Chapter 4 The Temple Beneath Ash

The mountain loomed on the horizon like a slumbering god.

Blackspire.

Its jagged peaks cut into the sky like blades, wreathed in ash and thunderclouds. Lightning licked the summit, and a storm brewed along its crags, refusing to break. The air was thick with sulfur, and the earth beneath their boots was cracked and warm-alive with heat from deep below.

Darius wiped a layer of soot from his brow. Each step toward the range was like walking into the breath of some ancient beast. The Ember pulsed in the flask at his side, dim and steady now, as if sleeping. Since the Whispering Stones, it had not spoken again.

Kael led the way across the ashen flats, his axe strapped across his back, shoulders squared. The man moved like someone who had been here before-who remembered the way too well. He hadn't spoken of it, but Darius had seen the look in his eyes. The memories haunted him.

Lysa followed behind them, her hood drawn low over her face. The closer they came to the mountain, the quieter she became. Her chants turned softer, her steps more cautious. Her magic had always been wild-now it felt restrained, uncertain.

Joren trudged behind, clutching a charred map they'd recovered from a ruined outpost near the cliffs. His eyes were shadowed since the encounter with the Ember. He barely spoke. But he never strayed far from Darius's side.

They camped that night on a ledge overlooking a sea of black rock. Fires were forbidden. Instead, they sat in darkness, sharing dried meat and passing a waterskin laced with herbs to calm their nerves.

"We'll reach the Gate tomorrow," Kael said quietly.

Lysa looked up. "Are you sure it's still standing?"

"No," Kael admitted. "But if it is, we'll need blood to open it."

"Whose?" Joren asked.

Kael looked away. "Doesn't matter. The mountain chooses."

---

The next morning, the wind screamed.

Ash swept across the flats like a blizzard, reducing the world to shadows and outlines. They moved with scarves tied over their faces, hoods drawn tight. Each breath tasted of iron and dust.

By midday, they reached the cliff face. There, carved into the black stone, was a door-massive and ancient. It had no hinges. No handle. Just runes etched deep into the rock, faintly glowing red like cooling embers.

"The Gate of Ash," Lysa whispered.

Kael approached and placed his hand on the stone. He spoke in a language none of them understood-harsh syllables that scraped the air like broken glass. The runes brightened. The ground trembled.

A slit opened down the center of the wall. The stone groaned and parted, revealing a tunnel lit by flickering torches.

"Move fast," Kael said. "Once the gate opens, it doesn't stay open long."

They stepped inside.

---

The heat was unbearable.

The tunnel descended at a sharp angle, and the deeper they went, the more the stone glowed red-hot around them. Pools of molten rock pulsed behind iron grates. The air shimmered. Their skin slicked with sweat.

But what gripped Darius most was the sound.

Drums.

Faint at first, then louder. A heartbeat rhythm echoing up from the depths.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Each beat made the Ember stir at his side.

After what felt like an hour, the tunnel opened into a vast chamber. The Temple.

It was unlike anything they had seen.

An amphitheater of obsidian and gold, carved into the hollow of the mountain. Massive chains ran from the ceiling to a central platform where a single throne sat-carved from bone and stone, wreathed in fire that did not burn.

On the throne sat a figure.

Old. Cloaked in flame and shadow.

The Keeper.

---

Kael fell to one knee.

Lysa followed, bowing her head. Joren hesitated, but obeyed.

Darius remained standing.

The Keeper lifted its head. A face revealed-burnt beyond recognition, yet its eyes glowed with awareness. Not male. Not female. Ageless.

"You bring the Ember," the Keeper said, voice crackling like dry wood in fire.

Darius nodded. "We seek the truth."

"Do you seek truth?" the Keeper asked again, louder. "Or vengeance?"

Silence.

Darius spoke. "We seek to end what began in the Old War."

The Keeper laughed. A dry, hollow sound.

"Then you must understand. The Ember is not salvation. It is memory. It is punishment."

The flames around the throne surged.

"You carry the last breath of a dying world. The gods bled their essence into this Ember, and man used it to create. To conquer. To destroy. Now you come to awaken it again?"

Darius stepped forward. "We don't want power. We want answers. We want to know why my father died for this. Why the world burns."

The Keeper stood. The throne melted behind it.

"Then one must descend."

Kael stirred. "No."

"Yes," the Keeper said. "One must take the Ember into the Forge. Below. Into the place where the first flame was born. There, the truth will be revealed."

"And the cost?" Darius asked.

"Memory. Blood. Time. The mountain does not forgive."

Lysa stepped forward. "I'll go."

Kael grabbed her arm. "No. I will."

"No," Darius said. "This is mine."

The Keeper extended a flaming hand. "Then kneel."

---

Darius knelt.

The Ember floated free from its flask, hovering before him. The flames around the temple dimmed. The air became heavy, suffocating.

"You will see what was. What is. What must be," the Keeper said. "But you may not return."

The world spun.

Flame swallowed Darius whole.

---

He awoke in fire.

But he did not burn.

He stood in a city of glass and gold. Towers stretched into clouds. Machines flew overhead. A world before ruin.

He saw his ancestors. He saw them find the Ember-deep in the earth, hidden in a crystal prison. He saw them use it to build wonders.

Then he saw the war.

The Ember fractured. Cloned. Corrupted.

Nations rose and fell in a day.

Flames consumed the sky.

Then-silence.

He saw a boy, young and lost, clutching a flicker of red light. A promise passed down through generations.

A promise that one day, someone would come to make it right.

And he saw himself.

---

Darius collapsed on the temple floor, gasping. The Ember hovered above him, now pulsing like a heart.

The Keeper's voice echoed.

"You are the Flamebearer now. The last witness."

Darius looked up, eyes full of fire.

"What must I do?"

The Keeper's face twisted into something close to a smile.

"You must decide what burns next."