The journey to the Chainmaker wasn't marked on any map.
Only rumors. Whispers of a hermit mage who once bound the Flameborn bloodline. Who vanished after the Great Purge.
Now, Arin and Lyra followed the trail of those whispers into the ancient ruins beyond the Hollowreach Mountains where time stood still, and magic lingered like frost.
They walked in silence. Not because they had nothing to say, but because words weren't enough anymore.
Every step was a vow.
Every breath, borrowed.
They were walking into the unknown, and both knew: if they came back, they wouldn't be the same.
"Do you think he'll help us?" Lyra finally asked, breaking the quiet.
Arin didn't answer immediately. The wind howled around them, carrying flakes of ash. Even here, the scars of war remained.
"I don't know," he admitted. "But we need answers. And he's the only one left who knows the truth about my magic."
Lyra looked down at his arm the seal of the phoenix shimmered faintly through his sleeve. "What if he tries to kill you?"
"Then we'll stop him together."
She smiled faintly. "Together. Always."
By nightfall, they reached the ruins.
Stone pillars jutted from the earth like broken teeth. Ancient runes glowed faintly along the crumbling walls. In the center stood a domed structure part temple, part tomb.
As they stepped inside, a cold breath passed over them.
Then a voice.
"Who dares walk the road of ash?"
It wasn't loud. But it echoed inside their minds, brushing against their thoughts.
Arin took a step forward. "I am Arin Valerius. Flameborn. I seek the Chainmaker."
A pulse of power struck him like a hammer. His knees buckled.
Lyra caught him, raising a protective ward.
"Flameborn," the voice hissed. "I thought your kind were gone. I should've sealed you all."
The room darkened.
And from the shadows emerged a figure.
He was neither old nor young. His eyes were hollow, rimmed with silver. His robes fluttered without wind. And bound to his back were seven chains, each inscribed with runes of death and binding.
He looked at Arin with loathing—and pity.
"So… the last spark still burns."
"You're the Chainmaker," Arin said, steadying himself.
The man gave a curt nod. "Name long forgotten. Magic too dangerous to leave behind. Why are you here?"
"I want to understand what I am. And how to control it. I don't want to be like the others."
The Chainmaker's laugh was bitter. "Control? There's no control in fire. Only destruction. Your kind tried to rewrite the world."
"I didn't ask for this power," Arin snapped. "But I won't run from it either."
Silence.
Then the Chainmaker's chains began to rattle.
"Then you must be tested."
Before Arin could react, the world shifted.
He stood alone in a burning city. The sky wept ash. Screams echoed in the distance.
But none of it was real.
It was a memory.
His trial.
From the flames emerged a boy younger Arin. Helpless. Scared.
He was being chased by a mob, mages and villagers alike. Shouting slurs. Calling him a monster.
The boy tripped.
Arin tried to move, to help, but he couldn't. He was only a spectator.
He watched as the boy's fear twisted.
And fire erupted.
Buildings collapsed. People burned.
Even the innocent.
Arin shut his eyes.
But the voice came.
"You burned them. You always burn them."
"Do you truly believe you can change your nature?"
Back in the temple, Arin fell to his knees, shaking.
Lyra tried to help, but the chains held her back. She screamed, but no sound came.
The Chainmaker knelt beside Arin, his voice lower now.
"You see now? Flameborn magic is chaos. It consumes. The more you resist it, the stronger it grows."
Arin gritted his teeth. "Then I won't resist."
The Chainmaker raised an eyebrow. "You surrender to it?"
"No," Arin said, standing. "I'll shape it. Fire doesn't just destroy. It forges. It purifies. It lights the way."
The chains rattled again this time not in warning, but in recognition.
The Chainmaker turned to Lyra. "You. Why do you follow him?"
"Because he's more than his magic," she replied. "He's the boy who saved me when everyone else ran. He's the reason I'm still fighting."
The Chainmaker studied her.
And for the first time, the corners of his lips twitched.
Almost a smile.
"Then maybe… just maybe… the cycle can be broken."
He lifted one hand.
And the chains on his back detached floating toward Arin.
Each one wrapped around his arms, chest, and legs. But instead of restricting, they infused him with control. Tempered his wild flame.
"These are not chains of suppression. They are chains of focus."
"Use them. Or be consumed."
When it was over, Arin stood taller.
His flame was still there but calmer. Centered.
He bowed. "Thank you."
The Chainmaker gave him a long look. "Don't thank me yet. The Ravens know you're here. And they're coming."
"How long do we have?" Lyra asked.
"Two days. Maybe less."
"What do they want from me?" Arin asked.
The Chainmaker's expression darkened.
"Not you. What's inside you."
He handed Arin an ancient scroll.
"This is the Raven's real goal. Not conquest. Not power."
"They want to resurrect the original Flameborn God."
"And you… are the vessel.