Episode 28
The star blazed in the eastern sky—red, unnatural, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Taron stared at it from the deck of the windship, his brows furrowed. "It wasn't there yesterday. It wasn't even part of any constellation."
Lira stood near the bow, wind tugging at her hair, the Ember Crown now a burning sigil behind her eyes. "It's not a star. It's a beacon. The next shard of Vaelorian lies there."
Kael leaned on the railing beside her. "And the Shattered Isles?"
"They're waking up," she whispered.
The windship Silvergale, a vessel carved from skywood and powered by storm crystals, surged through the clouds. Their path was one few dared to take—over the Maw of Skar, through the Veilwinds, and into the mist-ridden reaches of the Broken Sea.
"Not even dragons fly beyond the Veilwinds," the captain had warned. "That place doesn't just kill—it forgets."
But they had no choice.
---
The Mist That Feeds
By nightfall, the sky turned gray. Clouds gathered unnaturally, thick with whispers. A cold fog blanketed the deck, stealing warmth from their bones.
Kael tightened his cloak. "Something's wrong. The stars are fading."
Taron gripped the railing. "The Veil is thinning. We're approaching the edge of the known world."
Suddenly, the ship lurched.
From the mist, a shadow appeared—no, a ship. But not like theirs.
It was ancient. Covered in barnacles, its sails tattered and black. Lanterns hung from its sides, filled with blue fire. Figures moved on the deck—not alive, not dead.
"Ghost ship!" the lookout cried.
The Silvergale turned sharply, but the ghost ship followed, gliding through the air as if it were swimming.
A voice echoed from it—low, mournful, and twisted.
> "You seek the Shattered Flame…"
> "The Isles do not forgive."
A harpoon of spectral energy shot from the ghost ship, piercing the wind. It missed Lira by inches.
Kael drew his backup blade. "We're not dying here."
He leapt across the air—literally, using wind magic to push himself through the space between the ships.
---
Boarding the Dead
Kael landed on the ghost ship with a crunch, rolling to his feet as rotting sailors turned toward him. They wore chains instead of armor, and their faces were shrouded in mist.
"Time to cut loose," he muttered.
He moved like a storm—slicing through them, dodging their phantom hooks and blades. But each one he cut down rose again, their bodies reforming from mist and memory.
On the Silvergale, Lira closed her eyes.
"We can't kill what's already dead."
Taron stepped beside her. "But we can sever what binds them."
He raised his staff and chanted words older than fire.
A glyph lit the sky.
Chains on the ghost ship glowed red—and then snapped.
The undead howled in agony as their forms dissolved.
Kael jumped back, caught by a windstream conjured by Lira.
The ghost ship began to sink—not into water, but into the sky itself, vanishing with a sigh of ancient sorrow.
---
The Isles Awaken
By morning, the mists cleared.
Before them, jagged landmasses floated above the ocean, suspended by unknown forces. The Shattered Isles.
Each isle was different.
One bled rivers of molten crystal. Another was covered in ruins of cities turned to glass. One floated upside down, with waterfalls flowing into the sky.
"This isn't just ancient magic," Taron whispered. "This is wrong. These places shouldn't exist."
"But they do," Lira said. "And we're here for a reason."
The Silvergale anchored near the largest isle—a land of red sand, black spires, and a single, ancient temple that pulsed with heat.
The crew refused to disembark.
Only Kael, Lira, and Taron ventured ashore.
Every step on the red sand felt heavier. Gravity itself seemed unsure.
Inside the temple, carvings adorned the walls—glyphs in the tongue of flame, showing a story.
A shard of Vaelorian, hidden here after the Whisper Sisters sundered him.
Guarded by a creature born of regret.
---
The Keeper of Embers
Deep in the heart of the temple, they found it.
A chamber of molten glass and ash, with a single pedestal of obsidian. Atop it floated a flame—alive, watching them.
Then the room rumbled.
From the walls, a shape emerged.
Massive. Horned. Wings of fire and smoke.
Its body was made of broken armor and volcanic rock. Its eyes… human. Sad.
"I am Eshkar," it spoke. "Last of the Flame Wardens. I was left to guard the Ember Shard. To never leave. To never forget."
Lira stepped forward. "We don't come to steal. We come to awaken the Dreaming Flame."
Eshkar roared, and the flames answered.
"You awaken him? After what he did? After what he became?"
Kael drew his sword. "What did he become?"
Eshkar's voice was hollow. "A god who dreamt too deeply. A god who forgot the line between dream and will. His awakening could burn the world again."
Lira's voice was firm. "Or save it from what's coming."
Eshkar hesitated.
Then, with a scream that shook the chamber, he charged.
---
Battle Beneath the Flame
Kael intercepted him mid-charge, blades clashing with molten fists. The ground cracked. Heat warped the air.
Taron formed barriers of reflective ice, deflecting fireballs hurled by Eshkar.
Lira reached for the shard—but a wall of flame blocked her path.
She summoned the Ember Crown's power.
"Let me through!"
The flames parted, obeying her will.
Eshkar turned—roared—and flew toward her.
Kael shouted, "LIRA!"
She touched the shard just as Eshkar reached her.
A burst of golden light exploded.
Time froze.
Eshkar hung in the air, suspended, unmoving. His eyes softened.
"You… wear it well," he whispered. "I… remember now. The Dream… was not only fire. It was hope."
His body crumbled, piece by piece, until only ash remained.
The shard floated to Lira's hands.
Two now burned within her chest.
Vaelorian was one step closer to wholeness.
---
The Storm Approaches
As they left the temple, the sky darkened.
Taron looked up. "The star… it's moving."
It was.
The red star had shifted westward—and now, from the horizon, came a storm. Blacker than night, twisting with lightning made of void.
Kael's eyes narrowed. "That's no natural storm."
Lira gripped the Ember Shards.
"No. That's one of the Whisper Sisters. She knows what we've done."
Taron turned pale. "If she's coming, we need to run."
Kael looked to the skies.
"No. We need to fight."