The canyon path narrowed, winding between knife-edge ridges and echoing crevices that swallowed sound. Kaelen and Surya moved with silent caution, senses stretched thin, the leyline scroll dim but pulsing like a heartbeat waiting to spike.
"There's a presence here," Kaelen whispered, pausing by a jagged outcrop. "But it's like ash on the wind—faint and scattered."
They pressed on, hours dragging into stillness. No sign of the Flamewalker. Just runes faded into rock, and shadows that hinted at movement but never materialized.
By nightfall, they made camp near a dead spring surrounded by scorched stone.
Surya leaned against a boulder, frustration flickering in his core. "I thought we were close."
"We are," Kaelen said, settling into a watchful rest. "But some flames hide for a reason. Especially those who've survived what shouldn't be survivable."
The firelight danced over Kaelen's features. After a long pause, he spoke.
"I was about your age when I first set foot in the Spiral Sanctum."
Surya glanced over. He'd been waiting for this.
"I wasn't chosen because I was gifted," Kaelen continued. "I was chosen because I survived something I shouldn't have. Just like you."
He looked into the fire. "The Academy is a place of refinement—but it's also a place of control. They don't teach you to master your element. They teach you to contain it… and bend to their rules."
"Why did you leave?"
Kaelen's voice went quiet. "Because I stopped believing that what they wanted was what the world needed."
Surya didn't press. He knew enough.
They fell asleep to the crackle of flame and the unspoken question that lingered in the dark: what happens when a power the Academy can't shape begins to rise?
They awoke to silence.
No wind. No echo. No pulse from the scroll.
Kaelen sat upright. "Something shifted."
Surya stood. The ground was still warm beneath his feet.
A shape moved at the edge of the fog. A man, cloaked in robes scorched black, stood on the opposite cliff.
He raised one hand.
The Flame Shard in Surya's chest blazed.
Kaelen stepped in front. "He's not attacking."
The figure called out. "You followed the right fire, then."
His voice was rough, weathered—like wind over burnt stone.
"I was wondering who'd be foolish enough to chase the path I buried."
Kaelen narrowed his eyes. "You're the Flamewalker."
The man nodded once. "I was. Now I'm just what's left."
He vanished in a blink, and reappeared beside them. Surya didn't flinch—but his flame surged.
"You brought a live core to this place," the Flamewalker said to Kaelen. Then to Surya, "And you—you've already touched what lies beyond. I can smell the Origin on you."
Surya took a breath. "We came for answers."
"You'll get fire first."
Far away, on a different continent—across black seas and mist-shrouded peaks—three cloaked figures stood before a wall of flame that pulsed in time with Surya's Shard.
One turned. "The pulse just resonated across three sanctums."
"The Academy will feel it," another murmured. "And the Veiled Hand will move."
In the darkness, the ripple began.
And the world tilted.