The morning sun rose over the Hollow Reaches, painting the shattered landscape in hues of gold and crimson. Raine stood at the edge of their camp, gazing westward, the merged orb of the echoes tucked into a leather pouch at his side. The flames inside it pulsed faintly—calm, but never fully at rest.
They were on the edge of something vast, something old. And the whispers from the last Keeper haunted his mind.
You are not the first.
But I'll be the last who matters, Raine had said.
The words echoed with confidence then, but now... now they weighed heavily.
Sylara joined him. She had tied her silver hair back, her armor repaired from the battle in the temple. "You didn't sleep."
He didn't answer right away. "The orb showed me something else last night. A city, buried under dunes. And a voice… calling my name."
Elira and Vorn approached from the firepit, the map they had acquired from the elven archives unfurled between them.
"There's only one place that fits that vision," Elira said, tapping the parchment. "The Ruined Sands. They stretch for hundreds of miles. But here—" she pointed to a faded sigil—"there's mention of a city lost in a storm of ash."
Vorn nodded grimly. "Old texts called it Sah'vereth. The City of Foundations. Supposedly where the First Flame was last reforged."
Raine's gut twisted. "Then that's where we're going."
Sylara placed a hand on his shoulder. "We go together."
It took eight days to cross the divide between the Reaches and the dunes. Their caravan shrank as they left the more habitable borderlands behind, traveling light to outrun any pursuers. Every day, the sun grew hotter, the wind more violent. Great dunes rose and fell like waves, and ancient skeletons of long-dead beasts jutted from the sand like broken ships.
Raine often found himself staring at the horizon, feeling the orb's pull grow stronger. Sometimes, in the shimmering heat, he swore he saw a city rising in the distance—only for it to vanish the moment he blinked.
On the ninth day, they found it.
Buried beneath dunes and half-consumed by sand, Sah'vereth revealed itself at last.
Cracked domes and shattered towers jutted from the sand, casting long shadows across the desert. Stone arches led to subterranean halls, and broken obelisks hummed faintly with buried power.
Elira touched one of the standing pillars. "The enchantments here are old—so old they predate anything we've studied. This place wasn't just buried. It was hidden."
Vorn scowled. "Which means someone didn't want it to be found."
Raine nodded slowly. "Too bad. We're here now."
They descended into the ruins, navigating crumbled stairs and collapsed corridors. Dust coated everything, but beneath it, the city's bones gleamed. Gold inlays traced symbols that felt familiar, not just to Raine, but to the Flame within him.
Sylara led the way, blades drawn, her eyes constantly scanning for traps.
They passed murals depicting figures cloaked in light and shadow—bearers of the Flame, each facing a great enemy: dragons of void, gods bound in chains, and a star falling into a sea of darkness.
"Every cycle has a bearer," Raine murmured, "but none of them made it past this point."
Vorn grimaced. "We're walking through the tomb of your past lives."
They reached a central chamber—a great dome with a spiral carved into its floor. At its center stood a pedestal, cracked in half.
A fourth orb hovered above it, flickering erratically.
Raine stepped forward. The orb pulsed once, then launched visions into his mind.
This time, it wasn't a battlefield.
It was a throne room.
An older Raine—or someone who looked like him—sitting atop a black throne, the First Flame burning in his chest. Below him, the world burned.
"Let them bow," the vision whispered. "Or let them burn."
Raine screamed and fell back.
Sylara caught him again. "What happened? What did it show you?"
He was shaking. "It wasn't a bearer who failed. It was me. I failed. In a past life—I tried to force peace. I became... something else."
Elira looked grave. "The Flame showed you your own darkness."
Raine stood, wiping the sweat from his brow. "And it's warning me. I can't let that happen again."
The orb merged with the others, now brighter than ever.
But the chamber began to collapse.
From the walls came figures—shadowy, malformed echoes of the past. Wraiths of the failed bearers.
"They lingered," Vorn said. "Their spirits were trapped by the echo's magic."
Raine took a step forward. "Then I'll set them free."
The Flame surged.
Golden fire burst from his hands, forming a barrier that held back the wraiths. Sylara and the others fought at his side, blades and spells lashing through the dark.
One by one, the wraiths fell.
When the last vanished in a whisper of ash, silence fell once more.
The chamber held.
Raine dropped to his knees, exhausted.
Sylara knelt beside him, brushing dust from his face. "That was not your past. Not truly. It's what could be. But you're not him. You never were."
He leaned into her touch, just for a moment.
"Thank you," he whispered.
She smiled. "Always."
They camped outside the ruins, too weary to move further. That night, as Raine stared at the stars—four now pulsing in a perfect line—he finally spoke the question that had haunted him.
"What if I can't change? What if I'm doomed to repeat the same mistake?"
Elira stirred beside the fire. "Then we help you fight it. Every step."
Vorn grunted. "You're not alone, Raine. You never have been. That's what the others lacked."
And Sylara, her voice soft, added, "We're writing a new story. Not bound by fate. Not bound by fear."
He nodded slowly.
A new star flickered into view.
One more echo remained.
And beyond it, the final truth waited.