Beyond Worlds, Beneath the Star God

The road east was long and cruel.

After the events at Vael'Tharin and the encounter with Eroth's mind, Kun and his companions needed to move fast—but not blindly. Their next target was no shadowy manipulator or whispering witch. This time, it was something far more direct.

Ignarok, the Tyrant of Flame.

A warlord, a monster, and one of the oldest members of the Nethershade Covenant.

His territory lay deep within the Ashened Expanse, a volcanic region where the ground itself bled fire and storms of smoke could strip the flesh from bone.

Few returned from that land.

Fewer still with their sanity intact.

---

The Path to Cinderspire

They passed through scorched hills where nothing grew and where the wind carried the faint echo of screaming.

Lyra had wrapped her ears with cloth. Even Rein, normally fearless, kept his hand close to his blade. Elandor wore a heavy warding cloak, muttering protections every few minutes.

Kun, however, felt something different.

As they climbed higher, deeper into the mountains, he felt his starfire… stir.

Not in resistance.

But in resonance.

He stood at the edge of a lava crevasse one evening, watching the molten river twist below. His palm glowed faintly—his fire danced like it recognized the heat around it.

"Is the fire reacting to this place?" Lyra asked quietly, coming up beside him.

"No," Kun said, his voice low. "It's preparing for something."

---

The Legend of Ignarok

Around the campfire that night, Elandor told the tale:

"Ignarok wasn't always flame. He was born of stone—an earth mage from the southern cities, a gifted builder and healer. But his people were buried by a firestorm when the sky cracked open—some say it was the gods punishing the land."

"They say he survived for seven days buried in magma. And when he walked out… he was no longer man."

"He became fire incarnate. Pain given will. And all that remained of his people were turned into his servants—The Burnt."

Lyra frowned. "So he's not just a warlord. He's a god of revenge."

"No," Kun said. "He's a warning."

---

Arrival at the Ash Gates

On the sixth day, they reached the Ash Gates—a massive archway of black obsidian, cracked by lava veins and guarded by twisted statues of screaming faces.

Smoke clouds churned overhead, and thunder rumbled—not from the sky, but from beneath the earth.

Rein knelt, brushing the volcanic soil.

"These markings are recent. Someone's been here."

Kun crouched beside him and placed a hand on the stone.

Heat surged into his bones—not harmful, but familiar.

And something else.

A pulse. Rhythmic, deliberate. Almost like a forge hammer.

Elandor confirmed it: "It's a ritual pulse. They're forging something inside."

Lyra looked toward the mountains ahead. "Weapons?"

"Or worse," Kun said.

---

The Burnt Watchers

They encountered the first of them two miles beyond the gate.

The Burnt.

Once human. Now twisted forms of charred flesh and ember-forged metal, their faces frozen in agony, their bodies kept alive by fire magic and willpower alone.

One stood in the middle of the path, unmoving.

Rein stepped forward, blade drawn. "Let me handle it."

But as he moved, the creature raised its hand—not in threat, but in reverence.

"To the Fire-Born," it rasped.

The others emerged from the rocks, one by one. Not to fight.

To kneel.

Kun stared.

"What… is this?"

Elandor's voice was grave. "They recognize you."

"Why?"

"Because your starfire speaks the same language as their master's."

---

Foreshadowing: The Flicker Within

That night, Kun sat alone again, the stars above hidden behind ash clouds. He held a piece of volcanic glass in his hand—shaped like a fang, still warm.

He stared at the reflection.

His eyes flickered.

Not golden this time—but orange-red.

Just for a second.

The fire was shifting.

And somewhere deep inside him, a voice he had not heard before whispered—

> "You are not his opposite."

> "You are his echo."