Chapter 0032: The Sealed One Stirs – Beneath the Ash, It Waits
The dawn air was cold—unnaturally cold. Even the Heart of the Flame within Raiden, once his source of warmth and power, flickered uneasily as if shrinking from something unseen.
In the Grand Council Hall of Valnora, the atmosphere was tense. Maps were scattered across the war table, dotted with black pins where strange vanishings had occurred. The Hollow Flame's presence was no longer a theory—it was a creeping truth.
Thorne spoke first, his voice grim.
"The child's words… they weren't a prophecy. They were a warning. Whatever was sealed… it's no longer fully asleep."
Raiden's fist clenched. "Then it's time we dig."
Journey to the Forgotten Crypt
Using Thorne's translations and Lyra's old mercenary maps, they located the Crypt of Whispers—a lost relic site hidden beneath the mountains of Verrak's Spine. According to legend, it was the final resting place of an ancient priesthood tasked with keeping something buried.
Raiden, Lyra, Thorne, and a dozen elite Flameguards set out under the cover of darkness.
The journey was long, filled with treacherous paths and decaying ruins, but when they reached the crypt's sealed entrance, it was already ajar—something had opened it from the inside.
Beneath the Mountain
Inside, the air reeked of rot and old magic. Torches refused to stay lit, and the walls pulsed with a heartbeat not their own.
Carvings on the stone told of a being known only as The Hollow King—a fallen god who once tried to consume the essence of the world itself. His flame was empty, a dark mimicry of life. The gods had bound him beneath the earth… not to destroy him, but to contain the uncontainable.
"This is worse than I imagined," Thorne whispered. "They didn't defeat him. They just buried him."
Further in, they found the Seal Chamber—a vast stone room filled with broken chains and shattered runes.
At its center was a throne of ash… and it was empty.
Echoes in the Silence
Suddenly, the walls began to tremble. A voice—not heard, but felt—slithered through their minds.
"You come seeking answers... but you are already part of the question."
The shadows twisted, forming a vague silhouette. No eyes, no face—just emptiness.
Lyra raised her blade. Raiden stepped forward, fire sparking at his fingertips.
"You are not ready to face me, Fireborne," the voice whispered. "But you will burn just the same."
The figure vanished, but the seal room shook violently. The mountain groaned—a warning rumble of awakening.
They escaped just before the crypt collapsed entirely behind them. Whatever had been beneath the earth was rising now.
And Raiden knew… this enemy wouldn't be fought with swords and fire alone.
Back in Valnora
When they returned, more villages had fallen silent. Fields had turned to glass. And the flame in the city's core, once vibrant, had started to dim.
Raiden gathered his council. "We can't just defend anymore. We need to uncover the truth behind the Hollow Flame—its origin, its weakness, and its intent."
Thorne nodded. "Then we must return to the oldest archives—the ones even the gods tried to destroy."
Lyra touched her sword hilt. "And I'll lead the scouts. If the Hollow King is building an army, I'll find it."
Raiden looked to the sky, now tinged faintly with ash.
"Let the world feel our flame. Before his darkness consumes it all."
Shadows of the Hollow Army – The Gathering Begins
The wind howled through the canyons east of Valnora, carrying with it the scent of something… unnatural. Animals had fled. Rivers had turned black. And somewhere beneath the soil, something moved—slow, methodical, and without breath.
The Hollow King was building.
The Ashborn Rise
In the northern wastes, Lyra crouched behind a frostbitten boulder, her breath steady despite the bitter air. Around her, the elite scouts of the Flameguard waited in tense silence.
They weren't hunting animals or bandits.
They were watching… the dead.
In the distance, twisted humanoid figures—ashen-gray skin, hollow glowing eyes, moving like puppets—marched through the snow in eerie unison. These weren't reanimated corpses. They were something worse.
Ashborn.
Once living, now drained by the Hollow Flame and repurposed into husks that retained all the skills they had in life—but none of the soul.
Lyra whispered, "This isn't a horde. It's a trained army."
The scouts withdrew quietly—but one of them didn't make it back.
Council of the Flame
Back in Valnora, Raiden stood before his inner circle, the air around him laced with barely-contained fire.
"The Ashborn aren't just foot soldiers. They're strategically formed—former generals, knights, hunters. He's choosing who to raise. He's planning."
Thorne, flipping through ancient scripture recovered from forbidden vaults, looked pale. "The Hollow King feeds on essence—the unique flame each soul carries. The stronger the soul in life, the more powerful the Ashborn in death."
Raiden's jaw clenched. "Then we're not just fighting to survive. We're fighting to protect the living from becoming the next weapon."
