The moment they stepped into the ruins, the air changed. It was thick, stale, and strangely cold—despite the lush green world just behind them. The walls of the ancient Iorphian structure were curved and layered with moss, yet beneath that growth, the material felt wrong. It wasn’t wood, nor stone, nor anything Ember could recognize. It gave off a faint metallic hum when tapped, and as they moved forward, it almost felt like the walls breathed with them.

  Elena shivered, sticking close to Ember as Snacks trailed behind, ears twitching, his golden mane bristling. “I don’t like this,” she muttered, wrapping her arms around herself. “It’s like the ruins are watching us.”

  “Everything watches in silence,” Ember replied, her voice steady but low. “We just don’t usually notice it.”

  They turned a sharp corner—and suddenly found themselves inside a vast corridor filled with standing slabs of something like dull, tarnished mirrors. They weren’t reflective in the usual way, more like faded memories clinging to glass. Ember stepped closer to one and saw not herself—but a blurred child standing behind her.

  She blinked, and the child was gone.

  “Ember…” Elena whispered, reaching out for her hand. “Let’s stay close. I don’t want to get lost in this.”

  “There’s no need to hold hands,” Ember replied curtly, pulling her hand away. “We’ll be fine.”

  Elena’s hand dropped to her side, and she frowned. “…I just have a really bad feeling—”

  “Shh,” Ember hushed her, one hand raised. Her eyes were scanning the corridor, ears sharpened for any sound. “Something's off. Just… let me listen.”

  They walked for another minute or two in silence, their footsteps echoing strangely. The deeper they went, the more warped the walls seemed to become, and Elena couldn’t shake the feeling they were being pulled inward, like the place had a will of its own.

  Then, suddenly—Ember stopped.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Only her footsteps.

  “Elena?” she turned quickly.

  Empty hallway. No Elena. No Snacks.

  “Elena?” she said louder now, spinning around, her boots scraping against the mossy floor. “Snacks?!”

  Silence.

  She ran back the way she came—but was met by wall after wall of mirror-like glass, twisting and turning like the corridors themselves had moved.

  “Elena!” she shouted, her voice bouncing back at her. Her reflection stared from a thousand angles—each one slightly different. Some reflected her as she was. Others… younger. Bloodied. Crying. One was smiling too widely.

  Her breath caught. “What is this place?”

  Frantically, she slammed her palm against one of the mirrors. “Where are you?! Elena!!”

  Her voice cracked—just once. But that single note of fear echoed louder than anything else in the mirrored halls.

  While Ember stood in the maze, surrounded by endless warped reflections, something inside her snapped. One by one, the mirrored surfaces began to twist—showing her versions of herself she had never wanted to see. One, eyes hollow, standing alone in a desolate Iorph. Another, cradling Elena’s lifeless body. One, with a monstrous grin and red-stained hands.

  “No—No, stop it!”

  The sigil on Ember’s hand began to glow faintly. Crackling red threads of energy traced up her arm like veins being awakened. She clenched her fists. “I don’t know what kind of curse this place carries, but I’ve had enough of it.”

  Raising her hand, Ember let the energy pulse outward in a flash. The nearest mirror shattered into dust. The others trembled.

  “You think I’m afraid of myself?” she growled, breath shallow. “You’re wrong.”

  She slammed her palm against another mirror. The corridor groaned with the sound of glass breaking, shards raining like glittering stars in the shadows. But even through it all, her heart raced not because of the illusions—

  but because Elena was gone.

  Meanwhile...

  Elena stirred with a soft groan, her head pounding as though she had been torn from the very fabric of time. When she opened her eyes, everything around her was pitch black.

  “Ember?” she whispered. Her voice was small, fragile, and the silence swallowed it whole, leaving nothing but emptiness in return.

  She slowly pushed herself to her feet, feeling the cold stone beneath her fingertips. The ground was rough and damp, faintly smelling of moss and old earth. The air was thick, oppressive, and held a deep silence that seemed to weigh on her chest. She could feel the weight of something ancient surrounding her.

  Her hand brushed against a nearby surface—smooth, like stone—but it felt oddly ancient and worn. She placed her palm flat against it, and then, suddenly—a sharp click broke the silence.

