The wind howled low across the valley, carrying the scent of ash and wet earth.

  Kaelen Thorne knelt beside a burned-out campsite. The ground was charred black, littered with bones—human and beast—and claw marks gouged into the dirt.

  He pressed his fingers to the soil. Still warm.

  “Too fresh.”

  He stood slowly, adjusting the Crimson Fang across his back. The blade hummed faintly, like it knew something was coming.

  From the hills above, a group of watchers emerged—hooded figures in red robes, faces hidden behind iron masks shaped like fire. They didn’t draw weapons.

  They knelt.

  “Bladebearer,” one said. “You walk among us.”

  Kaelen’s brow furrowed. He didn’t speak.

  “We are the Emberborne,” the figure continued. “Children of Raze’kaal. You are the flame reborn.”

  Kaelen’s hand drifted toward his sword.

  “You don’t know what I am.”

  “We do,” the robed man whispered. “You are what the gods tried to bury. What this world forgot. And what it will soon remember.”

  They led him—reluctantly—into a forgotten ruin, carved into the ribs of a dead mountain. Firelight flickered along ancient stone murals: great beasts made of flame, warriors kneeling before an enormous crowned figure whose eyes bled ash.

  Raze’kaal.

  The Crimson King.

  Kaelen’s fingers curled into fists. The walls felt like they were pressing in on him—like the god was watching through every flame.

  “Let them speak,” the voice in his head whispered.“They remember. They revere. They will follow.”

  Kaelen sat in silence at the edge of their gathering circle, surrounded by chanting. They burned offerings into the ground—bones, blood, relics of old shrines.

  “The time of cleansing nears,” one priestess said. “The second shrine breathes. The god stirs. You must awaken him.”

  “You don’t want him awake,” Kaelen growled. “You’ll burn.”

  She only smiled.

  “We would die in glory to feed your flame.”

  Kaelen stood suddenly, sword sparking on his back.

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  “You’re worshiping a god who doesn’t care if you live or die. You’re not followers. You’re fuel.”

  The flames hissed louder. The Crimson Fang glowed.The room watched him, like it too was alive.

  “You will return,” the leader said. “The next shrine calls you. And when it opens, the world will finally burn clean.”

  Kaelen walked away, heart pounding.

  He didn’t look back.

  ?? Scene Three: In the Rain

  He found shelter in an abandoned watchtower that night—soaked in rain, sword leaning against the wall, cloak steaming as the heat inside him refused to die.

  Nyra appeared without a sound, crouched on the edge of the upper window.

  “I tracked you for two days,” she said. “You’re losing your touch.”

  Kaelen didn’t answer.

  She stepped in, looking around the place. Her eyes paused on the sword.

  “They’re calling you ‘Bladebearer’ now,” she said. “That what you are?”

  “I’m what’s left.”

  Nyra sat beside him, not too close, not too far.

  “You ever think about just… walking away?” she asked.

  “Every day.” He looked at her. “But the sword always knows where I am.”

  “Then maybe,” she said quietly, “it’s not you who’s carrying it anymore.”

  They sat in silence—two ghosts in the rain, waiting for the storm inside to pass

  ?? Scene Four: The Road to Frostveil

  By morning, the rain had turned to frost.

  Kaelen and Nyra walked in silence through a ravine of shattered stone and frozen roots, where wind screamed through narrow cracks like a chorus of spirits.

  The world grew colder with every step north.

  Kaelen could feel it in his bones—the fire inside him weakening. His breath misted in the air, unnatural for a man who hadn't felt cold in years.

  Nyra moved ahead, scanning the cliffs above them, her breath steady, posture low.

  “Frostveil’s three days through the Teeth,” she said. “If we keep moving and don’t die, we’ll make it.”

  “Optimistic,” Kaelen muttered.

  “Realistic.” She looked back at him. “Unless your sword decides to start talking again.”

  “It hasn’t shut up since the temple.”

  He paused, resting one hand on the hilt of the Crimson Fang.The blade’s glow was dimmer now. Not dead—dormant. Watching. Waiting.

  “The cold weakens us.” Raze’kaal’s voice cracked through his thoughts. “This land rejects fire. But fire always returns.”

  The path twisted higher into the Teeth of Vel’Karuun, a range of jagged cliffs that looked like the skeleton of a fallen titan. Snow blew sideways. The sun never broke the clouds.

  They camped under a crooked stone arch that night.

  Kaelen lit a fire—not because he needed it, but because Nyra did. Her fingers trembled slightly as she pulled off her gloves, warming her hands near the flames.

  “You shouldn’t follow me,” he said after a long pause.“This shrine is worse than the last. I can feel it.”

  “Good,” she said softly. “I’m getting tired of surviving things I don’t remember.”

  He looked at her—really looked at her.

  She was thinner than he remembered. Tired in a way that didn't show in her body but lived in her eyes.

  “What happens if the next shrine… pushes me too far?” he asked.

  Nyra didn’t answer right away. She leaned forward, watching the fire flicker against his scarred face.

  “Then I remind you who you were… and if that fails, I kill what you’ve become.”

  Kaelen nodded once.

  “Fair.”

  As they drifted into uneasy sleep, the wind howled louder above the mountains—carrying with it a scream, long and echoing.

  Nyra’s eyes opened instantly.

  Kaelen was already awake.

  “That wasn’t wind,” she said.

  He reached for the sword.

  “No,” he growled. “That was a warning.”