The Emberhall was not what Elara expected.
From the outside, it looked like a collapsed ruin — blackened stones piled in crooked heaps, jagged walls swallowed by creeping moss. But as she stepped through the archway, reality shifted. Firelight flickered across an endless hall, and the air carried the scent of burning cedar. Pillars of dark obsidian rose to the ceiling, each carved with the faces of kings whose eyes followed her.
Korran, walking ahead, didn't seem to notice the change. "Don't stop," he murmured. "The Emberhall has a way of keeping wanderers… longer than intended."
The floor beneath their feet was warm, like embers beneath a thin layer of ash. Elara's hand brushed against one of the carved pillars. The stone was hot, pulsing faintly, as though it were alive.
A low voice spoke behind her.
"Another one has come to kneel."
Elara spun, hand instinctively going to the dagger at her belt. But no one stood there — only shadows stretching unnaturally across the floor.
Korran stopped and glanced over his shoulder. "Ignore them. The Emberhall feeds on uncertainty. If you answer, it will learn your name."
She forced herself to move, matching his pace. Still, the shadows slithered after them, whispering. Fragments of voices — some she didn't recognize, some she did. Her mother's laugh. A child crying. And one voice she'd hoped never to hear again.
"You left us to burn, Elara."
Her chest tightened. That was impossible. That voice belonged to Ryn, the boy she'd failed to save in Briar's Hollow. She told herself it wasn't real, but her hands were trembling.
They finally reached the Emberhall's heart — a circular chamber with a great brazier at its center. The flames burned silver, casting no heat. Dozens of doors lined the walls, each carved with strange runes.
Korran knelt before the brazier, murmuring words in a language Elara didn't know. The silver flames surged, and one of the doors creaked open.
"Through there," Korran said, rising. "The Keeper waits."
The Keeper. Elara didn't ask what that meant. She stepped through the door, her breath catching as the air turned cold. The chamber beyond was small, lit only by a single candle on a stone table.
A figure sat there, draped in tattered crimson robes. Its face was hidden behind an iron mask shaped like a weeping woman. When it spoke, the voice was both male and female, young and ancient.
"You seek the Ash Crown," the Keeper said. "But the crown does not seek you."
Elara's mouth was dry. "Then why am I here?"
The Keeper tilted its head. "Because you will carry it… or you will burn with it."
The candle flickered, and the iron mask leaned closer. "I have a task for you, child. Fail, and the crown will pass to another. Succeed, and you will take your first step toward owning it."
Elara hesitated. "What task?"
The Keeper reached into the darkness beside them and withdrew a shard of black glass, its edges dripping with shadows. "Deliver this to the city of Vaelrath. Place it in the Hall of Mirrors before the next blood moon."
The shard seemed to hum in her hand as she took it. It was cold — colder than ice — yet it burned her skin like fire.
Korran stepped into the room, his expression tense. "We should leave."
The Keeper's voice followed them as they turned to go.
"Beware the mirrors, Elara. They show more than reflections."
The Emberhall's light dimmed as they left, and the whispers grew louder. Somewhere in the shadows, Ryn's voice called her name again.
And this time, she almost answered.