  Two torches flared to life above her, flames igniting with a suddenness that made her jump. The fire was warm, but the light cast eerie shadows across the massive cavern. The walls seemed to stretch endlessly, adorned with strange markings—ancient Iorphian script, weathered and worn with age, but still carrying a sense of untold history.

  Then came the voice. Deep. Booming. And yet… not fully human. It resonated in her chest, like the sound of distant thunder.

  "Why are you here?"

  Elena’s body tensed, her heart racing as she spun around, eyes wide in search of the source. “Who’s there?! Show yourself!”

  The voice repeated, its tone steady, unwavering.

  “Why… are you here?”

  Trying to steady her breath, Elena squared her shoulders, pushing back against the unease creeping into her bones. “I—I came with Ember. We didn’t mean to disturb anything. We just wanted to understand our past.”

  The cavern seemed to hold its breath. A tense silence stretched between them. Elena took another cautious step forward, as if her movement could bridge the growing distance between her and whatever presence was watching.

  “...Are you… an Iorph?” she asked, cautiously, the question hanging heavy in the air.

  At her words, the flames of the torches flickered violently—and then died, plunging her back into complete darkness.

  The cold in the air thickened, pressing down on her shoulders like a weight. Panic began to rise in her chest. Then—two glowing golden eyes blinked open mere feet in front of her. Narrow. Burning. Filled with an intensity that sent a chill through her veins.

  “GET. OUT.”

  Elena staggered back, her breath catching in her throat as she scrambled to regain her balance. “Wait! Please—why are you angry?”

  The eyes didn’t move. They simply stared, a gaze that seemed to pierce her very soul.

  “You’re one of us… aren’t you?” she asked, her voice quieter, tinged with confusion. “You’re a lost Iorph… just like Ember. Just like me.”

  The silence that followed was suffocating, stretching on for what felt like an eternity.

  Then came the whisper—a soft breath, so low it could’ve been a memory.

  “…Then why did you forget?”

  The torches flared to life again—brighter, almost blinding in their intensity. Elena shielded her eyes, wincing as she adjusted. When she lowered her hand, the shadows that had once obscured the cavern were gone, replaced with harsh, clear light.

  Before her stood a man.

  He was tall—unnervingly tall—with long, silver hair that cascaded over his broad shoulders in tangled waves. His frame was muscular, strong, built like a warrior from a forgotten era. But despite his imposing stature, age clung to his face like dust to old stone. His golden eyes, deep and ancient, were fixed on the floor, as if carrying centuries of silent thoughts and regrets.

  “…Sir?” Elena called out, her voice tentative but steady.

  The man stirred, his eyes lifting slowly, as if it took an immense effort. Without a word, he turned and moved toward a massive stone seat, worn and timeworn. As he sat, the light caught the faded symbols carved into the rock behind him—ancient Iorphian letters that spoke of guardians and silence, though they were nearly unreadable.

  “You both should go,” he said suddenly, his voice sharp and commanding. “Before the other one completely destroys what’s left of these ruins with her… curse. There’s nothing for you here.”

  Elena blinked, taken aback. “Curse?” she echoed, taking a cautious step closer. “Ember’s not cursed. She’s just—she’s from the Orion Tribe. She has their abilities, that’s all.”

  The old man scoffed, his voice cold and dismissive. “Is that what they’re calling it now? Orion Tribe abilities?” He snorted, shaking his head. “Let me tell you what it really is, child. That ‘gift’ she carries is the Mark of the Fire Sigil. A dangerous, unstable remnant of an age best forgotten. We called them cursed, not blessed.”

  Elena’s heart skipped a beat. Her thoughts scrambled to keep up. "No," she whispered, shaking her head. "Ember’s not dangerous. She saved me. Again and again. She’s kind. She’s—” She faltered, voice trembling. “She’s my home.”

  The man’s gaze hardened, his eyes narrowing as he studied her. “You don’t know what you’re traveling with,” he said, his voice colder now. “Where are you even from? What part of Iorph teaches such ignorance?”

  “We’re not from any part,” Elena admitted, her voice quieter now. “We came from below. From the caves. We climbed up—just the two of us.”

  The man clicked his tongue. “Ah. That explains it. Cursed-born and cave-raised.” His gaze sharpened. “Look at what she’s doing.”

  He raised his hand, and a flickering blue light bloomed in the air, gradually becoming a full holographic projection. Elena’s breath hitched in her chest as she saw Ember. Her face was twisted in panic as she fired bursts of raw sigil energy at the mirrored walls. Her fists cracked the glass, and Elena could hear her scream—her mouth moving, but no sound reached Elena’s ears.

