The descent from the ruins was slower than the climb. Not because of terrain—though the frost-slick rocks and gnarled roots didn’t help—but because Joren kept looking over his shoulder.

  The cloaked figure was gone, their presence vanished like mist in sunlight. But the weight of what had happened still pressed against him. His mind replayed the moment his hand touched the emberstone, over and over. That voice, the flood of images—ancient cities drowning in fire, screaming stars bound by chains of ash—it wasn’t just a memory.

  It had felt like a warning.

  Now something new moved inside him. Not just the Ember Core—itself a smoldering ember of potential—but a deeper resonance. A thread connecting him to something larger. Something vast.

  The Skill—*Emberbrand*—still pulsed faintly in the back of his thoughts. Dormant, but there. Waiting.

  And that voice…

  He didn’t know if it was the stone’s guardian, a past wielder, or something else entirely. But it had spoken directly into his soul.

  He had been chosen. Or claimed.

  Either way, he couldn’t go back.

  The trail curved through thicker woods, dipping into a hollow ringed with withered trees. Their bark was bone-pale, their leaves gone even though autumn hadn’t fully claimed the forest. The air felt thinner here. Tighter. Like it resisted his breath.

  As he stepped into the hollow, a system message—if it could even be called that—etched itself across his vision in flickering runes:

  **Zone Discovered: Hollow of First Flame**

  **Ember Affinity +1**

  **Warning: Residual instability detected**

  He paused.

  Affinity. Another term from the old world, from systems that should have been obsolete. But the Echo Core recognized it. Not as a stat in a menu, but as a shift in how the world responded to him.

  His Ember Core pulsed again, warmer now.

  He moved slowly, boots crunching frost and leaf-litter. At the center of the hollow stood a broken monument—four columns in a circle, each carved with the same spiral-flame symbol he’d seen before. At their center, a charred basin.

  Once, it had held fire.

  Now, it held only ash.

  He stepped closer, something tugging at his senses. Not his eyes, or ears—but that strange sixth sense awakened by the Core.

  As his hand hovered over the basin, heat flickered to life in the air. The ash stirred, swirling upward in a spiral.

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  A whisper echoed in his thoughts—not words, but memory. The fire that once burned here was sacred. A trial. A beginning.

  He felt it again—that pull to *become*. To burn away what was.

  Without fully understanding why, he reached into the basin.

  The ash clung to his skin. Cold. Then blisteringly hot.

  Pain flared—but only for a moment.

  Then came the vision.

  He stood on a field of blackened earth, beneath a sky of smoke. A thousand figures surrounded him, each cloaked in flame, each bearing the Emberbrand across their chest.

  In unison, they raised their arms. Fire leapt from their hands, forming constellations in the sky.

  And above them all—watching—was a tower of obsidian, wrapped in chains of molten gold.

  **You walk the path of Ashbound.**

  The vision shattered.

  Joren fell backward, gasping. The basin’s ash settled, now glowing faintly red.

  New lines etched themselves into his mind.

  **Trial of Embers accepted**

  **Objective: Reignite the Flame of the Hollow**

  **Reward: Legacy Fragment (Ashbound)**

  He blinked. Not a system window—nothing visible. But the words had weight.

  He stood slowly.

  This was a beginning.

  And beginnings demanded sacrifice.

  ---

  Joren left the hollow with the first stirrings of dusk curling through the trees. He had only vague direction now—find the means to reignite the ancient fire—but no clear path.

  His thoughts turned, unbidden, to home.

  The village of Bramblehold lay northeast, two days’ walk if the roads were clear. He doubted they would be. Bandits had grown bold near the old trade roads. Worse things too, if the stories were true.

  But home wasn’t safe either.

  If the Hunters found out what he’d touched—what he carried—they wouldn’t care that he was one of their own.

  They feared the old powers.

  And rightly so.

  Still, he needed supplies. Tools. Answers.

  He veered east, following a narrow stream that would lead to the high ridge overlooking Bramblehold.

  As night settled in, he built a fire beneath a thick-rooted pine. The flame felt… different now. Less a tool, more a companion.

  He stared into it, letting his mind wander.

  He remembered being small. Sitting beside his father as the man carved glyphs into bone. Not Hunter glyphs—these were older. Symbols forbidden by the guild.

  “Where did you learn these?” Joren had asked.

  His father had only smiled.

  “From a flame that speaks.”

  He hadn’t understood then.

  He did now.

  ---

  He dreamed of fire.

  But not destruction.

  In his dream, fire danced. It weaved through halls of crystal and towers made of light. It whispered names older than stars.

  When he awoke, the emberbrand on his chest throbbed gently.

  The fire had gone out, but the coals still glowed.

  He rose, packed his things, and kept walking.

  By midday, he reached the ridge.

  Bramblehold stretched below, nestled between river and forest. Smoke curled from chimneys. Lanterns glowed faintly even in daylight.

  Home.

  But it felt… smaller now. Fragile.

  He’d outgrown it in a single night.

  Still, he descended the slope. He couldn’t turn from it entirely. Not yet.

  He entered the village near dusk, cloaked and hooded, careful not to draw attention.

  Most didn’t recognize him. He’d always kept to the edges, after all.

  But when he passed the old smithy, a voice called out.

  “Joren?”

  He froze.

  The voice belonged to Talla—his oldest friend. One of the few who’d treated him like he mattered.

  She stepped into view, her brown eyes wide with something between shock and relief.

  “Where have you been? It’s been three days!”

  “I had to leave,” he said quietly. “I found… something.”

  She frowned. “Something dangerous?”

  He hesitated. Then nodded.

  Instead of fear, she stepped closer.

  “You’re burning,” she said. “Not fever. Something else.”

  He looked down. The skin of his left hand shimmered faintly, ember-red beneath the surface.

  He clenched his fist. Willed it still.

  “I can’t stay long.”

  “Then tell me what’s happening.”

  He looked her in the eye.

  “The world’s waking up,” he said. “And I think I’m part of why.”

  She didn’t flinch.

  “Then you’re not doing it alone.”

  A flicker of warmth—not from the Core, but something older—bloomed in his chest.

  He’d come for tools.

  Instead, he found a spark.

  ---

  New Objectives Unlocked:

  **- Reignite the Hollow Flame (0/1)**

  **- Investigate Glyphs of the Ashbound (0/3)**

  **- Recruit Allies (1/5)**

  The ember burns on.