The flames still danced in the night sky.
They licked the heavens with a fury that mirrored the storm in Arin's chest. Every ember that rose from the ruined tower was a memory of Lyra's laugh, her stubborn bravery, her unwavering loyalty.
He had lost her.
The one person who believed in him before he believed in himself.
And yet… she chose to burn, so he could rise.
Arin didn't cry. Not because he wasn't shattered, but because the moment demanded more than tears.
It demanded purpose.
The phoenix-bound book hovered beside him, its pages fluttering like wings.
Arin stared at the glowing name on the page:
"Arin Valerius, Last Flameborn."
He had a choice. Run and hide. Or rise and burn.
His fingers tightened into fists. "I won't waste what she gave me."
He reached out and the book pulsed with heat, binding itself to his magic. A seal branded itself onto his forearm: a burning feather wrapped in chains.
His power was no longer wild. It had direction now. Meaning.
Vengeance.
But the Raven wouldn't wait.
Their shadows spread beyond the tower ruins, spilling into the woods like oil. Magic warped the air. Trees withered. Animals fled.
The darkness was hunting him again.
Only this time, Arin didn't run.
He stood.
The first shadow lunged.
Arin moved like flame unpredictable, fast, deadly.
A burst of red fire met the darkness mid-air, exploding in a flash of heat that scorched the earth. Another shadow leaped. Arin spun, the book glowing at his back like a guardian spirit, and cast a barrier of golden light.
The spell crackled.
The shadow screamed.
More came.
Too many.
He couldn't stay here.
Arin ran but not in fear.
He had a destination now.
The Vault of Echoes.
Lyra once told him it was where the Academy stored the memories of former Headmasters, ancient mages, and sealed records. A place where truth lived in silence.
If there was a way to beat the Night Ravens, to understand the legacy of the Flameborn, it would be in the Vault.
It took him two days to reach the Vault.
He barely slept.
When he did, the nightmares came.
Lyra burning.
The Raven's mask staring.
The whispers of power calling him deeper, darker.
He awoke with sweat and guilt, but also clarity.
He was changing.
Becoming something new.
The Vault sat beneath the Hall of Requiems, guarded by illusion spells and layered wards that shifted every day. Only a student with a Master Key or pure magic signature could enter.
Arin had neither.
But he had something else.
Desperation.
And the phoenix.
The seal on his arm glowed as he approached the gate. The runes shimmered, flickering between denial and curiosity.
He placed his hand on the door.
And whispered, "I carry the flame. I seek the truth."
The Vault paused.
Then opened.
Inside was darkness.
Not threatening just… waiting.
Crystal orbs floated mid-air, each glowing faintly.
They were memories. Preserved thoughts of mages long dead. And in the center of the Vault stood a singular orb brighter than the rest.
It pulsed like a heartbeat.
As Arin approached, he heard it.
"You have come far, child of fire."
He froze.
The orb spoke again.
"Do you seek redemption… or revenge?"
"I don't know," Arin admitted. "Maybe both."
"Then learn. Before you burn everything down again."
The orb exploded in light.
Suddenly, Arin wasn't in the Vault anymore.
He was in the past.
The sky burned red.
Flameborn mages floated in the air, raining destruction upon a fortified city. At the center, one man eyes glowing like suns raised his hands.
The world bent to his will.
Mountains moved. Oceans parted. Cities fell.
"This is what you were," the voice whispered. "A god among men."
The scene changed.
Now the same man stood alone, covered in ash, surrounded by corpses.
"And this is what you became. Alone. Cursed."
Arin fell to his knees.
It was him.
Not just in power, but in soul.
The same pain.
The same rage.
"Break the cycle, Arin. Or die repeating it."
He gasped as he returned to the Vault.
The orb dimmed.
And a path opened.
A single book floated down.
"The Flamebound Codex"
He touched it and his mind filled with spells, rituals, forbidden knowledge… and a name.
The Chainmaker.
A mage who had once sealed Flameborn magic. Who knew how to unbind it and how to kill it.
If Arin could find him, he might learn how to control his gifts.
Or destroy them.
Footsteps echoed behind him.
He spun.
A familiar voice.
"Well, well. Took you long enough."
Lyra.
Bruised. Burned. But alive.
"How—" he choked.
She grinned. "You think a little fire can stop me?"
He ran to her. They didn't hug. They didn't cry.
They just stood there.
Side by side.
Because now they had a mission.
The Chainmaker.
The Ravens.
The truth.