  “Ember!” Elena cried, rushing forward. “I’m right here!”

  The man’s voice interrupted, cold and distant. “She can’t hear you. This is just a projection. A tool of the Iorph. Even cursed Iorphs once knew how to use them.”

  Elena’s hands clenched into fists, her pulse quickening as she watched Ember’s image. The raw, chaotic power in Ember’s eyes, the fear in her movements—it was all too real. Her Ember, strong and stubborn, was unraveling.

  “She’s scared,” Elena whispered. “She’s not cursed. She’s just scared and lost. She thinks I’m gone.”

  The man tilted his head, almost in pity. “And you still defend her. Even knowing what she carries inside her?”

  “Yes!” Elena’s voice was fierce now, steady despite the storm raging in her chest. “Because she’s not a danger to me. She’s everything to me.”

  The man studied her for a long moment, his gaze unreadable. He seemed to weigh her words, the conflict playing out behind his golden eyes.

  “Then you’d better find her before that fire turns inward,” he said, his tone softer now, almost sympathetic. “Before it burns her from the inside out.”

  Elena swallowed hard, trying to quell the knot of fear in her throat. “How do I get back to her?”

  The man’s eyes softened for a fraction of a second. “…Follow me,” he said after a brief pause. “There are truths here buried deeper than you know. If you want to understand Ember… and what the Orion Tribe truly left behind—you’ll need to see it for yourself.”

  Elena followed the man through the dim corridors of the ruins, her footsteps echoing slightly behind his silent stride. The ancient mossy floor crackled softly under their boots, and every wall they passed seemed to hold whispers and watching eyes. She couldn’t help it anymore—too many questions swirled in her chest.

  “So…” she began, her voice soft but unwavering, “if you’re saying what we believe isn’t the truth, then why did all the Iorphians believe it too? Why did the elders teach it? The Tribes are everything to us. Orion, Sainn, Caron—they protect us. They provide for us.”

  The man didn’t turn back. “Protect you?” he muttered. “Then tell me, child… if the Tribes are meant to protect you, why did none of them ever survive?”

  His words struck Elena like a stone to the gut. She slowed down, frowning deeply, confusion twisting in her chest.

  “What?” she whispered. “They—they don’t survive long because of the Thalavas. That’s different. We lost more than half of Iorph to those monsters.”

  “And still you call the ones marked by fire your guardians?” the man said sharply. “Still you trust the bloodline of destruction?”

  Before Elena could answer, a sharp crack rang through the corridor.

  Shattering.

  Then a distant scream.

  “Elena!”

  Elena froze. “Ember?” she breathed.

  “Ouch!”

  Elena’s eyes darted around in panic. That was close, she almost collided with the mirror.

  “Ember? I’m here!” she shouted, running toward the voice.

  “Elena? Elena, is that you?” Ember’s voice trembled, frantic, echoing through unseen mirrors.

  “Yes! It’s me! I’m fine—don’t worry! Just don’t—”

  “Back off,” Ember growled on the other side. “I’m smashing through!”

  “Wait, no! Ember—don’t! It’s a mirror—!”

  Too late. Elena could hear her drawing power, feel the energy rising.

  Behind her, the man groaned. “Why must it always end with chaos,” he muttered, and with a sharp snap of his fingers, the air rippled like water.

  A sharp pulse of warmth rippled through the stone, and suddenly—

  Shhhhhk!

  The mirror wall vanished.

  Elena blinked as Ember, charging toward where the barrier had just been, tripped forward and collapsed onto the ground in front of her.

  “Wha—?” Ember blinked rapidly from where she lay, then looked up.

  “Elena?” she breathed.

  Elena knelt down instantly. “You almost took down half the hallway!”

  Ember groaned, rubbing her shoulder. “Why didn’t the mirror stop me—wait. There’s no mirror.”

  She looked around, confused.

  Elena gave her a small, warm smile. “The old Iorph took care of it. He’s… helping.”

  Ember’s gaze shot up to the tall figure behind Elena. Her eyes narrowed instantly, suspicious.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  “Oh. Him,” she muttered.

  The man raised an eyebrow. “You’re welcome.”

  “You could’ve appeared sooner,” Ember mumbled.

