The wind howled across the sand dunes as Raine stood at the edge of their next journey. The ruins of Sah'vereth were behind them, buried once more by shifting dunes. But in Raine's chest, the fire burned brighter than ever, the weight of four echoes resting in the merged orb he now carried. A fifth star pulsed on the horizon—distant, dim, but unmistakably calling.
"North," Raine murmured, his gaze fixed on the swirling clouds where desert met the sky. "That's where it wants us to go."
Sylara joined him, adjusting her cloak as the sand kicked up. "And what lies north?"
"Mount Veralis," Vorn answered, emerging from behind a dune with Elira beside him. "A cursed peak. Said to be where the last Flamebearer died."
Elira added, "It's also where the last echo sleeps—buried in the heart of the mountain."
Raine closed his hand around the orb. The Flame pulsed once. It wasn't fear or warning. It was resolve.
"Then we head to Veralis."
—
The trek north was brutal. The desert gave way to cracked plains and eventually to the cold, rocky foothills that marked the beginning of the mountain range. The temperature dropped quickly. At night, they huddled close around the fire, sharing sparse rations and watching the stars.
Each night, Raine studied the merged orb, feeling the fifth echo grow nearer. And each night, his dreams took him deeper into the lives of the bearers who came before—some noble, some cruel, some lost to madness.
By the sixth night, they reached the foot of Mount Veralis.
The mountain loomed like a slumbering god, its peak lost to a swirling storm of ash and ice. The entrance to the old ruins was marked by statues long weathered by time—faceless guardians carved from obsidian, their forms half-consumed by moss and frost.
"This is it," Raine said.
Elira scanned the runes along the entrance archway. "The seal is still intact. The echo is protected by an ancient rite."
Vorn knelt to examine it, tracing the sigils with his gloved hand. "The Flame should be able to unlock it... if you're ready."
Raine nodded. "Let's finish this."
He stepped forward, raising the orb. The Flame flared, golden fire dancing across the sigils. The mountain groaned as the door cracked open, revealing a path into darkness.
They descended slowly. The air grew colder with every step. Crystals of ice formed along the stone walls, catching the light from Raine's Flame.
The path opened into a cavern—vast and circular, with five great pillars encircling a stone dais. Atop it floated the final orb, spinning slowly in a shaft of pale light.
But they weren't alone.
A figure stood beside the orb—tall, cloaked in black and silver, their face hidden beneath a mask shaped like a burning star.
"I've been waiting," the figure said.
Raine stepped forward. "Who are you?"
"A fragment," the figure answered. "A memory. I was the first Flamebearer, the one who forged the path you now walk. I failed. And I swore none would ever walk it again."
The chamber trembled.
"You were shown the throne," the figure said. "You saw what you might become. That is not illusion—it is inevitability. The Flame corrupts. It always has."
Raine shook his head. "No. That's not true. I've seen the failures. But I've also seen the hope. I'm not alone. That changes everything."
The masked figure tilted their head. "Then prove it."
They raised a hand. Shadows erupted from the ground, forming twisted versions of the past bearers. Each wielded a different form of power—lightning, ice, raw flame.
Sylara drew her blades, stepping in front of Raine. "We fight."
Elira and Vorn flanked the sides, casting protective wards.
The battle erupted like thunder.
Raine faced the first shadow—an echo of himself, wielding fire so intense it seared the very air. He met it head-on, calling upon the First Flame. Golden fire met crimson in a blinding clash.
Beside him, Sylara danced through two foes, her blades flashing. Elira hurled spears of light while Vorn summoned barriers of stone to block incoming strikes.
The fight was brutal. Every shadow fought like a master of their element, each representing a bearer who had once held the Flame.
But Raine did not waver.
One by one, they fell. Until only the masked figure remained.
"You believe yourself worthy?" they asked.
"I don't know if I'm worthy," Raine said. "But I know I won't be alone. I know I can be better."
The masked figure paused.
Then they reached up and removed the mask.
Raine stared at his own face.
"You are the first and the last," the figure whispered. "May your fire be the one that ends the cycle."
They vanished into smoke.
The final orb descended into Raine's hand.
All five echoes were now one.
The orb pulsed with a deep, steady light—no longer chaotic, but balanced.
"I can feel it," Raine said, his voice soft. "This is it. The full truth. The First Flame isn't just a weapon. It's a memory. A legacy. A promise."
Sylara approached him, her expression unreadable. "And what will you do with it now?"
He looked at her.
"Protect this world. And make sure no one ever walks this path alone again."