Night came quickly to Bramblehold, the sky bleeding from orange to violet, then to a black so deep it seemed to devour the stars. Joren sat by the river’s edge, his cloak pulled tight around his shoulders. He didn’t want to draw attention by staying at the inn, and the old boathouse near the water was long abandoned—quiet enough for someone like him to disappear.
The emberbrand pulsed beneath his tunic.
It hadn’t stopped since he’d entered the village. Faint heat. A hum behind his ribs. As if the Core was responding to something buried deep within the soil of this place.
Joren watched the water drift past, catching glimmers of lanternlight from the village above. Everything here felt temporary. Fragile. The streets were too quiet, the smiles too strained. People hadn’t forgotten the raids, the disappearances near the outer woods.
And now, the ember in his chest whispered that something worse was coming.
Talla had offered to help, but he couldn’t ask more of her yet. She had family. Roots. He didn’t.
He only had the fire.
And the fire wanted to grow.
A new interface opened within his mind—not a system window, but something closer to a map of sensation. Like walking a memory. He could *feel* the Hollow, even from here. It called to him, a beacon of incomplete purpose. But something else layered beneath it now. A second pull, east of the village. Sharp. Like coals breaking through ash.
A decision lay ahead.
He could pursue the Hollow’s restoration immediately, returning to the wilds to seek out lost sources of flame. Or he could investigate the second pull—new, raw, and dangerous. The Core offered no judgment. Only options.
And heat.
He stood, brushing dirt from his hands.
If he was going to walk the path of Ashbound, he needed to understand what it meant. Not just in theory, but in blood.
---
The path east was overgrown, barely more than a deer trail. The moon offered little light, but his Core burned brighter the farther he went, enough to illuminate the underbrush in faint red hues.
Within an hour, he found it.
A ruin.
Not like the tower from before—this was smaller. Squatter. Built of brick and blackstone, partially sunken into the earth like it had tried to bury itself and failed. No door. Just a yawning archway shrouded in moss.
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The Core’s heat intensified.
This place mattered.
He stepped inside.
The air within was dry, almost brittle. Dust clung to every surface. Symbols scorched the walls—spiral-flame sigils, yes, but older ones too. Twisting marks that coiled like smoke. This had once been a place of teaching. Or worship.
A table stood at the far end, cracked in two. Something glimmered on its surface.
He stepped closer.
A mask.
Metal. Ornate. Crafted in the shape of a flame. Not a full helm—more like a ceremonial visor, meant to cover the eyes and bridge of the nose. Faint lines of emberlight traced across its surface.
As he reached for it, something shifted.
A breath.
Not from him.
He turned.
A figure stepped from the shadows. Tall. Wrapped in scorched robes. No face visible beneath the cowl—only flame.
The same voice from the Emberstone spoke again.
**“Ashbound are not chosen. They choose.”**
The figure lifted a hand. Fire flared between its fingers—controlled, elegant.
**“Do you choose?”**
Joren didn’t speak.
He stepped forward.
Took the mask.
The figure vanished.
---
**Artifact Acquired: Mask of Cindersight**
*Grants: Flame Perception, Passive Ember Warding, and access to the Ember Archive.*
The mask was warm in his hands. When he slid it over his eyes, the world shifted.
Not visually. But fundamentally.
He could *feel* the ley of heat beneath the surface of the forest. Hotspots in the ground. Flickers of embers within rotted stumps. Even the breath of squirrels glowed faintly in the dark.
But more than that—he saw *traces*.
Marks left behind by those who had wielded fire before him. Their paths scorched in memory. He could follow them.
One trail burned brightest.
It led deeper into the woods.
He followed.
---
The trail ended at a clearing.
Three stones stood in a triangle, scorched with sigils. At their center, a pyre long dead.
The air shimmered.
A memory unfolded.
A figure—not the same as before—stood where Joren now stood. A woman. Tall. Emberbrand coiled around both arms. She raised her hands, and fire burst from her palms, not as attack, but *song*. It danced through the air, swirling in patterns, igniting the pyre with silent grace.
She whispered:
**“Flame is not destruction. It is *intention.*”**
Then she vanished.
Joren knelt beside the cold pyre.
He pressed his hand to the ash.
And *willed*.
Not with rage. Not with desperation.
But with focus.
Heat swelled. Emberlight flickered.
The pyre caught.
**Trial Progress: Reignite the Hollow Flame (1/1)**
**Reward: Legacy Fragment (Ashbound) acquired**
A sigil burned into the dirt.
Joren felt it brand itself into his memory.
He knew the shape of the Ashbound legacy now.
And it was only the beginning.
---
Back in the village, dawn began to paint the sky. Joren stood at the edge of Bramblehold’s western ridge, the mask dangling from his belt.
He felt different.
Not stronger. Not yet.
But *aligned.*
A path had opened.
He turned as footsteps approached.
Talla, again.
This time, she didn’t ask questions.
She simply handed him a small satchel.
“Dried meat. Flint. A knife,” she said. “I figured you’d be leaving again.”
He took it.
“Thank you.”
She nodded.
“Just don’t forget where you came from. Or who still believes in you.”
He watched her leave.
The emberbrand pulsed gently beneath his tunic.
He faced the road.
And walked.
---
**Legacy Fragment Activated: Ashbound Initiate**
*Perks Gained: Ember Sense (Passive), Cindersight (Mask Compatible), Fire Affinity +1*
**New Objective:**
- Seek the Ember Monolith
- Uncover the Origin of the Ashbound (0/5)
- Strengthen the Ember Core (Tier I → II)
The flame no longer whispered.
It spoke.
