The sky was still burning.
Where a city had stood, only molten stone and drifting cinders remained. The air shimmered with heat, and rivers of ash flowed like liquid metal down the cracks of the ruined plain.
In the heart of it, where the fire burned white instead of red, the Flamebearers gathered.
Three pillars of light stood within the inferno, their forms half-human, half-conflagration — no faces, only silhouettes of molten armor and fire where eyes should be. The air bent around them, trembling from their presence.
The one who bore the halo spoke first, his voice layered and resonant, as though thousands of tongues echoed his words at once.
"He escaped."
The spear-bearer's flame flared in irritation, a bright, sharp crack like lightning through magma. "Escaped? We reduced the square to slag. Nothing mortal lives through that."
"He was not mortal," said the halo-bearer. His tone held no anger, only certainty. "Nor alone."
The chain-bearer stirred, her chains whispering through the air like serpents of fire. "The woman. I felt her resistance. Not her name, but her flame—it was old."
A low growl rippled through the heat. "Old enough to defy the Ember Law?" the spear-bearer asked, his voice darkening.
Silence.
The halo-bearer lifted his head, flame flickering higher. "She interfered with the judgment of the Pyre. And the one she protected…" A pause, heavy as falling ash. "…bears the mark of the Soulforge."
The word struck like thunder. Even the flames seemed to hesitate.
The chain-bearer's chains coiled, glowing white-hot. "Impossible. The forges were extinguished in the Fall. Their wielders—obliterated."
"And yet," said the halo-bearer, "I saw it within him. A fracture of the old fire, alive and starving."
The spear-bearer slammed his weapon into the ground, sparks spiraling upward. "Then he must be claimed. The Pyre demands the forges remain dead."
"Claimed?" The chain-bearer's voice was like the hiss of boiling metal. "Or consumed?"
The halo-bearer did not answer immediately. Instead, he turned toward the distant dark horizon—the edge of the Flame's dominion, where the world dimmed into shadow. "If a forge has reawakened, the balance burns unsteady. The Pyre will sense it soon."
His halo dimmed slightly, and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter. "We are not the only ones hunting."
The spear-bearer's flames twitched with unease. "You speak of the Shadows?"
"No," said the halo-bearer. "Something deeper. The void beneath flame. The silence that came before creation."
A cold wind moved through the ashfield then—an impossible thing, where no wind should exist. The flames bent inward, flickering as if something vast exhaled through them.
For the first time, even the Flamebearers seemed… small.
The chain-bearer's voice trembled, almost a whisper. "Then the Pyre's will falters."
The halo's light brightened again, sharp and unyielding. "The Pyre does not falter. The Pyre endures. We will find the boy, and we will unmake the forge within him."
He turned, his halo flaring to full brilliance. "Spread the fire. Burn the shadowed lands until he is ash."
The others bowed their flames. "By the Ember Law."
They vanished, one by one, dissolving into the storm. The white fire swelled, devouring the ruin until only scorched silence remained.
And far away—beyond the reach of their light—Kael stirred in his sleep, the forge within him pulsing once.
As though it had heard their decree.
As though it was laughing.