  Elena chuckled. “You really were about to destroy the whole ruin, huh?”

  Ember flushed a little. “You disappeared. I—I thought I lost you.”

  The moment fell into silence, their eyes locked—until Elena leaned in and gave her a small, reassuring forehead bump.

  “I’m right here,” she said softly.

  “Touching,” the man grunted. “But you’ve only peeled back the first layer. If you wish to leave with the truth, you’ll follow me. The rest of the ruins are… less forgiving.”

  Elena helped Ember to her feet, their fingers intertwining naturally now.

  “We’re not leaving until we understand everything,” Elena said.

  “Then you better be ready,” he replied, voice echoing as he turned down the corridor again.

  The girls exchanged a quiet look, Ember’s brows furrowed slightly, but she nodded.

  The hall they entered was vast—wide enough to hold a small village, with ceilings so high the torchlight couldn’t reach the top. Along both sides, faded yet intricate carvings covered every inch of the walls. Some were nearly hidden under thick moss, while others were still vibrant enough to make out the details.

  Elena, walking just a step behind Ember, frowned the moment she noticed the small trails of dried blood down Ember’s knuckles. Her voice came out firm but gentle.

  “Ember… your hands. And your face—you’re bleeding.”

  Ember glanced at her hand as if it was the first time she noticed. “It’s fine. They’ll heal on their own.”

  “Don’t start,” Elena sighed, catching up and reaching for her hand.

  Ember instantly pulled it away. “Elena. I said it’s fine.”

  “They’re not fine!” Elena huffed, now stubborn. “Look at your fingers, they’re swollen and bruised from smashing those mirrors. And your palms… they’re raw.”

  “I said I’m fine.” Ember growled, keeping her voice low but irritated. “Stop fussing over every little scratch.”

  “It’s not little, it’s you!” Elena stopped walking. “You don’t have to be strong every second, you know that?”

  “I’m not—!” Ember turned to argue back, but—

  “If the two of you don’t shut up,” the old Iorphian’s voice thundered ahead of them, full of sharp annoyance, “I will not be wasting my breath telling you what happened here.”

  They froze like scolded children. The man exhaled and pointed up ahead.

  “There’s a restoration fountain just beyond this corridor. It’ll deal with your cuts and your bruised pride.”

  Both girls immediately went silent. Elena mumbled, “Sorry…” while Ember just grunted, not quite apologizing.

  They followed obediently, their shoulders brushing as they walked closer to the first wall painting.

  The man stopped in front of a section where the moss had been carefully scraped away, revealing a wide scene etched in polished stone. He raised a hand, letting the torchlight illuminate it more clearly.

  “You want to know what happened to Iorph?” he began, his voice lower now. “Then listen well.”

  The mural depicted tall, spire-like trees, curving homes built into their trunks, and smiling Iorphians gathering under glowing fruit lanterns.

  “This… is what we once were. Iorph was a place of balance. We lived with the trees, among the Ayelrs and even the redogs of the far north. There was peace. And there was curiosity.”

  He stepped along the wall, revealing the next panel. It showed a single figure now—taller, robed, with strange symbols carved into the folds of his garment.

  “Zalim,” he said bitterly. “A genius, a scientist… and a fool.”

  Elena and Ember leaned closer.

  “He believed we could be more. That we could go beyond the harmony and rise above every other nation in Golust. He made formulas—serums, glyph-ink, fire rituals. They awakened powers within certain Iorphians. At first, it worked. Stronger harvests. Faster healers. Defenders.”

  He gestured to a section that showed groups of Iorphians glowing with various lights—some with blue hands, some with fire trailing their limbs.

  “You know them as the Tribes. Orion, Caron, Sainn, Hydrion... You still wear their names. The marks you carry? Fire Sigils? They were called the Marks of Fire. Power meant for progress.”

  Ember blinked, instinctively touching her stone.

  Elena murmured, “So it wasn’t always tied to a curse…”

  The man’s jaw tightened. “It became one. Because soon… one lost control.”

  He pointed to another mural—a broken home, fire tearing through the trees, a young Iorphian’s eyes wide and glowing red.

  “Then another. And another. The gifts Zalim gave became poison. Powers flickered like storms. Accidents turned to deaths. And our people, frightened and betrayed, turned on him.”

  Ember’s eyes darkened. “What did he do?”

