Episode 25
The firelight from the Ember Crown pulsed steadily on Lira's brow, casting golden arcs across the stone floor of the sanctum's outer chamber. Kael watched her in silence, awe flickering in his eyes. Taron's expression remained unreadable—but even he dipped his head in acknowledgment.
The crown had chosen her.
But Lira felt no triumph. Only weight.
"Ashrial has risen again," Master Veren's voice repeated through the communication orb. "You must return to the High Arcanum immediately."
The orb flickered and went dark.
A quiet moment passed before Kael finally asked, "What is Ashrial?"
Taron sheathed his blade. "A cursed city. Swallowed by fire and shadow during the Old Wars. It was sealed by the Archmages themselves. If it has returned… then so have the horrors buried within."
Lira closed her eyes. She could feel it now. Like a heartbeat beneath the earth—something ancient had stirred. And it was hungry.
---
The Return Journey
They departed the Sanctum of Fire that night, the mountain winds biting at their cloaks. Lira rode in silence, her fingers occasionally brushing the Ember Crown nestled safely in a warded case strapped to her hip. She dared not wear it too long. The crown whispered—sweetly, dangerously.
Each day the sky darkened, clouds heavy with magic, not rain. Storms formed and dispersed without reason. Birds flew in strange patterns. And in the woods, creatures once dormant began to stir—horned wolves, glowing-eyed owls, and worse.
They crossed the River Vareen on the fifth night.
On the sixth, they saw the smoke.
Black columns rose from the horizon—Ashrial.
Or what remained of it.
Once buried beneath the mountains, the cursed city had clawed its way to the surface, its spires jagged and crooked like broken teeth. A dome of crimson mist pulsed above it, like a living wound in the sky.
Kael reined in his horse. "We should scout from a distance."
"No," Lira said, voice firmer than before. "We go in. Now."
Taron raised a brow. "Without backup? That's suicide."
But Lira's eyes burned. "The longer we wait, the stronger it becomes. I can feel it drawing in power."
Reluctantly, the others nodded.
---
Ashrial's Gates
The gates of the dead city stood ajar, warped iron twisted by time and sorcery. As they stepped inside, a wave of unnatural cold enveloped them, snuffing the wind.
The city was a labyrinth of ruins—burnt towers, collapsed bridges, alleys stained with blood that refused to fade. But there were no bodies.
Only the sound of whispers.
Kael's hand tightened on his sword. "This place... it talks."
Taron muttered a prayer under his breath. "They say the souls of Ashrial's victims were bound to the stone. Forever."
Lira said nothing.
She followed the pull.
It led them deeper, through broken courtyards and shattered temples—until they reached the heart of the city.
A glowing fissure split the ground, and from it rose a throne of bone and obsidian. Seated atop it was a figure clad in red armor, etched with runes that bled smoke.
His face was hidden by a horned helm.
But Lira recognized him.
"No…"
Kael stepped forward. "Who is that?"
Lira's voice trembled. "That was my ancestor. Lord Varek, the first Flameborn."
The figure stirred.
"You carry my fire, child," he said, his voice a deep, echoing growl. "But you are not worthy."
Flames erupted around him, black and red.
The Wyrm inside Lira screamed with recognition.
"That is no longer Varek," it whispered. "That is the Ashen Flame—reborn."
---
Battle Beneath the Red Sky
Kael didn't wait for permission. He charged.
Varek—or what remained of him—rose from the throne, summoning a blade of burning ash. With a single strike, he deflected Kael's attack, sending him crashing into a ruined pillar.
Taron unleashed a barrage of windblades, slicing through stone—but Varek absorbed them, stepping through the magic like mist.
Lira called the flame.
It responded, but sluggishly—resisting her command as if sensing a greater fire nearby.
"You hesitate," Varek said. "You fear your own strength."
"I don't fear it," she growled. "I control it!"
She drew the Ember Crown.
The moment it touched her head, a shockwave burst outward. Golden fire enveloped her, lifting her into the air. Her eyes blazed. The earth beneath cracked with heat.
She met Varek's charge with her own, their flames clashing like titans.
Every strike shook the ruins.
Every spell tore through reality.
Ashrial trembled.
The sky above split, revealing a glimpse of something beyond—a realm of flame and shadow, where Wyrms slept and old gods whispered.
Varek laughed. "This is only the beginning!"
---
The Turning Point
Lira was burning.
Inside and out.
The Ember Crown pushed her further than ever before. Her power bloomed into something wild, radiant, divine. But it came at a cost.
She could feel her mind fracturing.
Memories bled into each other. Pain, joy, rage—all merging.
Kael's voice cut through the haze. "Lira! You have to stop! You're losing yourself!"
Her heart pounded.
She looked down and saw Kael—bloodied, battered, reaching for her. Not out of fear. But hope.
She remembered his smile. His loyalty. His stubborn refusal to give up on her.
And she remembered who she was.
With a scream, she turned all her power inward.
A flare of pure flame. Cleansing. Final.
Varek roared as the golden fire tore through him, burning away the corruption.
The red armor cracked.
The helm shattered.
And the spirit within was banished.
---
Ashrial Crumbles
The throne exploded into dust.
The fissure sealed.
The crimson mist faded from the sky.
Lira fell to her knees, the Ember Crown dim on her brow. Her body trembled with exhaustion. But the darkness was gone.
Kael knelt beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You did it."
Taron looked around, wary. "For now. But if Ashrial could rise again… so could others."
Lira stood, slowly.
"The fire showed me more," she said. "Varek was only the first. The Whisper Sisters are stirring. The Veil is thinning. We've won a battle. Not the war."
Kael nodded grimly. "Then we keep fighting."