Aidan couldn't sleep. Not with the Testament open beside him.
The cathedral was still, yet his blood wasn't. Something moved beneath his skin—a rhythm, a hum, like fire coiled around his spine. The sigil on his wrist was no longer a wound. It was spreading. Rooting into him like frost through stone.
Across from him, Elijah sat by the altar, the Ash Testament open on his knees. Its pages turned slowly, though no wind moved. The ink shimmered faintly, alive with a memory that wasn't his.
"You asked what you are," Elijah said softly. "The answer is older than words. Older than gods. It was written in fire long before language dared name it."
Aidan leaned forward. The script no longer resisted him. It seemed to open for him.
Before the gods, before the Word, there was Balance.Flame and Silence, joined as one.But the Word grew jealous.It cast the Flame into the earth and crowned itself Divine.
What fell became the Hollow God.Fire without voice. Light without shape.
Aidan blinked.
"This says the Flame was punished. Not for evil—but for being unshaped."
Elijah nodded. "It refused to obey. It refused to be named. The Word became scripture. The Flame became flesh. And now... it remembers."
A new page turned. Seven symbols emerged—each a ring of ash, spinning faintly.
"These are the first bearers," Elijah said. "Seven bloodlines forged in different fires. Not chosen for virtue, but for pain."
The words that followed didn't speak to Aidan in language. They burned directly into his mind, each one a brand on his memory.
The First Flame was born from silence.Children of absence. Lost names, forgotten homes.They see through illusions and remember what others deny.
The Second Flame was born from violence.Soldiers. Monsters. Survivors. They burn red and never flicker.Pain is not their weakness—it's their fuel.
The Third Flame was born from grief.They carry the weight of others' sorrow and turn memory into weapon.Their fire sings like mourning bells.
The Fourth Flame burns alone.No family. No lineage. Their flame is unstable, brilliant, and dangerous.It devours its bearer as often as it protects.
The Fifth Flame leads the lost.Kindlers. Carriers. Their fire spreads—uniting or consuming.One spark in their hand can awaken ten others.
The Sixth Flame betrays.It mimics the light but drains it.Corrupted. Starved. False.
The Seventh Flame does not burn.It awakens. It remembers.When it rises, the Hollow God rises with it.
Aidan's fingers trembled. He recognized two of the flames in himself.
"The Sanguine Flame," he murmured. "And the one that burns alone."
Elijah's voice dropped low. "You are unanchored. That makes you powerful. And dangerous."
"And the others?" Aidan asked.
"Scattered. Sleeping. Some dead. One has turned."
"Turned?"
"The False Flame walks again. He kills the others. Devours their fire. You will meet him. And when you do, only one of you leaves breathing."
Elijah turned another page.
A map formed—not of land, but of fire. Seven stars hovered in void. One beneath ice. One inside a ruined city. One... inside a child. At the center, a black star pulsed faintly.
"The Root Flame," Elijah said. "Where the first fire was broken. If it ignites again, the Hollow God wakes whole."
Aidan felt a cold wind run down his back.
"And what happens if that flame is lit?"
Elijah looked him dead in the eyes.
"Then judgment begins. Not of evil. Not of good. But of everything that called itself holy."
Thunder rumbled beneath the earth. Faint at first, then closer.
Aidan could feel it in his boots—like the world itself was breathing, stirring.
He looked down at his hand. The sigils had grown. They were no longer dormant.
And in his mind, something whispered through the flame:
"Come below.""Come burn what made you."