Chapter 2 The hollow flame 🔥

The next morning, Alec dug through the ruins of his parents' library. He found a hidden chamber beneath the stone hearth, sealed by a glyph he'd never seen before. The moment he touched the ring to it, the door opened. Inside: a circular room filled with tomes bound in dragonhide and orbs suspended in stasis. At the center - a floating journal, untouched by time. His father's. He opened it with trembling hands. >

"If you're reading this, Alec, then the flame has awakened." > "You are not powerless. You were never meant to wield magic like the others. Your soul burns with something older - the Hollow Flame. A power hidden by the ancients, feared by the Council, and sealed by blood. We kept it from you to protect you. But the Severed knows." > "Find the Ember Vault beneath the mountains of Myrrh. There lies the truth - and the cost." Alec closed the journal. For the first time, he felt the stirrings of something deep inside - not fire, not magic, but purpose.

The world believed him powerless. Malrik believed him prey. But Alec Virell was about to become something else entirely. The path to Myrrh was one of legend - and death. Alec traveled alone, guided only by faded maps and the pull of something ancient in his blood. He avoided the war-torn cities, stuck to the forests, slept under cold stars. Whispers of Malrik's armies were everywhere: villages emptied overnight, skies choked by ash. Still, Alec pressed on.

The Hollow Flame stirred beneath his ribs now, not constant, but watchful - like an eye slowly opening.

By the twelfth day, he reached the Spine of Myrrh: a jagged range of black rock, crowned in snow. Few dared enter it. Even fewer returned. At the mountain's base stood a ruin - half-buried, forgotten. The Vault. It wasn't a building so much as a wound in the earth. A stone maw, wide enough for giants, its entrance sealed by three rings of ancient fire-script. Alec recognized the language only because he'd seen it once, long ago - etched into his father's blade. He pressed his hand to the center. The ring on his chest pulsed. The glyphs flared. The stone trembled. Then the vault opened - not with sound, but with a rush of warm air, as if the mountain exhaled. Inside, torches lit themselves in cascading waves. The chamber was vast, circular, and silent. At its center stood a pedestal. Upon it, a single object: a sword. No blade Alec had ever seen looked like this. It was blackened steel, etched with glowing veins of amber. Fire pulsed inside it - not wild, but contained, like a star in a cage. As Alec stepped closer, the air grew thick with memory. He reached for it. And the world fractured. Alec was no longer in the Vault. He stood in a world of ash and fire. The sky above him bled orange. Around him, shadow-warriors clashed with robed mages wielding flame and light. He knew this was no vision - this was a memory. A battle long forgotten. At the center stood a woman, cloaked in white flame. Her hair was silver, her eyes gold. She raised the same sword now before Alec - and with it, she cleaved through an army of shadows. He heard her name whispered on the wind: Virellia. The first bearer of the Hollow Flame. The founder of his bloodline. She turned to him - not in surprise, but recognition. > "You carry my fire," she said. "But do you know its price?" Before Alec could speak, the memory shattered. He was back in the Vault. On his knees. The sword still before him - now humming softly. He touched it. The moment his fingers closed around the hilt, the Hollow Flame within him roared. Heat surged through his limbs, but it did not burn. Instead, it filled him - as if a part of him had been asleep, waiting for this moment. The sword accepted him. And with it, something else awakened. A voice - not spoken aloud, but heard in his mind. > "The Severed comes. And he knows what you are now."

That night, the skies burned red. In the shadow of the mountain, Alec watched a figure approach through the falling snow - tall, gaunt, wrapped in a cloak of midnight. Malrik the Severed. His face was half bone, half pale flesh. His eyes glowed with the color of old blood. In his hand, he carried a staff of charred obsidian, wrapped in screaming souls. He did not speak right away. Only studied Alec with something between amusement and curiosity. > "The child lives," he finally said. "And he carries her flame. I had hoped the bloodline had died with your parents." Alec raised the blade. It glowed in answer. > "You killed them," Alec said. Malrik smiled. > "They chose to burn for a cause that cannot win. The Hollow Flame is a relic - dangerous, yes, but dying. I will offer you mercy, boy. Give me the sword. And I will let you walk away. Empty, but alive." Alec felt the flame rise inside him. Not wrath. Not revenge. Clarity. > "You're afraid of me."Alec said

That smile twisted into a snarl. Malrik raised his staff. And the mountain trembled.