The forge roared.
Heat radiated like a living presence, smothering the chamber in waves. Kael stepped forward, sweat beading along his brow, the shard of Vel'tarion trembling in his grip. The masked figure ahead taller than any man Kael had seen stood unmoving by the forge of black flame.
"Place the shard on the anvil," the smith commanded.
Kael obeyed. As the metal touched the ancient obsidian, the forge screamed. Fire flared green, then gold, then black. The masked smith raised a hammer of pure emberstone, etched in runes only half-visible.
"This is the Rite of Flameforging," he said, voice like gravel ground beneath the weight of centuries. "You must endure the forging of not just blade but self. Only then may Vel'tarion be born anew."
Kael felt the words sear into his bones. The air around him thickened. The ground cracked. Shadows stretched from the forge's edges, forming a perfect ring. The masked smith stepped back, vanishing into the darkness.
Suddenly, Kael stood alone.
A new presence emerged.
A boy barely ten, with silver eyes and shaggy black hair. His robes were scorched, his arms marked in faint scars.
Kael's breath caught. It's me.
"You were weak," the boy said, voice shaking. "You let them cast you aside. You begged for your father's attention."
Kael clenched his jaw. "I was a child."
"And now you're cursed," the boy spat.
Flames exploded outward. A mirror image of Kael his younger self lunged at him, blades of fire forming from his wrists. Kael dodged, blocking with a surge of will. The rune on his arm pulsed, countering the attack. Pain tore down his side.
This is the trial, he thought. Not physical. Emotional. A battle against my past.
Visions flashed:
His mother's scream as she burned before him.
The look of betrayal in King Maren's eyes.
The High Seer whispering behind the throne.
He roared and struck, but the boy dodged again.
"You'll never be enough," his younger self hissed.
Kael dropped to one knee. "I already am."
The fire exploded outward. The boy vanished.
Silence.
The flame stilled.
In the center of the forge, the shard of Vel'tarion glowed with golden-white light. The masked smith reappeared.
"You faced the flame. You endured the shadow. The sword remembers you."
He raised his hammer.
With one strike, light engulfed the forge. The shard lengthened, reshaped. A hilt of dragonbone formed. Runes flared along the blade's length.
Vel'tarion was whole again.
Kael reached out. The moment his fingers touched the hilt, the flame entered him.
Power surged. Visions of past wielders, of battles lost and won, of a voice deeper than stars filled his mind.
"You are the last Flamebound," the smith said. "And the First Reforged."
Kael turned to Sirena, who watched silently from the stair.
"It's done," he said. "The exile ends now."
Sirena stepped forward, her eyes uncertain. "Then what begins?"
Kael looked toward the exit of the Ember Gate, his blade humming softly.
"War."