The road eastward was long and cruel. For days, they crossed the scorched plains where grass would never grow again, and the wind carried with it the faint, bitter scent of smoke and iron. Each night, the stars burned pale and distant, as though even the heavens dared not look upon the earth below.
Ray led in silence, his cloak tattered, his eyes fixed upon the horizon. Behind him followed Mira and Baru, their footsteps quiet but steady. They spoke little, for words had lost their meaning in a world still mourning its own ruin.
On the seventh night, they reached the edge of the Ashen Ravine—a vast scar upon the land where the ground had split open, swallowing entire villages into darkness. The air shimmered faintly with heat, and from below came the low, rhythmic pulse of something alive.
Baru frowned. "We shouldn't linger. The ground here still breathes the fire."
But Ray stepped closer to the edge, drawn by an unseen force. "No," he said softly. "It's calling."
Before either could stop him, a faint glow erupted from beneath his chest—the same golden light that had awakened in him on the battlefield. It flickered like a heartbeat, answering the unseen pulse from below.
Mira's eyes widened. "Ray, stop! You'll fall—"
The ground trembled violently, and the ravine roared to life. Streams of molten fire surged upward, spiraling like serpents of flame, and in that blazing chaos, Ray felt something ancient stir within him. Visions flooded his mind—cities built of light, oceans of molten gold, and two towering figures standing before a vast fire: one cloaked in radiance, the other wreathed in shadow.
A voice echoed through his thoughts, soft yet commanding.
"You carry what was broken. The flame that gives… and the flame that takes."
He gasped and fell to his knees, clutching his chest. Mira ran to him, gripping his shoulders. "Ray! What did you see?"
He looked up at her, his breath ragged. "They were… gods. The first fire and the last shadow. They were one once—but men tore them apart."
Baru's face turned grim. "Then the legends were true."
Ray nodded slowly. "The Citadel of Embers isn't just where the flames were born. It's where they were divided."
Silence fell, broken only by the soft crackle of the dying firelight.
They camped that night beneath the hollow cliffs, where the sky burned faintly crimson even in darkness. Mira sat beside Ray, watching the faint glow still pulsing beneath his skin.
"Does it hurt?" she asked quietly.
He hesitated. "It feels… alive. Like it's waiting for something."
"For what?"
Ray turned toward the east, where a dull red glow bled through the clouds. "For me to decide what kind of flame I am."
Baru stirred from his post near the fire. "Then you'd best decide soon. The scouts I sent this morning haven't returned."
Ray stood, his hand resting on his sword. "Something's coming."
Moments later, the wind changed. A foul, acrid stench filled the air—a mix of burning oil and decay. Then, from the shadows beyond the ridge, came the faint sound of clattering metal.
Dozens of figures emerged from the darkness, their armor blackened and cracked, their eyes burning with ember-red light. They were men once, but the flame had hollowed them out, leaving only husks—Ashborn, the soldiers of the fallen warlord Karlin, cursed to burn eternally without dying.
Mira drew her blade. "They should be dead!"
Baru gritted his teeth. "The Infernal Core must still be feeding them."
The Ashborn moved as one, their steps silent, their gaze fixed upon Ray. Then, in unison, they fell to one knee, striking their charred blades into the ground.
The largest among them—his face half-burned, his voice a rasp of smoke—spoke:
"Master of the Living Flame… we have awaited your command."
Ray froze. "I'm not your master."
The Ashborn's head lifted, ember eyes flickering. "The flame within you calls to us. You carry the same fire that bound our souls. Give us purpose again… or release us from this torment."
Ray's heart pounded. He could feel it—their pain, their longing, their endless suffering beneath the curse of fire. The light within him responded, pulsing brighter, reaching toward them.
Mira stepped forward, alarmed. "Ray—don't!"
Baru's voice was sharp. "Control it! If you open yourself to them, their flame will consume yours!"
But Ray's gaze softened. "No. They don't need control. They need peace."
He raised his hand, and the light surged outward—not in fury, but in warmth. The Ashborn screamed, not in agony, but in release, their bodies dissolving into motes of golden flame that drifted skyward like stars returning to the heavens.
When the last of them vanished, silence fell once more.
Mira stared at him, awed. "You freed them."
Ray lowered his hand, trembling. "No… they freed me."
Baru's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Then it's true—the Heart of the Flame can heal what the Infernal Core corrupts."
Ray nodded faintly, exhaustion weighing upon him. "And at the Citadel… I'll find the power to end this, once and for all."
Baru looked toward the east, where the distant glow had grown brighter, flickering like a heartbeat against the dark horizon.
"Then the Citadel awaits," he said grimly. "And whatever sleeps within it will soon awaken."
Ray turned to his companions, his voice quiet but resolute. "Then we walk into the fire."
And beneath a sky bruised with ash and light, the last heirs of the old world continued their journey—toward the heart of creation, where the first flame burned and destiny awaited.