  “He tried to fix it. At first,” the old Iorphian said quietly. “He promised to purify the power. But their hate changed him. Isolation rotted him. He vanished… and returned with worse.”

  He motioned to the final mural—a sprawling battlefield, scarred Iorphians clashing with others. Fire and smoke filled the air. One figure, cloaked in shadow and flame, stood alone atop a broken tree.

  “He created more,” the man said. “Others like you. Others like her.”

  He looked directly at Ember.

  “You carry the mark of the fire sigil—the very thing that broke us.”

  Elena stepped between them, protective. “She’s not like that.”

  The man’s gaze didn’t waver. “No. But you’ve seen her anger. Her power.”

  Ember opened her mouth, then closed it again. For once, she didn’t know what to say.

  There was silence between them for a moment.

  “…So what happened after the war?” Elena finally asked.

  The moss-covered corridor they walked through began to open into a dome-shaped chamber, circular and quiet, its air still as if time itself had been halted within. Glowing stones embedded into the ceiling pulsed faintly, illuminating the chamber with a pale bluish hue. On the walls, more murals were etched—larger now, more erratic. The story wasn’t just told with careful carvings anymore. There were cracks, rushed lines, splatters of pigment. A story unraveling, a world breaking.

  The old Iorphian stood in front of the largest mural and let out a long breath, the kind that came with carrying too much memory.

  “After the war…” he began, his voice quieter than before, “things didn’t get better.”

  Elena and Ember stood side by side, still processing all they'd already heard, but neither interrupted. His tone was too heavy to break.

  “There was no peace. Only fear. And fear… turns even the wisest of us into cowards.”

  He turned, his eyes locking onto theirs.

  “Many Iorphs—more than we’d like to admit—sided with Zalim.”

  Elena’s brows furrowed. “Even after everything?”

  He nodded solemnly. “He promised them strength. Promised that anyone who bore the mark of power would be a true Iorph. That they were chosen. That the rest of us… were weak.”

  The next mural showed two halves of Iorph—a literal partition carved through a grand city, one side cast in light, the other shrouded in fire.

  “They left with him. Down into the depths. The rest of us stayed… and we had to start over. Fire. Shelter. Everything. The other nations of Golust turned their backs on us. Ayelrs, Redogs, even the mountain spirits who once carved our paths. None would help.”

  Ember looked at the mural quietly, jaw tight.

  “Why?”

  “Because they feared what we’d become,” the old man answered. “And honestly… who could blame them?”

  He moved down the wall, revealing a mural of spires touching the clouds, strange machines with wings, and Iorphs standing on platforms that hovered in the air.

  “But we rebuilt. Alone. And in time… we advanced. Reached a point where no one could catch us. We flew, glided above the trees. Built creatures—machines born of crystal and root—that worked for us, that served us without rest. We thought we were safe.”

  Ember looked amazed despite herself. “You made flying machines?”

  He offered a small, dry smile. “Made them, rode them, danced in the clouds.”

  Elena stepped closer to one panel showing a creature—a blend of animal and machine with glowing eyes and bark-like plating. “These were the things you created to help?”

  “Yes,” the old Iorphian replied, his voice beginning to darken again. “But we forgot a truth Zalim had once twisted: that power without understanding is always a risk.”

  He looked at them again, eyes sharp. “While we watched the underground, sending spies year after year, our creations above learned. Grew. Changed. And one day… turned against us.”

  Ember stepped back slightly. “Your own machines attacked you?”

  “Yes. Silently. Cleverly. Not all at once. They fed on the power source we built this city around—a living, breathing core of energy. By the time we noticed… it was too late.”

  He gestured toward the final part of the wall—almost nothing was left of it, just scratches and what looked like damage from an explosion.

  “The ones who survived… sealed the core. Abandoned this place. Hid it beneath vines, stone, and silence.”

  “And Zalim?” Elena asked softly. “What happened to him… after going underground?”

  The man glanced at her, then the floor. His voice, this time, was almost a whisper.

  “Zalim… didn’t live long after. The underground was not kind. There was something already there… something ancient. A creature that ruled those depths. He was devoured. Not even weeks after his descent.”

  A shiver ran down Ember’s spine. “Then why did the Iorphs stay down there?”

