The next day dawned beneath a sky of copper fire. Clouds rolled above Pyraeth like molten metal, reflecting the flames that never seemed to sleep. Jayden followed Lyra through the eastern gates, where the city thinned into jagged ridges of black stone.
"The Ember Fields," she said, gesturing ahead. "Once, this was where the first fireborn trained. Now it's mostly ash and ghosts."
"Ghosts?" Jayden asked.
"Not the kind that haunt dreams," Lyra said.
"The kind that haunt memory."
They stopped at the edge of a vast plain glowing with dull embers. Every gust of wind sent sparks spiraling into the air. The ground shimmered faintly, alive but dying—a battlefield turned to a furnace.
"Out here," she said, "the fire listens to no one. If you want to survive, make it listen to you."
She tossed him a weapon: a staff of blackened steel, its ends engraved with swirling runes. "Channel through this. It'll help focus the current."
Jayden caught it awkwardly. "And if it doesn't?"
Lyra grinned. "Then you'll find out what it's like to be charcoal."
He gave a nervous laugh, then followed her into the fields. The air was so thick with heat it shimmered, warping the horizon. Every few steps, molten veins pulsed beneath their feet. Jayden could feel the flame inside him responding—stirring like something long asleep.
Lyra stopped beside a cracked obsidian pillar. "We start simple. Focus the fire through your staff and strike the mark."
She pointed toward a ring of stone targets half-buried in ash. Jayden planted his feet, raised the staff, and drew in a deep breath. The world went silent, and for a heartbeat, he could feel the rhythm Lyra had spoken of—the slow inhale and exhale of the world's flame.
He released it.
A wave of fire shot forward, roaring across the field. The stone target glowed red, then shattered. Jayden staggered backward, his pulse racing.
Lyra nodded approvingly. "Better. But you're still letting it escape you. Control doesn't mean caging the flame—it means guiding it."
He tried again. And again. Hours passed, sweat streaking his face, the air alive with the scent of scorched rock. Each strike grew cleaner, steadier. The fire no longer burned him—it flowed with him, as if recognizing his intent.
When he paused to catch his breath, Lyra said, "That's enough for now."
He leaned on the staff, panting. "Was that the test?"
She shook her head. "That was the warm-up."
Before he could respond, the ground trembled. A deep rumble echoed beneath the surface, followed by a crack of lightning that wasn't from the sky. The earth split open, spilling crimson light.
Lyra's expression hardened. "Stay behind me."
A creature emerged—a molten beast shaped from stone and fire, its eyes like burning coals. The ground smoked beneath its claws.
"What is that?" Jayden breathed.
"An Ember Wraith," Lyra said. "Born from battlefields that never cooled. It feeds on untempered flame." She drew her sword, the blade igniting in her grip. "And it smells yours."
The creature lunged. Lyra met it head-on, her sword carving an arc of gold light. The impact sent ripples through the air, but the Wraith barely flinched. It swung a molten claw, forcing her back.
"Jayden!" she shouted. "Focus! Channel your flame—don't fight mine, join it!"
Jayden raised his staff, heart pounding. He could feel her fire surging nearby, a rhythmic pulse against his own. He closed his eyes, reached for the warmth in his chest, and let it connect—his flame finding hers like two notes of the same chord.
The world erupted in light.
A stream of fire burst from his staff, merging with Lyra's strike. Together their flames spiraled, weaving into a single, blinding inferno that struck the Wraith square in the chest. It roared, the sound shaking the valley, and then its body fractured—splitting apart into shards of cooling glass.
Silence fell.
Jayden dropped to one knee, the staff slipping from his grasp. His vision swam, but when he looked up, the Wraith was gone—only faint embers remained.
Lyra stood over him, breathing hard. "You did it," she said softly.
He gave a tired laugh. "I thought I was supposed to control it, not blow half the field apart."
Lyra smirked. "Sometimes control means knowing when not to hold back."
She offered him a hand. He took it, his fingers still trembling.
As they made their way back toward the Spire, Jayden couldn't shake the feeling that the battle had meant more than a simple test. He glanced at Lyra. "That thing—it wasn't here by chance, was it?"
Her expression darkened. "No. Something—or someone—woke it. And it reacted to your flame, not mine."
"What does that mean?"
"That your power isn't just inherited—it's calling to something older. The Wraiths were born when the first fires of Aetherion went out. If they respond to you…" She trailed off, then said quietly, "You might be carrying more than bloodline magic."
When they returned to the city, word of the encounter spread quickly. By the time they reached the Spire, the Council had gathered again.
The elder from before studied Jayden with wary eyes. "You summoned a Wraith?"
"I didn't summon anything," Jayden said. "It came for me."
Lady Seral, the flame-haired councilor, rose from her throne. "Then the prophecy stirs again," she said. "The Heir of Ash returns, and the Ember Crown awakens."
The words sent a chill down Jayden's spine. "What prophecy?"
The elder's tone was grave. "Long ago, before the Sundering, the first King of Embers forged a crown from living flame. It was said that only one born of both realms—the mortal and the elemental—could wear it without burning."
Jayden stared at him. "And you think that's me?"
"We think the world has not seen such a mark in centuries," the elder said. "And if the Wraiths rise again, then the balance that keeps our worlds apart is failing."
Lyra stepped forward. "If the Gate weakens, the Shadows will return."
The elder nodded. "Exactly. The same darkness that devoured Kaelen's line before. If this boy truly carries the Ember's blood, then he may be the only one who can stop it—or the reason it returns."
Jayden clenched his fists. "Then tell me what I have to do."
The council fell silent. Finally, Lady Seral spoke. "Find the Ember Throne."
Lyra frowned. "That's a myth."
"Perhaps," Seral said. "But the Wraiths came from the old fields—the same place the Throne was said to be buried after the fall of the First King. If Jayden is to master his power, he must seek it."
Jayden met Lyra's gaze. There was fear in her eyes, but also resolve.
"When do we leave?" he asked.
Lyra's jaw tightened. "At dawn."
That night, Jayden stood at the balcony of his chamber, watching the stars shimmer above the burning city. He thought of the Vale—of the quiet mornings, the scent of rain, the simple life that now felt like another lifetime.
He reached for the pendant around his neck. Its warmth pulsed softly, as if alive.
"Kaelen," he whispered. "If you can hear me… I'll find them. I'll find who I am. And I'll end this before it consumes both worlds."
The wind rose, carrying embers into the night sky like falling stars.
Behind him, the door creaked. Lyra entered, her armor replaced with travel leathers. "Can't sleep either?"
He smiled faintly. "Too many fires in my head."
She leaned beside him. "Good. You'll need them where we're going."
Jayden looked at her. "The Ember Throne. Do you really think it exists?"
Lyra's eyes caught the glow of the city. "I used to. Until I watched my father die searching for it."
Jayden's voice softened. "I'm sorry."
She shook her head. "Don't be. If the stories are true, and you are who they say… maybe this time we'll finish what he started."
Jayden turned back to the horizon. Beyond the floating peaks, lightning flared again—this time tinged with shadow.
"Then let's finish it," he said.
Lyra smiled grimly. "At dawn, Heir of Ash."