The chamber beyond the gate was unlike anything Ember had ever seen.
The Heart of the Flame was not just a place—it was a living entity. Fire did not burn here as it did above; it breathed. Crimson and gold currents swirled through the air like liquid smoke, pulsing in time with Ember's heartbeat. The floor was smooth obsidian, etched with ancient sigils that glowed faintly as she stepped into the sacred space.
At the center, suspended between three spires of jagged crystal, floated a sphere of pure elemental fire. It pulsed with immense, almost painful energy. This was the Flameborn Core, the original source from which all the shards had splintered when the Cataclysm shattered their civilization.
Eryssa stared, eyes wide with awe. "This… this is what they tried to contain. What they feared. And what they failed to protect."
Orin scanned the room, his expression grim. "If this power falls into the Warden's hands—"
"It won't," Ember interrupted. She stepped toward the Core. Her shard, still warm in her chestplate, vibrated violently. "We're going to end this."
Suddenly, the chamber trembled.
A voice echoed through the fire. Cold. Familiar.
"You're too late, Ember Solara."
From the shadows at the edge of the flame, The Warden emerged—cloaked in blackened armor etched with runes that pulsed in the same rhythm as the Core. His eyes blazed—not with flame, but with hunger.
"You brought the final shard right where I needed it."
The spires around the Core flared as his gauntlet rose. Energy arced from his hand, striking the floating flame. The Core shrieked—a sound not of metal, but of memory.
"Don't!" Ember shouted, drawing her blade.
The Warden smiled. "The world burned once before… and through me, it will burn again."
Then the ground split.
The final battle had begun.