Dawn crept over the world in streaks of pink and amber as the trio made camp at the edge of the Hollow Pines. They had escaped Myr's End, but none of them slept easy. The shard had given Aria more than power—it had given her visions. Whispers of what was coming. Echoes of choices not yet made.
She stood alone by the dwindling fire, watching sparks drift skyward. Lyrien approached silently, his cloak fluttering in the wind.
"You saw it, didn't you?" he asked.
Aria nodded. "A hundred versions of me. Some strong, some... broken."
"It's not prophecy," Lyrien said gently. "It's possibility. What could happen. Not what must."
Aria looked at him, eyes weary but resolute. "Then I need to make the right choices."
Their next journey would take them through the Emberpath—a desolate trail winding through volcanic land left scorched by a war older than kingdoms. The fourth shard lay hidden in a place known only as the Furnace Heart.
Thorne joined them by morning, gear strapped and ready.
"I hate the Emberpath," he said, squinting at the horizon. "Nothing but ash, rock, and monsters that eat flame for breakfast."
"Sounds charming," Aria replied dryly.
They began their trek, the land changing as they moved south. Trees withered. Grass turned to cracked dirt. Steam hissed from unseen vents. And then came the ash—falling softly, like dark snow.
The Emberpath lived up to its name.
Great ridges of obsidian towered around them. Lava flowed in thin rivers across the landscape, glowing beneath glassy stone. The air shimmered with heat, and even Aria, who was no stranger to a forge's embrace, found her breath coming shallow and hot.
It was here, among the barren hills and glowing cracks, that the trials of fire began.
First came the beasts.
Lava drakes—scaled creatures born of heat and fury—erupted from beneath the stone. They struck from below, jaws wide with flame. Thorne met them head-on, blade flashing with molten sparks. Lyrien cast shields of cooling mist, giving Aria space to fight.
She moved like the forge-trained warrior she was—efficient, focused. Every swing of her blade rang with strength. The amulet fragments around her neck flared when danger surged, offering guidance like an unseen hand.
When the last drake fell, silence returned.
And then, laughter.
A low, mocking voice echoed across the rock.
"Well fought, little spark."
They turned, weapons raised.
A figure emerged from the lava flow.
He was tall and lean, skin dark as cooled coal and eyes like burning cinders. His armor shimmered with veins of gold. Fire danced along his shoulders, yet did not consume him. He walked like a god.
"I am Pyrren, the Forge-King," he said. "Keeper of the Furnace Heart."
Aria stepped forward. "Then you know why we're here."
"I do," he said. "And I do not care."
Flames flared around him, spiraling into a great blade forged of pure heat.
"The shard stays where it belongs. With me."
Before Aria could speak, Lyrien stepped forward. "He's not just a guardian," he said grimly. "He is the shard."
Pyrren smirked. "Clever boy."
Aria's pulse quickened. "What does that mean?"
"I am what remains of the Furnace Heart's power," Pyrren said. "When the world burned, I did not die—I changed. The shard is my soul. You want it? Take it."
He raised his sword.
The battle that followed was unlike any they had faced.
The very land fought with him. Lava surged. Geysers erupted. The heat was blinding. Aria felt her skin blister beneath her armor. But she pressed on.
Pyrren moved like flame—flickering, unpredictable, beautiful and deadly.
Aria matched him, blow for blow, her sword glowing with the heat. Every strike was a test—not just of strength, but of will.
He pushed her back, sneering. "You're no chosen one. Just a child playing at war."
"I was forged in fire," she growled. "You're not the first to try and burn me."
She struck true.
Steel met fire—and for a heartbeat, the world held its breath.
Then Pyrren staggered.
Flames roared around him, not in fury—but in release.
"I see it now," he whispered, falling to one knee. "You are worthy."
The fire dimmed.
The land cooled.
And in Pyrren's place, a shard of the Amulet hovered in the air, glowing like a sunrise.
Aria reached out, hand trembling, and took it.
The heat vanished.
The Emberpath calmed.
And the fourth piece of the Amulet pulsed against her chest.
She turned to Lyrien and Thorne.
"Let's go," she said. "The Shadow won't wait."
They walked on, leaving the ashes behind.
But not before Aria looked back one last time.
She felt no fear. Only fire. Only purpose.