The wind screamed through the broken arches of Amaste as Mara descended the ancient spiral staircase beneath the city. Each step echoed through the dark stone, reverberating with forgotten voices. The deeper she went, the more the temperature dropped, the more her heartbeat seemed to fall out of rhythm—as if the mountain itself disapproved of her presence.
Behind her, Darius followed in silence, his blade sheathed but fingers twitching near the hilt. He felt it too: something was watching.
"The tome said there was a vault," Mara murmured. "A place where the Firstborn hid their final secrets before the purge."
"And secrets have a habit of waking things best left sleeping," Darius replied, his voice tight.
They reached the base of the stairs, entering a narrow corridor lined with obsidian sconces—long extinguished, but as Mara passed, each flickered to life with cold, blue flame. The air smelled like old bones and blood turned to rust.
They walked until the passage opened into a chamber shaped like a teardrop—smooth walls, the floor inlaid with silver lines forming a sigil Mara instinctively recognized as the mark of the Flame-Bearer. In the center stood a stone casket, untouched by time.
"Is that it?" Darius asked.
Mara didn't respond. She crossed the sigil slowly, drawn to the casket like a moth to a flame. She placed both hands on the lid and—unlike the last time—no force repelled her. The stone slid aside with a whisper.
Inside lay a woman.
Perfectly preserved.
Pale skin, hair white as frost, lips stained faintly crimson. Her hands were crossed over her chest, and beneath her fingertips rested a scroll sealed in black wax.
Mara gasped. "That's not a corpse."
Darius stepped forward. "She's in stasis."
The moment the words left his mouth, the woman's eyes snapped open—glowing violet.
Mara fell back, summoning power instinctively, but the woman raised a hand.
"Peace," she said. Her voice was like silk over steel.
"I am not your enemy."
Darius placed himself between them, blade half-drawn. "You don't look like a friend."
The woman slowly sat up, the scroll still cradled in her hands.
"I am Lirael," she said. "Daughter of the First Flame. Last Priestess of the Inner Circle. Keeper of the Reckoning."
Mara's breath caught.
"The Reckoning," she echoed.
Lirael nodded. "It is no longer coming. It has begun."
She extended the scroll toward Mara. "This belongs to you now."
Mara took it, breaking the seal. The parchment inside was ancient, the ink faded but legible. She scanned the text, heart pounding.
A prophecy. Older than any she had read.
"When flame and shadow converge, when the hollow howls, when blood cries out across the sky—then shall the Flame-Bearer awaken. And the world shall choose: ascension or ash."
She swallowed hard. "What does it mean?"
Lirael looked at her with eyes that had seen centuries pass. "It means you must decide the fate of the world. And you are already out of time."
Suddenly, the flames in the sconces flickered violently. A roar shook the chamber—deep and distant, like a creature crying out beneath the earth.
Darius turned sharply. "That wasn't thunder."
"No," Lirael said grimly. "The Hollow stirs. He is rising."
Mara shook her head. "The Hollow was a myth."
Lirael stood, and the power radiating from her made Mara's skin tingle.
"The Hollow is no myth. He was the first to fall. The one who turned against the Flame, who consumed his bloodline to birth immortality without balance. He is the root of all corruption."
Mara's hands trembled. "Zane wants to awaken him."
Lirael's expression hardened. "Then your brother is a fool."
Mara flinched at the word.
Brother.
It had taken her so long to even admit it to herself. Now, spoken aloud by a woman from a forgotten age, it hit with full force.
"He plans to use me," Mara said, voice low. "To break the final seal."
Lirael nodded. "Because you are the Flame-Bearer. And your blood is the key."
Another roar shook the mountain, closer this time.
Darius glanced upward. "We have to move."
Lirael reached out, placing a hand on Mara's shoulder. "You must go to the Shattered Vale. There, the last of the Flameborn slumber. You will need them."
Mara nodded. "How do we get there?"
Lirael turned and raised her hands. The floor trembled. In the center of the chamber, the stone split open, revealing a staircase bathed in faint orange light.
"A forgotten path," she said. "Follow it. And do not stray. The Hollow has servants."
Without another word, Mara and Darius descended into the path below, the weight of prophecy heavy on their backs.
---
Far away, in the heart of a ruined cathedral, Zane stood before a circle of fire.
He was alone now. The cultists had been dismissed. What he was about to do required no witnesses.
He held in his hand the shard of obsidian laced with Mara's energy—collected from the vault she had broken.
He cast it into the flames.
The fire roared higher, turning black.
Then the voice came.
"Blood of my blood..."
Zane knelt. "I offer her to you."
"And in return?"
"Power. Purpose. The end of the old world."
The voice laughed—a sound like bones cracking beneath a boot.
"Then bring her. And I will show her what she truly is."
---
The path beneath Amaste wound downward for what felt like hours. Eventually, the walls widened, revealing a subterranean cavern glowing with molten rivers that cut across the stone like veins.
Mara stopped at the edge of a bridge formed of pure crystal.
"We're close," she whispered.
Darius frowned. "I don't like this. Too quiet."
They crossed slowly, their steps echoing.
Halfway across, the air changed. The light dimmed. And the temperature plummeted.
Mara froze. "Something's—"
A scream tore through the air as a shadow burst from the far end of the bridge.
It wasn't wraithborn.
It was worse.
It was human once—but now its flesh was twisted, bones elongated, eyes glowing with the Hollow's madness. Its mouth opened impossibly wide, and from it spewed black flame.
"Run!" Darius shouted.
Mara turned and sprinted. The creature gave chase, its movements unnatural, almost boneless.
They reached the end of the bridge and found themselves in a hall carved with flame motifs. At the far end stood a gate inscribed with the sigil of the First Flame.
"Help me!" Mara shouted, placing her palm on the gate.
It reacted immediately, flaring with fire.
The creature was almost upon them.
Darius turned, blade drawn.
"Mara—!"
The gate opened.
Mara grabbed Darius's arm and pulled him through just as the gate slammed shut behind them, cutting off the creature's shriek.
They collapsed on the other side, gasping for breath.
When Mara looked up, she froze.
They stood in a field of ash.
Mountains surrounded them on all sides, and in the distance, the ruins of a once-grand fortress loomed—black stone, broken towers, and a sky that bled red.
Darius exhaled. "The Shattered Vale."
Mara's blood ran cold.
The prophecy had said: "Blood will drown the sky."
It had begun.
And they were running out of time.