The morning after the Whisper Wraith attack dawned grey and silent. The sky above the Ember Spires was veiled in ashen clouds, and the once-vibrant mountains stood still, as if holding their breath. Kael, Serenya, and Selira packed what little they had left and pressed forward.
The path had narrowed to a precarious ridge—a sheer drop on either side and wind howling like ancient spirits.
Selira led in silence, scouting ahead with the precision of a blade. Kael followed closely, his hand on the Flameheart, its warmth a steady reminder of who he was becoming. Serenya walked beside him, her robes fluttering with each gust of wind, her fire now laced with something colder—resolve.
"Once we cross the ridge," Selira called back, "we'll reach the Scorching Gate."
Kael frowned. "That's where the Skybridge to the Queen's Reach begins, right?"
Selira nodded. "And where her loyalists will try to stop us."
As they moved along the ridge, Kael's thoughts drifted to the Wraiths' words. The guilt they stirred was real—even if twisted. He hadn't saved his brother. He had chosen to fight. Chosen the blade.
He wasn't sure if that made him worthy… or dangerous.
Suddenly, Selira raised a fist—halt.
Voices.
Below the ridge, across a crumbled pass, a patrol of Hollow Flame sentries was camped near the Scorching Gate—half a dozen soldiers clad in crimson-etched armor, their weapons blackened with Hollow energy.
"We can't sneak past them," Selira whispered. "But we can't risk a full fight either."
Kael studied the gate. A towering arch of ancient stone, chained shut and scorched by past magic. Runes faintly flickered on its frame.
"There's another way," he said slowly.
Serenya looked at him. "You saw it in the sword?"
Kael nodded. "A memory. The Scorching Gate opens for a royal heir... if bound by flame and oath."
Selira raised a brow. "You're royalty. That part checks. The flame too. But oath?"
Kael turned toward the gate. "Then let's bind it."
He drew the Flameheart and approached the runes, placing the blade into the groove at the gate's base. It slid in perfectly. The runes flared white-hot.
"State your name," a voice boomed—deep, old, and coming from the stone itself.
Kael didn't hesitate.
"Kael Ashenveil, son of King Thalen, last flame of the First Line."
"And your oath?"
Kael gripped the sword tightly.
"To protect the realm from the Hollow Queen, even if it costs me everything. I swear on blood, fire, and crown."
The runes exploded with light.
Chains shattered. The gate groaned open.
But the sentries had seen.
A horn sounded—raw and guttural.
"Go!" Selira shouted, unsheathing her daggers.
Serenya turned, flames swirling to life in her palms. "We hold them!"
Kael sprinted through the gate, then turned back. "Selira—"
"Get through!" she snapped. "We'll follow."
The Flameheart thrummed, the gate now a blazing doorway behind him.
Kael raised the sword once more, eyes burning.
"Let her send whatever she wants. I've opened the path."
Beyond the gate, the land sloped downward into the cursed valley leading to the Queen's Reach. Dark spires twisted against the horizon. The final stretch of Arc 1 had begun.
And behind him, the war horns of the Hollow Queen echoed louder.