The Whisperer Arrives
That night, as flames flickered dimly across Valnora's walls, a lone figure approached the gates—a woman, shrouded in tattered silver robes, her eyes blindfolded.
She called herself Elaris—a Whisperer of the Old Flame. And she carried truths long erased.
"The Hollow King is not just rising. He is remembering," she said in a voice that echoed oddly in the room.
Raiden narrowed his eyes. "Remembering what?"
Elaris turned her face toward him, her voice solemn.
"The world before flame."
A time before gods, before kingdoms. A time when the Hollow Flame reigned unchecked, consuming existence until it was sealed by the Prime Flamebearer—the first wielder of true fire.
Thorne whispered, "That title… it's not in any scroll."
"Because the gods erased it," Elaris said. "But you, Raiden… you carry the same spark."
The Final Flameforge
Elaris revealed the existence of the Final Flameforge, a mythical place buried beneath the ruins of an extinct volcano known as Vorth Emberfall. It was once used to create divine weapons—tools strong enough to challenge the Hollow Flame itself.
"If we're to stand a chance," she said, "you must reclaim what was lost. You must forge a flame that does not burn out… but through."
The Countdown Begins
Raiden gathered his team: Lyra, Thorne, Kaelen, and now Elaris. Their next journey was clear—reach Emberfall, awaken the Flameforge, and unlock power beyond mortal limits.
Because the Hollow King's army wasn't just growing.
It was marching.
And at its front, wearing the blackened armor of a long-dead Valnoran knight, was someone Raiden once called brother.
Emberfall – The Forge of the First Flame
The skies above Vorth Emberfall churned with clouds the color of dying embers. Lightning crackled red and gold as Raiden and his companions stood at the edge of the extinct volcano—a colossal maw in the earth, sealed for centuries by gods now long dead.
The wind smelled of soot, rust, and something far older.
"This is where it all began," Elaris said, her blindfolded eyes turned toward the crater. "And where it may all end."
Descent into the Core
The entrance to the Final Flameforge was hidden beneath the bones of the mountain, marked only by a faint rune: a spiral flame wrapped around an open eye.
As they descended into the darkness, the path grew narrower, hotter. Ancient symbols glowed faintly on the stone walls—warnings, not welcome.
Thorne reached out, running his fingers over the glyphs.
"These wards are... alive. They're watching us."
Lyra drew her blade. "Let them watch. If they attack, they'll learn."
But the flames didn't attack—they tested.
The deeper they went, the more they felt it: their fears whispered back to them in crackling tongues, memories igniting and flaring inside their minds.
Raiden heard the voice of Zoryx.
Of his father.
Of every soldier who had died calling his name.
"You will burn everything… even those you swore to protect."
He gritted his teeth, pressing forward.
The Trial of the Forge
At last, they arrived.
A circular chamber opened before them, its ceiling lost in shadow. At the center stood a massive anvil, glowing with dormant flame. Surrounding it were six floating forges—each encased in crystalized magma, pulsing like sleeping hearts.
This was no ordinary forge.
This was the Soulforge.
And it demanded sacrifice.
Elaris placed a hand on Raiden's chest.
"To awaken it, you must offer not your strength… but your fear."
Raiden's Trial
As he stepped into the circle, the chamber responded. Fire erupted upward, forming a spectral mirror before him.
Inside it—himself.
But not as he was now.
It was the Hollow version.
Crowned in ash. Cloaked in silence. Eyes dead and empty.
A Raiden who had failed.
"I am what you become," the Hollow Raiden whispered.
"You kill in the name of peace. You destroy to protect. You are already hollow."
Raiden felt the weight of every death, every decision, press down on him. For a moment, he faltered. The fire dimmed.
But then—he saw Lyra, kneeling in battle.
Thorne, bleeding and laughing.
Kaelen, shielding children with magic.
His people. His family.
"No," Raiden growled. "I'm not your shadow. I'm their flame."
With a scream, he struck the forge with his sword.
The Flame Reborn
The forge blazed to life.
A fire unlike any other erupted upward—not hot, not burning… but pure. It pulsed with light, warmth, purpose. The ancient runes around the room ignited, spinning through the air, surrounding Raiden's body.
His blade shattered in the heat… then reformed.
A new weapon was born.
A blade of molten gold, its edge humming with a rhythm like a heartbeat.
The First Flameblade.
The Hollow Feels It
Far away, beneath a darkened sky, the Hollow King stirred.
He rose from a throne of ash and bone, his empty eyes suddenly narrowing.
"He found it…"
At his feet knelt a new Ashborn—taller, cloaked in black flame, with Raiden's face twisted by the Hollow.
A shadow forged in anticipation.
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(To be Continue...)