The echoes of war had faded, but Hell had never been more alive.
Whispers spread across the realms—of a queen who burned gods to dust, of a demon who knelt only for her, and of a flame reborn beyond divine control. Lina's name carried like smoke through the infernal winds, laced with reverence and fear.
And yet, peace did not come.
Not truly.
Something stirred in the cracks left behind by the gods' fall. A ripple in the very fabric of the underworld. Andra felt it first—his instincts sharpened by centuries of hunting shadows.
He found her in the old library, tracing runes in a book that had once belonged to the gods. Her expression was calm, but he knew her better now. He knew how her fingers twitched when she sensed danger. How her flame dimmed when she was thinking of war.
"It's waking," he said.
She nodded. "I know."
"What is it?"
Lina closed the book, standing slowly. Her violet flame flared behind her like wings. "Not a god. Not a demon. Something older. Something they buried in the Temple of ForgottenFlames."
Andra's jaw tightened. Even he had heard the legends. A place so lost to time, only the dying remembered it. A place where fire didn't burn, it whispered.
"Why would the gods hide something like that?"
"Because it's the only thing that scared them," she said.
—
They traveled alone.
Not because they needed to—but because Lina insisted.
"This journey isn't for soldiers," she told Andra. "It's for monsters."
The path to the temple wound through the Bleeding Marshes and the silent ruins of Varrak—the city of tongues. Ghosts lined their trail, watching, whispering. Lina didn't flinch. She no longer feared the dead. She commanded them.
It took seven days before the gates appeared.
Seven days of shadows stretching longer than they should, of fire that wouldn't warm, and dreams that bled into waking hours.
The temple was carved into the bones of a dead titan. Towering arches. Black flame torches. Silence so deep it felt alive.
"This place…" Andra murmured. "It hates us."
Lina stepped forward. "Good."
—
Inside, the air pulsed like a heartbeat.
They descended for hours, the path marked with murals—visions of Yrielle's fall, of Lina's rise, of a flame deeper than fire. At the center of the temple stood an altar.
Upon it, a crystal flame—frozen in time. Inside it, something moved.
A woman.
Or what had been one.
Her eyes opened as Lina approached.
"You are the First Flame's final daughter," the creature said, voice layered in countless tones.
Lina didn't flinch. "Who are you?"
"I am the one who chose not to burn," the woman answered. "The gods feared me. So they locked me here. They feared what happens when flame learns love."
Andra bristled beside Lina. "You're not here to help, are you?"
The woman smiled. "I am here to show her the cost. Because if she keeps her fire and her heart… she will lose everything."
—
Lina stared at the frozen flame, her reflection warping in it.
Could she truly have both? Her crown and her love? Her power and her passion?
Andra placed a hand on her back. Not to control. Just to remind her he was there. Her flame pulsed in answer, and something inside the temple shifted.
"I won't choose between my fire and my love," she said softly.
The woman behind the crystal laughed, sad and furious. "Then you will burn the world."
Lina smiled. "Good."
And she reached out—
—and shattered the flame.
—
The temple screamed as it died.
Stone cracked. Fire wept. And the soul trapped inside the altar was freed—not to destroy, but to become part of her.
Lina's flame didn't flicker. It evolved.
It turned black at the edges, its heart glowing violet. A flame not just of destruction, but of rebirth.
Andra watched her with reverence.
"Do you feel it?" he asked.
She nodded. "I am more than they ever feared."
"And what now?"
She turned to him.
"Now we burn heaven."