The path away from the Emberwatch Crater felt heavier than before. Not because of the terrain, but because of what they now carried—two fused echoes of a long-forgotten past, and the knowledge that Raine was not simply fated to rise.
He was destined to repeat.
That realization haunted him with every step across the cracked red earth. Sylara stayed close by, her silence no longer brooding, but thoughtful. Vorn, ever the scholar, pored over his notes and muttered ancient incantations under his breath. Elira held the rear, scanning the horizon for any signs of pursuit.
On the fifth night, they reached the edge of a cliff that overlooked a vast valley of shifting stone and scattered ruins. They made camp in the shadow of a collapsed watchtower, one of many that once stood to guard the border of what was now known as the Hollow Reaches.
Raine sat with the orb in his hands, its glow dimmed but steady. "There's another echo here," he said. "I can feel it."
Sylara glanced up from cleaning her blade. "How do you know?"
"It's like the First Flame hums louder when we get close. Like it's guiding me."
Vorn adjusted his cloak and crouched beside them. "That would make sense. The Flame isn't just magic. It's a memory—one older than time, passed from bearer to bearer. Each echo we find is part of its truth."
Elira added, "If we follow it, we may finally understand who or what is forcing this cycle."
Raine nodded. "Then we search the ruins tomorrow. Whatever's hidden down there—it's waiting."
The Hollow Reaches were aptly named. Stone arches stretched across the valley like broken ribs, casting long, skeletal shadows over the cracked earth. Wind whispered through hollow halls, carrying echoes that sounded too much like voices.
The party split into three pairs: Raine with Sylara, Elira with Vorn, and two scouts trailing behind to keep watch.
As Raine and Sylara descended into what had once been a temple, the air shifted. Cold. Still. Tense.
Raine paused at the threshold. Symbols were etched above the doorway, half-faded.
"Can you read them?" Sylara asked.
He shook his head. "Not yet. But I think... I will."
Inside, time had stood still. Statues of forgotten gods lined the walls, their eyes missing. The altar at the center had crumbled, but beneath it, faint pulses of silver light shimmered through the cracks.
Sylara placed a hand on Raine's arm. "There."
He stepped forward. The light responded, rising through the air and swirling before coalescing into a third orb.
It hovered between them, silent and waiting.
When Raine touched it, the visions came faster this time.
A battlefield drenched in blood and stars. Screams echoing across void skies. A figure in black armor holding a corrupted orb. A betrayal. A fall.
Raine staggered back.
Sylara caught him. "What did you see?"
He shuddered. "It wasn't just a bearer who failed. One of them turned. They tried to use the Flame to control the cycle—to become more than a guide."
The orb shimmered and fused into the others.
Then the temple shook.
From the shadows, cloaked figures stepped out. Three. No footsteps. No sound.
Raine and Sylara drew their weapons.
The first figure lifted a hand. "You have seen what should remain hidden."
Sylara raised her sword. "Step aside."
The figure's voice was hollow. "The Flame belongs to the Keepers. It was not meant for you."
Raine narrowed his eyes. "Then why did it choose me?"
The three figures said nothing. But as they raised their hands, darkness pooled around their fingers.
The room exploded into battle.
Raine fought with the echoes burning through him—fire and memory. Sylara moved with unmatched grace, blades carving arcs of silver.
The Keepers fought without hesitation. Every movement was calculated, precise.
Vorn and Elira burst in moments later, spells lancing into the room. The battle became chaos. One Keeper fell to Elira's frostburst. The second vanished in smoke. The third clashed with Raine directly.
Flame met void.
"You are not the first," the Keeper whispered, eyes like black stars. "You will not be the last."
Raine gritted his teeth. "Then I'll be the last who matters."
He drove his blade—infused with Flame—into the Keeper's chest.
There was a burst of light. Then silence.
The temple stood empty once more.
That night, as they regrouped outside, Vorn built a fire from stone and ash.
Raine sat beside Sylara, arms resting on his knees.
"They knew me," he said.
"Or who you used to be," Sylara replied.
He looked at her. "Do you ever worry that I'll become what they fear? That the Flame will... change me?"
She met his eyes. "No. Because I see you. And if the Flame ever tries to take you, I'll pull you back."
He reached for her hand. She didn't pull away.
They sat like that until the stars came out—three of them now pulsing brighter than the rest. The echoes. Markers of what had been recovered.
But far beyond the reaches of the known world, the cycle stirred. A city long buried beneath desert sand began to wake.
And in it, a name was spoken.
"Raine."
But not in reverence.
In fear.