The dawn spilt like molten gold over the jagged peaks.
Irisen tightened his grip on the Brand—the bladed staff that pulsed with Ember glass and black steel—its warmth a steady thrum against his palm. The forge's embers still glowed faintly behind them, but the sanctuary felt colder now that the choice had been made.
Elyra's eyes met his. "You bear the Brand, Irisen. It will demand more from you than flame alone."
Kareth nodded. "It is not only a weapon—it is a reckoning."
Their journey took them down the Ashen Path, toward the shattered village where the first shadows of war had stirred.
As they approached, a flicker of flame leapt from a ruined rooftop.
A figure stood there, cloak billowing, eyes glowing a fierce blue.
"Another flamebearer," Kareth muttered, voice low.
The figure called out, voice sharp as breaking glass. "I'm called Veylan. And you carry a spark that doesn't belong to this world."
Irisen's heart clenched. The fire in his Brand flared. "I belong wherever the flame leads me."
Veylan's laugh was bitter. "Bold. Naïve. The Ashen Lords don't care about your path. They only want to see all flames snuffed."
Without warning, Veylan drew twin whips of fire—liquid, writhing, casting eerie blue light on the broken stones.
"You should give me your Brand," Veylan said. "It's safer for you. And for the realms."
The battle erupted.
Veylan's whips cracked like thunder, each strike sending shards of ice-cold flame toward Irisen.
He dodged, parried with the Brand, which sang through the air—its ember glass edge glowing hot.
But Veylan was relentless, twisting fire into blades and snares, forcing Irisen back toward the village's heart.
Among the ruins, a cry rose—a child trapped beneath fallen beams, smoke curling around him.
Irisen saw the boy's wide eyes, desperate and frozen.
Veylan sneered, eyes narrowing. "Save him, and you lose the fight."
Irisen faced the choice.
Strike at Veylan, ending the fight quickly but risking the boy's life beneath the rubble.
Or save the boy first, risking Veylan's attack.
His heart thundered. The Brand pulsed—waiting for his will.
With a cry, he dropped the Brand's tip to the earth, slashing the burning beams away with a surge of flame.
The boy stumbled free, coughing, but alive.
Veylan's whips lashed, catching Irisen's side. Pain bloomed, sharp and hot.
But Kareth was there, throwing a smoke bomb that cloaked them in shadows.
"Run!" Kareth urged.
They fled into the Ashen Path's tangled forest, breath ragged, bodies burning with exertion.
Irisen pressed a hand to his wound. "Was it worth it?"
Elyra's voice was steady. "Every flame must choose what to burn for. Yours chose mercy."
Kareth gave a rare smile. "And that mercy will shape the realms yet."
Far away, beneath the cold gaze of the Ashen Lords, a watcher whispered:
"He is not just a spark. He is a wildfire."