Lysra's fingers tightened around the cracked shard at her throat. It pulsed erratically—its light dim and trembling, like a memory too long suppressed.
"The Warden?" Ember asked, heart quickening.
Lysra nodded. "He came from the old eastern halls, bearing fire that smelled of iron and rot. Said he served the Council's true will. But we knew better. He wasn't preserving the Flame—he was controlling it."
Orin stepped forward. "If he had the Council's backing—"
"He didn't," Lysra snapped. "He had what was left of their power. Whatever survived the Cataclysm. But he twisted it. He hunted the Ashborn who had stayed hidden, stole their shards—broke them when they wouldn't kneel."
She lifted the broken shard again. "This was my sister's. She refused to forget."
Silence settled heavy.
Ember stepped closer. "Lysra… I've seen what the shards hold. The truth of Kael. Of the Council's fall. I need to gather what remains—all of it. To rebuild not power, but memory."
Lysra's gaze burned. "And then what? Preach to a world that chose silence? Let them decide again which truths are convenient to forget?"
"No," Ember said, voice steady. "I'll make it so the truth can't be forgotten again. Ever."
The cracked shard between them glowed faintly in response.
After a long pause, Lysra removed it from her neck and held it out. "Then take it. What little it has left, it gives to you freely."
The moment Ember touched it, a vision struck her like a hammer.
---
She stood in the Ashvault amphitheater, but full—alive. Hundreds of Ashborn chanted in a circle, singing the Ballad of First Fire, a ritual to preserve collective memory. At its center, a young girl—Lysra's sister—raised a shard above her head, glowing blue-white.
Then came the Warden. Cloaked in armor black as oil, his face hidden behind a helm of burning steel. His blade cut through their ritual like a curse.
He spoke no words. Only fire.
---
Ember gasped, staggering back. "He's not done. The Warden's still gathering. Still hunting."
"Yes," Lysra said. "And he has a destination."
Eryssa narrowed her eyes. "Where?"
Lysra pointed to the mountains beyond the Ashvault. "The ruins of Iralith. The last city of flame. It's said the Council's heart lies buried there."
A hush fell over the group.
"Then that's where we go next," Ember said.
Orin frowned. "You realize we're walking into the Warden's shadow."
"Good," Ember replied. "Because shadows are cast by light."