  He shook his head. “They didn’t leave. Whether out of pride, guilt, or ignorance, they stayed. Rebuilt. Over centuries they flourished. And our elders… thought the curse had changed. Mutated. Stabilized.”

  “And you?” Elena asked.

  He turned to her, something cold in his gaze. “I never believed that. I watched the eyes of the marked. I saw the old flicker of madness in the new bloodlines. The fire was quieter—but not gone.”

  He looked straight at Ember.

  “And now… here you are.”

  Ember's face stiffened, but before she could respond, Elena stepped slightly in front of her.

  “She’s not a threat. You said yourself—this mark didn’t start as a curse.”

  The man didn’t answer. His gaze flicked back to the cracked wall. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  After a long pause, he spoke again.

  “There’s still a core beneath this city. Still burning. Still… watching.”

  He walked toward a side corridor, where the air grew colder and the moss clung to every surface.

  “If you want to understand who you really are—both of you—you’ll need to see it for yourselves.”

  Elena and Ember exchanged a glance, not quite fear, not quite excitement.

  “Come,” the man said. “There are still truths hidden in this stone.”

  They followed the old Iorphian through the cold corridor. The walls grew tighter, almost as if the ruin was narrowing itself around them. Strange etchings began to appear—patterns that pulsed faintly with a soft red light, humming low like a sleeping heart.

  Elena walked close beside Ember now, their bickering forgotten. The silence was heavy, but not uncomfortable. Every now and then, Elena would glance down at Ember’s still-scratched hands, but she didn’t say anything.

  Ember noticed. “You want to say it,” she muttered under her breath, eyes forward.

  Elena blinked. “What?”

  “You want to scold me about my hands again,” she said, almost playfully.

  Elena gave her a sideways look, lips twitching. “I was going to say thank you. For trying to find me. For screaming my name like a lunatic.”

  Ember smirked faintly. “I wasn’t screaming.”

  “You were very much screaming.”

  Before Ember could argue, the old Iorphian stopped. They’d reached the end of the passage. A massive stone door stood in front of them, covered in carvings and vines so thick they looked like veins.

  He turned around. “This… is the Core.”

  With a gesture, the vines began to loosen, writhing like living roots before retreating into the walls. The door responded with a dull, metallic groan, sliding open slowly to reveal a vast chamber beyond.

  It took their breath away.

  The ceiling stretched endlessly upward into blackness, but the chamber itself was bathed in deep crimson and gold. At the center, a massive structure pulsed with light—crystalline, alive. It hovered slightly off the ground, suspended by unseen force. Jagged branches of glass and metal webbed out from it, humming with low energy. The floor around it was scorched, cracked, yet surrounded by tiny floating particles of light, like dust suspended in honey.

  Ember stepped closer. “This is what powers everything?”

  The old Iorphian nodded. “This is the heart of Iorph. Or what remains of it.”

  Elena stared in awe, her voice hushed. “It’s beautiful…”

  “But broken,” the man added. “Just like our people.”

  They stepped toward the Core. It seemed to react to their presence. The pulsing grew stronger. Louder. A low thrum filled the chamber, like the beating of a massive heart.

  Elena felt a tug deep in her chest—something old, something familiar. Ember, beside her, flinched slightly as a flare of light leapt from the crystal and passed across her hand. Her sigil shimmered in response, glowing faintly.

  The old man narrowed his eyes. “It recognizes you.”

  Elena’s eyes darted to Ember. “What does that mean?”

  “It means…” the man hesitated, “...that the mark Zalim gave your bloodline isn’t just a curse. It’s a connection.”

  “To this?” Ember asked, her voice more uncertain than usual.

  “To the Core. To the source. You were built for this, whether you knew it or not.”

  Elena stepped between them protectively. “She didn’t ask for it.”

  “I never said she did,” the man replied calmly. “But you’ve both stepped into something older than you can understand. Something waiting for centuries.”

  Elena turned to Ember, her voice soft now. “Are you okay?”

  Ember looked down at her hand, flexing her fingers, watching the faint red flicker beneath her skin.

  “I don’t know.”

  A long silence stretched between them.

  Then Ember looked up. “But I want to be.”

  The old Iorphian turned back toward the shadows. “There’s one more thing I must show you. Something even I don’t fully understand.”

  He started walking again. They followed, steps slow, echoing.

