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CHAPTER 30 — The Path of Burning Echoes
The wind was colder that morning.
Not the ordinary chill of dawn, but something heavier — a coldness that clung to the bones, that whispered warnings through the trees. Even the leaves seemed afraid to rustle too loudly.
Aren felt the change first.
He paused halfway through packing his gear, looking up as if someone had called his name. The sky above the valley was gray, but not the normal gray of a cloudy day. This was a muted, bruised color, as if the heavens themselves were contemplating something terrible.
"Dragonsong…" Aren muttered, "it's happening again."
Dragonsong didn't answer immediately. He was crouched beside the campfire, tracing patterns in the ashes with the tip of his blade. Symbols. Old ones. Etched with precision and purpose.
Only when the last one in the circle was drawn did he speak.
"It isn't the Sovereign this time," Dragonsong said quietly. "At least, not directly."
A faint tremor ran through the earth — subtle but undeniable.
Aren's hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword. "What then? Another Herald?"
"No." Dragonsong stood and sheathed his blade. "Something older."
Before Aren could ask, a horn's echo rolled across the valley — long, deep, and trembling. Not from their camp. Not from any human army.
The sound came from the forest.
And it wasn't a warning.
It was a summons.
Aren swallowed hard. "We're not going to like what's waiting for us in there, are we?"
Dragonsong didn't pretend to comfort him. "No. But we have to go anyway."
They entered the forest with slow, deliberate steps. The trees towered above them — dark trunks, twisted branches, leaves trembling as if trying to hide from the sky itself. Strange lights flitted between the shadows. Not fireflies. Not spirits.
Something in between.
Aren kept close to Dragonsong. "This place feels… alive."
"It is," Dragonsong replied. "This forest is part of the world's memory. Every pain it has endured, every joy, every death — the trees remember it."
A faint glow appeared ahead. At first it looked like sunlight breaking through the branches. But the light flickered, pulsed, grew brighter — until it formed a swirling pillar of orange and gold.
A figure stepped out of it.
Not human.
Not demihuman.
Something ancient.
Her skin glowed like heated metal. Her hair flowed like living embers. Lines of molten gold traced across her arms and down her legs, glowing brighter with every heartbeat.
A Fire-Wraith.
One of the oldest beings born from the world's volcanic core — long extinct, according to every scholar still alive.
Yet here she was.
Her gaze locked on Dragonsong.
"Child of Chains," she said, voice echoing like distant thunder. "The world calls for you."
Aren stiffened. "Why? What do you want with him?"
The Fire-Wraith tilted her head slightly. "Not want. Warn."
Dragonsong stepped forward. "About what?"
She raised her hand and pressed her burning palm against the trunk of a tree. In seconds, the bark blackened and split, revealing an image glowing from within — a vision made of fire:
A gate of stone.
A sky burning red.
And a colossal shadow stepping through the flames.
A voice roared from the image:
"NO MORE CHAINS."
The tree snapped shut, smoke curling upward.
The Fire-Wraith turned back to them. "The Sovereign's influence spreads faster than we thought. The Cinder Gate has begun to fracture."
Dragonsong's jaw tightened. "How long do we have?"
"Less than a moon," she said. "Maybe less. The world has recognized you, Dragonsong… not as its savior, but as its successor."
Aren's voice shook. "What does that mean?"
"It means," she said, "that the world is preparing to choose between you — and the Sovereign."
The ground quaked. A deep, rumbling groan traveled through the forest. The Fire-Wraith's body flared brighter.
"I have little time left. He senses me."
Before she faded, she pressed something into Dragonsong's hand — a shard of blackened stone, warm to the touch.
"The first key," she whispered. "To the throne you did not ask for… but cannot refuse."
The fire around her extinguished with a final flash of light.
Silence swallowed the forest.
Aren stared at the stone in Dragonsong's hand. "So this is it… the real beginning."
Dragonsong didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
The Cinder Gate awaited.
And destiny was no longer knocking.
It was tearing the door off its hinges.
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