The footsteps grew louder, each strike of the boot echoing down the spiral staircase. Mordaine’s heart hammered in his chest. He quickly shut the book, though he hadn’t even opened it, and stepped back from the pedestal. The flame inside him flickered restlessly, as though urging him to fight, to flee, to do something. The air shifted as the newcomer entered the chamber. A slender figure stepped into the blue torchlight. Cloak swaying, golden hair catching the glow Lyra. Her eyes widened when she saw him. “Mordaine?” He froze. His throat felt dry. “I—” “What are you doing here?” she hissed, glancing around the chamber. Her gaze landed on The Forgotten Flame and lingered there with unsettling familiarity. “Do you even realize where you stand?” Mordaine swallowed hard. “I… was searching for answers.” Lyra’s voice dropped to a near whisper, her tone sharper now. “This place is forbidden for a reason. These are not teachings they are warnings. If the Masters find you down h

The cavern lay in silence. The guardian’s broken shell cooled into black stone, its molten veins fading to dull cracks that still hissed with steam. The once blazing chamber now felt like a tomb, and Mordaine stood at its heart, still trembling from the fire that hadn’t quite left his veins. His chest rose and fell heavily. The flame within him pulsed like a second heartbeat quiet, restrained, but alive. It felt different now. Sharper. Hungrier. Lyra stood a short distance away, studying the cavern wall with her torch. Her silver dagger was gone, but her expression hadn’t softened. If anything, she looked… thoughtful. Troubled. Mordaine ran a hand through his sweat damp hair, forcing his voice steady. “That thing… it wasn’t just a guardian, was it?” Lyra’s torchlight flickered across her face, casting shadows in her eyes. She didn’t answer immediately, which told him enough. Finally, she said, “Guardians like that don’t appear by accident. They’re bound summoned to protect so

The courtyard hadn’t emptied even after the duel ended. Students clustered in tight groups, their voices a low thunder rolling through the evening air. Mordaine pushed through them, every step a battle against the prickle of stares burning into his back. He could hear the words they weren’t even trying to whisper anymore. “Golden flame…” “Isn’t that impossible?” “He hid it all this time?” "No someone like him couldn’t there must be a trick.” The Ember inside him pulsed, restless, as though feeding on their suspicion. Mordaine clenched his fists, willing it to quiet. Not here. Not now. If I lose control again… At the edge of the yard, Kael leaned against a column, arms crossed, lightning flickering faintly around him. His smirk was gone, replaced by a razor-thin line of disdain. He didn’t speak, but the glare he gave Mordaine promised a storm yet to come. Mordaine quickened his pace. Lyra stepped into view. She wasn’t smiling. She wasn’t mocking. Her sharp eyes search

The moon hung low over the Arcane Academy, casting long silver streaks across the cobblestone paths. Mordaine Carrowell moved cautiously through the eastern wing, the parchment from Professor Serath clutched tightly in his hand. Every creak of a floorboard, every rustle of a curtain, seemed amplified in the silence. He knew that the Council’s Enforcer could be anywhere, following his steps with the patience of a predator. The note had promised truth, but Mordaine knew better than to trust anyone completely. Serath’s motives were opaque; his past hidden beneath layers of scholarly respectability and whispered rumors. And yet… the professor’s claim that Mordaine’s power was part of a lineage tied to his missing parents stirred a dangerous curiosity in him. He paused outside the shadowed library door. The air smelled faintly of parchment, candle wax, and something metallic ominous. Taking a deep breath, Mordaine pushed it open. Inside, Serath waited, seated at a long table strewn wi

The night air had grown thick with unease. Ever since the incident in the courtyard, Mordaine had sensed a presence darker than any rogue beast, moving deliberately through the Academy’s outer grounds. Lyra and Mordaine navigated the shadowed paths near the northern walls, the Ember pulsing faintly beneath Mordaine’s skin. “Something’s coming,” she murmured, her staff glowing with protective enchantments. Before Mordaine could respond, a chilling wind swept through the trees, carrying whispers that sounded almost like voices. Figures emerged from the shadows, cloaked in black robes adorned with crimson sigils agents of the cult Serath had warned him about. Their eyes glimmered unnaturally, reflecting a hunger for power and destruction. Mordaine’s pulse quickened, but the Ember surged in anticipation, sensing the threat. He gripped the rod Serath had given him, feeling the fire wrap around it like a living entity. “Stay close,” he said to Lyra. The cultists struck simultaneously, s