The Aether Vale was not a place so much as a threshold.
It shimmered on the horizon like a mirage, casting silver veils across the land that bent light and warped distance. Trees near its edge grew impossibly tall, with roots twisted into arches and branches that bore blossoms in every color, even those that had no name. Grass whispered in tongues the wind didn't carry, and the ground pulsed beneath Kaelen's boots like it was alive.
They paused before crossing the veil.
"There's no turning back," Seris said quietly, her hand resting on the hilt of the dagger she had never once drawn. "Once we step through, the Vale remembers us. It will test us."
"Test how?" Aelric asked, tightening his sword belt.
Seris stared into the haze. "By showing us what we fear. Or what we've forgotten. Or both."
Kaelen nodded. He already felt the Ember pulsing faster against his chest, like a heartbeat responding to an old, familiar rhythm. Without another word, they stepped forward and crossed the threshold.
The world turned sideways.
Kaelen stumbled but did not fall. The sky above stretched into a dome of stars, each one gleaming brighter than the sun, spinning slowly in arcs that defied gravity. The air smelled like rain before a storm, and the trees here… they moved. Not with the wind, but with purpose—shifting their branches, bending their trunks, murmuring softly to one another.
The path beneath their feet turned to crystal.
"This isn't natural," Aelric muttered, looking around with narrowed eyes.
"No," Seris agreed. "It's older than nature. This place remembers magic before language."
Kaelen barely heard them. His gaze had locked on something further down the path: a figure standing still among the trees. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Holding a smith's hammer.
"Father?" he whispered.
The others turned, but the figure was gone.
They walked in silence for a time, the path winding deeper into the forest. Time slipped strangely here—Kaelen could not tell if they walked for minutes or days. The Vale stretched endlessly, but never repeated. Each glade they passed shimmered with the memory of something long lost: A cracked helm resting in a tree's roots. A lullaby echoing from nowhere. Statues of faceless warriors frozen mid-battle.
Then the path split.
One trail led upward, toward a hill where light pooled like golden water. The other descended into shadow, where violet mist coiled like serpents.
Seris turned to Kaelen. "This is where it begins. Each of us must face our own path. The Vale doesn't test groups."
"You're serious?" Aelric asked, arms crossed.
"Deadly."
He sighed and adjusted his cloak. "Fine. But I want it noted I hate mystical trials."
Kaelen turned to the downward path. The Ember burned warmly against his skin, guiding him.
"We'll meet again," Seris said, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"In the center," Aelric added. "Where the stars fall."
And with that, they separated.
The deeper Kaelen went, the less the world made sense.
The trees faded. The stars blinked out one by one. He walked through a corridor of memory—a sky of black glass above him, and beneath his feet, the dreams of those long dead.
He saw them.
Children playing by a river that flowed upward. A woman in red singing to a moon that bled. A knight holding his own heart in his hand like a lantern.
And he heard them.
Kaelen… Kaelen… son of fire… heir of ruin…
He pressed forward, sweat soaking through his tunic. The Ember grew hot now. Not painful—but urgent. It pulled him toward the next vision.
He stepped into a clearing.
Before him stood the tower from his visions: tall, obsidian, wound in chains of starlight. At its base knelt the girl again—the one with the eyes like dying stars. She turned to him, and this time, he heard her voice.
"You came too late."
"Who are you?" Kaelen asked, stepping closer.
"I am the memory of what was lost."
"Are you real?"
She smiled sadly. "I was. Once. Before the world cracked."
The tower groaned behind her.
"The Hollow King," Kaelen said, breath catching. "He did this."
"He broke the seals. Twisted the Vessels. Stole the names of stars."
She rose, light spilling from her skin like mist. "But he fears you."
"Why?"
"Because you carry the last true fire."
She placed a hand on his chest—and the Ember surged.
Kaelen gasped.
His mind exploded in light.
Visions slammed into him, wave after wave.
A battlefield beneath a blood sun, where he stood at the head of a host, flame in one hand, sword in the other.
A throne room made of ash, where the Hollow King laughed as the sky burned.
A forge beneath a mountain, where a younger Kaelen—a different Kaelen—hammered a blade of fire into shape as a woman screamed nearby.
A cradle. A child born wrapped in smoke and lightning.
A prophecy etched in flame across a canyon wall.
He who carries the Ember shall unmake the end.
Kaelen fell to his knees.
When he opened his eyes again, the girl was gone. The tower was ash. And in his hands was a new weapon.
A sword of light, forged from the Ember itself. Unlike any steel. It hummed with the truth of his bloodline. Fire wrapped in purpose.
The Vale had accepted him.
He turned—and the way forward was open.
At the heart of the Vale, the others waited.
Aelric stood scarred and pale, gripping a blade with a serpent's hilt. His eyes were hard now—not with anger, but with knowledge.
Seris had changed too. Water coiled at her fingertips like living ink. Her eyes shimmered with stars. She gave Kaelen a quiet nod.
"You found your truth," she said.
"I saw what was lost," he replied.
Aelric exhaled. "Well, you both look enlightened. I saw my own grave."
"No one leaves unchanged," Seris said.
Ahead of them, the trees parted. A staircase of moonstone rose from the earth, winding upward into a gate carved with runes that pulsed softly.
"The next Vessel waits beyond," she said.
"And so do the Hollow King's shadows," Aelric added.
Kaelen looked at them both, then at the blade in his hand—the Flameborn, forged in memory, shaped by the Vale.
He stepped onto the first stair.
"I'm ready."