."
Mica whispered, "He's a vessel."
Kaeli added, "No… he's worse. He's willing."
The cultists began to rise, drawing ash-forged blades.
The air thickened. The glyphs pulsed red.
Aero stepped forward alone.
"Take me to the Court," he said.
The Inheritor chuckled. "You are the Court, child."
And then he lunged.
Faster than thought.
Mica and Kaeli were blown backward by the shockwave. The Inheritor moved like smoke. His blade of black fire struck Aero's chest—
But the white flame pulsed—
And stopped it mid-air.
Aero grabbed the blade with his bare hand. His flame crawled up the weapon, devouring it like silk burning in sunlight.
The Inheritor staggered back.
"Impossible—!"
Aero's voice cracked with something deeper. Not anger. Not fear.
Conviction.
"You stole their names. I'll burn them back into history."
And he attacked.
What followed was not a fight.
It was a ritual of violence.
The monastery shook. White fire met black. Symbols burst mid-air like thunderclaps. The statues of the Thirteen shattered, one by one, with every clash.
The Inheritor screamed a forbidden name—"Xaioth!"—and became something else.
His body cracked. Wings of bone and blood erupted from his back.
He flew.
But Aero flew too.
He caught the Inheritor mid-air. Slammed him down into the altar.
The mask of bone shattered.
The man beneath was no one.
Just ash.
Just emptiness.
The cult scattered.
Kaeli rushed forward, unrolling her scrolls, sealing the remaining glyphs with sacred knots.
Mica helped Aero down.
He was bleeding. Everywhere.
But his eyes were calm.
"I saw it," he whispered.
"What?"
"Their names. All thirteen. They were never gods."
He closed his eyes.
"They were failures. Just like me."
As dawn broke, Kaeli finished a sketch of the shattered altar.
Mica found Aero standing alone on the monastery's roof.
"You good?" she asked again.
He looked at her.
"No."
She smiled.
"Still same answer. That's fine."
He looked at the horizon. The ash storm was gone.
"They're waking up, Mica."
"Let 'em come."
Aero's hand ignited softly.
"I'm done running."