The chamber was silent after Brennar spoke, but the weight of his words stayed thick in the air.
"The truth?" Aric asked, narrowing his eyes.
Brennar nodded. "About what you are. About what the sword is. And what's coming."
Maelis leaned back against a stone pillar, arms folded. "He's not ready for all of it."
"He needs to be," Brennar replied without looking at him. "There's no time for slow learning anymore."
Aric stepped forward. "Then stop talking around it. Show me."
Brennar studied him for a moment, then walked to the center of the room and knelt. He pressed his hand flat against the floor. A faint red glow pulsed beneath his palm, and a circular section of stone slowly sank, revealing a hollow pit.
Inside it was another blade.
It looked ancient—worn, darkened, but alive. Ember-like cracks ran along the metal, pulsing with slow, steady light.
"This was the First Flame," Brennar said softly. "The sword that lit the others. The one your Emberblade was forged from."
Aric stared at it. The heat in the room rose. Not from fire, but from something older. Something deeper.
"You're feeling it, aren't you?" Brennar asked. "That pull in your chest. That voice whispering behind your heartbeat."
Aric said nothing—but yes, he felt it. Like the fire was humming to the blade. Like it knew it was home.
Brennar stood again. "The flame inside you is tied to the Emberblades. But it isn't just power. It's memory. History. All the pain, all the choices—good and bad. You carry the weight of every Emberblade who came before."
Aric clenched his fists. "And what if I don't want it?"
Brennar didn't flinch. "Then it'll take you anyway. And turn you into something worse."
The silence stretched.
Then Maelis finally spoke. "We should leave it for today. Let the boy breathe."
"I'm fine," Aric said, though his head was spinning.
"No, you're not," Maelis replied. "But that's normal."
Brennar walked past Aric, his voice low as he passed. "The fire doesn't make you strong. It just shows you what you already are."