Michael sat at a fire that did not burn.
It glimmered blue, floating over a run bowl of volcanic glass. It was a light that flickered on Anna's face as she toiled, silently making a circle of ash and bone around them. Ancient symbols they sprawl out like veins, faintly glowing.
He kept glancing at her. She was calm, she was focused, and she was too graceful for this scorched wasteland.
He finally spoke.
"Where am I, really?"
Anna didn't look up. "Pyrrhion. One of the Twelve Realms. The Realm of Flame."
"What does that mean? Realms? Like worlds?"
Now she looked at him. "Like truths. Twelve of them layered across time and existence. You're on one now because your soul wasn't destroyed."
Michael's hands tightened.
"Then what happened to me?"
She was quiet for a moment. Then:
"You were unmade. Most never return after that. "But there was something in your Thread that wouldn't let go."
He glanced down at the glow beneath his chest, where the first Soul Thread Mark smoldered. It didn't feel evil. But it didn't feel natural, either.
"So what am I now? A summoner? A puppet? A mistake?"
The blue flame beside her hissed as Anna released a slow breath.
"You're unanchored. Pyrrhion will then attempt to test you. Burn you. Make you belong —or erase you."
Michael stood. "Then tell me what I must know." Not riddles. Rules."
She studied him then nodded.
"Fire is sacred here. It has memory. Each summoner must bind an ember spirit that will serve as their drinker. Not a weapon. A witness. "If it chooses you… it gives you your first Flamebrand."
"And if it doesn't?"
"You burn."
TheTrialofCinders
They made their way at dusk, ascending black cliffs until reaching a stone basin surrounded by flaming totems. The air shimmered. In its center lay a charred circle scorch marks radiating outward like the rays of a sun.
"Stand at the center," Anna said. "Close your eyes. Offer it something real."
"Like what?"
"Pain. Regret. Something you've not spoken of since you died."
He hesitated. Looked at her. But her face was unreadable. Not cold. But he couldn't tell what she was thinking.
Michael entered the circle. Immediately heat surged around him. It didn't touch him, but he could feel it watching.
"I knew I should have walked away," he whispered. "That night. I should have known when I saw her lie. But I stayed. I wanted to believe that I mattered. I wanted to be important … even to someone who didn't give a shit."
The flames flared white.
It made a noise not a roar, but a whisper in reverse. The fire curled and twisted and made a shape.
A tiny thing, he burns like coal. Eyes like old sorrow. It moved forward and sat at his feet.
Michael stared.
Anna smiled faintly.
"It accepted you."
He blinked. "Why?"
"Because the fire always remembers the ones that hurt the most."
The road ahead glimmered as a scar through the land.
Michael followed Anna, the fire spirit trotting quietly next to him. It didn't touch him, didn't purr or flutter it just followed, ember-eyed, as if it knew where he was going before he did.
….
The landscape was wild. Burned trees stood like skeletal sentinels. The wind blew sparks, not dust. Smoke spiraled from wrecked towers in the distance. But farther still, Michael spotted something else: light.
A city.
It beat like a heart in the distance red walls, black spires, and alleys that flowed like rivers of molten gold. Above it, the sky sparkled with a constant aurora of flame and spark, bluing night into gold, blood-orange.
"That's Vel'Kareth," Anna said, "The Ember Capital."
Michael blinked. "There's a city like that in this wasteland?"
She nodded. "Pyrrhion burns everything—but also builds from what survives. Vel'Kareth is the final remaining city of the old fire-gods. It's alive, in its own way."
They entered through a broad arch hewn from molten basalt. Guards in armor spiked with flame saluted Anna briefly as she strode by.
"Flameborn Anna," one said in a whisper. "Welcome back."
Michael looked at her. Flameborn? She hadn't mentioned a title.
She offered the guard a courteous nod and a gentle smile. No command. No pride. Just a quiet presence. And they did not react with fear but with something like reverence.
As she walked, people said hello to her. Vendors offered her fruit. Children stared, wide-eyed. An apparition brushed her shoulder and murmured, "May the old fire keep you."
"You're… well known here," Michael said.
"I've been in Vel'Kareth before," Anna answered. "A few times. Maybe more than a few."
He frowned. "You mean in past lives?"
She didn't answer just smiled and let the question hang in the air.
Vel'Kareth: Capital of Flame
Michael drank it all in.
• Streets were illuminated with flame-veined crystals that glowed with the energy of bound spirits.
• Murals of fire-gods, of lost wars, and a serpent that coiled the world blanketed the walls.
• Summoners dressed in robes of threaded flames animated embroidery depicting their current spirit's shape.
• Blacksmiths here didn't only create weapons they bonded them to memories, allowing blades to recall their purpose.
He turned to Anna. "Why is everyone here so… relaxed? This world is fire. It should be chaos."
She paused at a broad bridge that spanned the lava river dividing the city.
"Because they are taught to burn with intent. Pyrrhion doesn't hate life. It tests it. If you survive, you change. You grow."
"And if you don't?"
She glanced down at the lava underneath. "Then you go back to the Thread."