The brazier erupted in flame.
Golden fire; pure, silent, unnatural shot upward in a twisting column, then settled into a slow, pulsing burn. It lit the courtyard in brilliant light, casting long shadows against the broken stone. The shard in Eira's chest surged with heat, answering the flame as if recognizing a long-lost sibling.
Then the ground trembled.
Not violently, but deep, like a breath held for centuries now slowly exhaled. The dais before her cracked down the center, and with a low groan, began to sink into the earth, revealing a spiral staircase carved from obsidian and inlaid with flickering runes.
Kaela moved beside her, sword already drawn. "You're not going down there alone."
Eira turned to Thorne. "We can't fight them all out here."
He nodded. "We need to buy you time."
"I'm not leaving everyone…"
"You're not," Torin interrupted, limping up with Lena at his side. "But if this place is reacting to you, then whatever's below is meant for you."
Lena added, voice calm but urgent, "We'll hold the line. You go. Find whatever this Cradle is hiding."
Eira hesitated, torn between the pull of the glowing stairwell and the people now rallying in the courtyard, bracing for battle. The villagers, some of them armed with nothing more than farming tools stood shoulder to shoulder with her companions. They were terrified, yes. But resolute.
She placed her hand over her shard. It pulsed steady and strong.
"All right," she said. "Hold them as long as you can."
She turned and descended into the dark.
—
Above, the wind screamed through the ruined arches.
Maelis's riders surged into view, sleek black mounts bearing cloaked Veil enforcers. Behind them came foot soldiers in gleaming armor, their formation tight, their intent unmistakable.
Kaela stepped forward to meet them, her blade catching the brazier's fire. "Make them earn every step."
Thorne moved beside her, calm and deadly. "We hold."
Torin positioned himself behind a half-fallen wall, clutching a longbow strung with a silver-fletched arrow. "I hate being predictable," he muttered, "but this'll do."
As the Veil charged, the courtyard exploded into motion, arrows loosed, spells flared, blades clashed. Smoke and steel filled the air, but the flame from the brazier held, unyielding.
—
Below, the silence was absolute.
Eira descended into the earth, each step echoing with a strange resonance. The walls pulsed with runes; old, older than even Lena's studies could name. They responded to her presence, glowing faintly as she passed. A warmth built in her chest, not threatening, but undeniable.
At the bottom of the staircase was a chamber.
Circular. Vast. The walls were lined with carvings of fire, sky, and stone, interwoven with figures, Mageborn, marked by light and flame. In the center stood a pedestal, atop it a bowl carved of obsidian and copper, filled with dormant embers.
As she stepped forward, the shard flared.
The embers caught fire.
A voice echoed not from the air, but from the walls, the stone, the flame itself.
"Blood of flame. Child of memory. You have come."
Eira gasped. The magic wasn't speaking to her. It was recognizing her.
Her mother's lullabies. The Ember Path. The symbols in her dreams.
All of it had led here.
She stepped forward and placed her hands over the embers.
They didn't burn her.
Instead, they rose, light and warmth wrapping around her fingers, her arms, her chest until the shard inside her blazed white-hot.
And then she remembered.
Not her own life but the memories of those who came before. Mageborn who shaped the world with fire and ash. Who sealed away a power too great, too dangerous. Who carved the Ember Path not to escape, but to preserve what remained of their truth.
Above, the battle raged.
Below, Eira opened her eyes, filled with flame.
And for the first time since a long time, the Cradle of Flame awakened.