  As they reached a lower chamber connected to the Core room, the air grew colder. The walls were black stone now, almost like obsidian, covered in carvings—but these were different. They shimmered faintly. They moved.

  “What is this place?” Elena whispered.

  The man didn’t answer right away.

  Then he said, “The last thing Zalim touched before he vanished. And perhaps… the place where everything began.”

  The descent into the lower chamber was slow, almost reverent. The stone beneath their feet changed with every step, becoming darker, smoother, until it no longer felt like stone at all—but glass. Glass that had been scorched by fire, reshaped by time.

  Elena reached out and touched the wall as they passed. It shimmered faintly, like ripples on water. “It’s warm…”

  “It reacts to your presence,” the old Iorphian said without turning. “All of this does. This is Zalim’s final chamber. A place that remembers everything.”

  As they stepped inside, the walls lit up with a faint golden glow, and scenes began to ripple across them—like memories trapped in light.

  It wasn’t like the paintings before. This was moving, breathing, almost alive. They saw Iorphians with flowing robes, standing beneath giant trees that shimmered with power. They saw laughter, festivals, peace.

  Then the images changed—sharply.

  Screams. Fire. Buildings collapsing in on themselves. Creatures—ones Ember had seen in nightmares—ripping through the trees.

  And at the center of it all: a tall man with eyes like dying stars and the Mark of the Fire Sigil burning bright on his palm.

  Zalim.

  He was shouting something, but the voice didn’t carry. His face was wild—half-determined, half-desperate. Another figure appeared beside him, shoving a scroll into his hand, as explosions rocked the world behind them.

  The images stopped.

  The room went still.

  And then the wall across from them began to move.

  A section of it cracked open, revealing a hidden alcove. Inside was a pedestal. And on that pedestal lay a circular device—like a disc, engraved with Iorphian symbols, glowing faintly red. It pulsed in time with Ember’s sigil.

  Ember stepped forward cautiously. The glow grew stronger as she approached.

  The old Iorphian's voice was heavy. “We never found that device. It was said Zalim took it with him… It’s a memory keeper. A vault of his knowledge, his regrets… and maybe answers.”

  Ember’s hand hovered over it. “It’s reacting to me.”

  “Because you carry his mark,” the man said quietly. “The true Mark of the Fire Sigil. Not the fractured, inherited version passed down to tribes. The origin. The key.”

  Elena stepped beside her, uneasy. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

  Ember didn’t answer. Her fingers brushed the surface.

  The disc flared to life.

  A voice echoed through the chamber. It was old and tired, but calm.

  “If you’re hearing this, then either I’ve failed… or you are the future I hoped for.”

  Elena's eyes widened. “That’s—”

  “Zalim,” the old man confirmed.

  The voice continued.

  “I tried to change our people. Tried to give us power so we’d never be stepped on again. But power… it twists even the best intentions. I lost control of what I made. I became the villain in their story. Maybe I was.”

  “But I never wanted the ruin of Iorph. I only wanted to protect it.”

  The voice paused.

  “If you have the mark, you carry a piece of that failure. And a chance to rewrite it. But beware. The sigils are not just power—they are contracts. And someone always pays the price.”

  The disc dimmed.

  A silence followed—deep and unsettling.

  Elena swallowed hard. “What… does that mean?”

  Ember was staring at her hand. “A contract…”

  The old Iorphian looked between them. “Your journey is not over. If anything… it’s just begun.”

  He stepped back and gestured toward a staircase at the edge of the chamber, half-covered in moss.

  “Up there is the last piece of this place. What remains of the control room. You may find more… or nothing. But the answers you want are never handed to you.”

  Elena nodded slowly, still absorbing it all. “And if the curse is real…?”

  The man met her gaze. “Then it’s time to break it.”

  The silence that hung in the control room was suffocating, as the last remnants of Zalim's words faded into the atmosphere. Ember and Elena were left standing before the altar, their minds swirling with the weight of what they had just learned.

  But something wasn’t right.

  Elena’s eyes scanned the room again, and the uneasy feeling that had been growing within her suddenly blossomed into a full realization. Where was the Iorphian man? He had guided them here, told them pieces of the story, and yet, since they had entered the room, he was nowhere to be seen. It was as if he had vanished into the shadows, like he was never truly there.

  “Elena...” Ember’s voice broke the silence, her tone unsure. She was holding the small stone they had found, still feeling its strange energy coursing through her fingers. Her gaze shifted from the stone to the room itself. “Where’s the old man? The one who showed us the way here?”

