Chapter 3 The Place of Forgotten Flames

The night swallowed them whole.

They'd ridden hard, hours beyond Elyndor's walls, into the Dead Wastes - where no one dared to go without a death wish or a secret.

Kiera's legs ached, her body bruised from the escape. But it was the silence that cut the deepest.

Caelen hadn't spoken since they crossed the Ashen River. Not a word. Just that unreadable stare fixed on the road ahead.

Finally, she broke. "You said we're going to where the oaths were born. Where is that?"

He didn't turn. "The Hollow Flame."

Her mouth dried. "That place doesn't exist. It's a myth."

"So was the Oathfire," he said, glancing back. "Until it nearly burned you alive."

She flinched.

He wasn't wrong.

They crested a ridge. Below them stretched a crater, blackened and pulsing faintly with ember light. Twisted stones jutted like broken teeth. No life grew there - not a tree, not a weed.

At its center: a ruin. Half-buried. Ancient. And glowing.

"That's where they made the First Oath," Caelen said quietly. "Where they bound the magic. And where they hid the cost."

She stared down at it. Her throat tightened. "What happened here?"

He dismounted and walked toward the edge. "The Order tells you oaths are sacred. That they protect the realm. That they're a gift."

"They are," she said, instinctively.

"Then why do they kill you the moment you question them?"

Kiera didn't answer.

Caelen reached into his coat and pulled something out - a scroll, old and cracked. He unrolled it in front of the glowing ruin.

Kiera stepped closer. The parchment was covered in Oathscript - older than anything she'd seen.

Then she saw her name.

Written in flame.

"What is this?" she whispered.

"Your name wasn't just added," he said. "It was always there."

She looked up at him. "That's impossible."

Caelen looked back at the ruin, face dark. "You're not the first to be chosen by the Oathfire, Kiera."

He turned, gaze sharp.

"But you might be the first to survive it."