  Elena felt a knot tighten in her chest. She had been too focused on the task at hand to realize it before, but now that Ember mentioned it, he was gone. It was as if he had never existed in the first place.

  “Maybe he was a guide,” Elena murmured, her voice uncertain. “A part of the past that had to be left behind. But I don’t understand—he seemed like he was more than just a guide. He knew things.”

  Ember nodded, the weight of her words pressing against her chest. “It doesn’t make sense. If he was real, why would he disappear like that?”

  Before Elena could respond, a sound echoed through the room—a familiar, eerie voice.

  “One who does not bear the curse... can end all curses.”

  Elena froze, her blood running cold at the sound. The voice that spoke now was unmistakable. It was Zalim’s voice, the very voice that had been haunting them since they first discovered the sigils.

  The voice came again, clearer this time, as if it was reverberating through the very walls of the chamber.

  “One who does not bear the curse... can end all curses.”

  The words hung in the air like a challenge, an invitation, a truth that neither Ember nor Elena were ready to fully comprehend.

  Ember’s grip on the stone tightened, her breath hitching. “Did you hear that?” she whispered.

  Elena turned to look at her, meeting her gaze. Her heart pounded in her chest, and for a moment, she felt like she could barely breathe.

  “That voice… It’s him,” Elena said, her voice tinged with fear. “Zalim. It’s like he’s still trying to speak to us, even after all this time.”

  Ember's eyes widened as the gravity of the words settled in. “The curse… the one that I have, and the one that all of us bear… He’s saying there’s a way to break it. But we don’t know who he's talking about.”

  Elena, her mind racing, looked at the stone in Ember’s hands and then back at Ember herself. “Zalim’s voice just said that someone who does not bear the curse can end it. But… but how does that relate to us?”

  A moment of silence passed between them, both of them wrestling with the weight of Zalim’s message.

  “That’s what I don’t get,” Ember said, frustration creeping into her tone. “If the curse is what I carry, then who else could it possibly be?”

  Elena shook her head slowly. “I don’t think Zalim is talking about you, Ember. You bear the curse, but he didn’t say the cursed one can end the curse. He said... one who does not bear the curse.” Elena’s heart pounded harder with the realization. “Zalim isn’t talking about you.”

  Ember frowned, her brow furrowing. “Then who?” Her voice was almost a whisper, as if the answer could be too dangerous to hear.

  Elena, hesitant but resolute, glanced down at her hands. They weren’t marked by the sigil. Her heart skipped a beat as the pieces began to come together, but the thought seemed impossible. Could it be her? Could she, someone without the sigil, be the one who could undo everything?

  Ember’s voice cut through the silence. “Elena, I don’t think you understand. You’re the one who can do it.”

  Elena snapped her head up. “What do you mean?”

  Ember stepped closer, her gaze unwavering as she looked at Elena with a mix of determination and something softer—a sense of trust. “The curse is not just something that comes from the sigils, Elena. It’s a poison that seeps into the heart of Iorph, into everything we do, everything we’ve been taught. The only way to break it is from the outside—someone who hasn’t been tainted by it.” She gently cupped Elena’s hands in her own, locking their gazes together. “That’s you, Elena. You can be the one to break the cycle. You’re the only one who can do this.”

  A shiver ran down Elena’s spine as Ember’s words hung in the air. The weight of them crushed her chest, but there was something else—an ember of hope, flickering in the darkness.

  Elena didn’t know what to say. She didn’t feel ready, nor was she sure how to even begin. The curse, the sigils, Zalim’s voice… everything seemed beyond comprehension.

  “But... we don’t even know where to start,” Elena said quietly. “How can I do this? How can I break something so... so big?”

  Ember’s gaze softened, and she squeezed Elena’s hands, her voice unwavering. “We’ll figure it out. You and me. We’ve already come this far. We didn’t know what we were walking into when we started, but we’re still standing. We’ll find a way.”

  Ember’s words were simple, but there was such confidence in them, a strength that Elena knew she could lean on.

  “We’ll find a way,” Ember repeated, her eyes filled with resolve. “We just need to keep moving forward. Trust me, Elena.”

  They stood there for a moment, letting the weight of their conversation sink in, the echo of Zalim’s words still hanging in the air.