Beyond Worlds, Beneath the Star God

The sky cracked with fire.

Thunderous booms echoed across Emberhold as flaming meteors arced across the heavens, crashing into the blackened peaks surrounding the city. The Burnt knelt by the thousands across the molten squares, chanting in unison, their voices low and rhythmic.

> "We are born of ash, and ash we shall become again."

> "Let the First Flame speak."

Kun stood in the center of the Pyrean Plaza, surrounded by a circle of firepriests in blood-colored robes. His face was bare now. The soot washed away, the robe discarded. He no longer played the role of a follower.

He was the chosen.

Or the impostor.

That was what this trial would decide.

---

The Tyrant Revealed

A horn of flame sounded from the Pyrean Spire.

The crowd parted.

And he emerged.

Ignarok.

He stood over ten feet tall, a giant clad in plates of living magma and jagged obsidian. His body was flame made flesh, his every breath a plume of embers. Twin horns of charred stone curled from his head like a crown, and his eyes… his eyes were furnaces without end.

He walked slowly toward Kun, each step melting the ground.

"Fireborn," his voice rumbled. "They say you carry the Breath of the Skyfire. They say your flame sings in harmony with mine."

Kun did not flinch.

"I don't sing," he said. "I burn."

A murmur ran through the crowd.

Ignarok's furnace-eyes narrowed. "Then let the flame decide."

---

The Firefall Rite

Ignarok raised a hand, and the sky opened.

From beyond the clouds, a column of pure fire descended—a golden inferno streaked with red and violet, laced with celestial script. It was not natural flame. It was Skyfire, summoned from the very heavens where ancient fire spirits once ruled.

The firepriests chanted louder. The circle around Kun became a cage of living heat.

Elandor shouted from the edge of the plaza, "Don't resist it! Let the starfire speak!"

Kun closed his eyes.

The fire struck.

---

Starfire Awakens

The pain was not pain.

It was remembrance.

He felt himself cast adrift in a sea of heat—no air, no ground, no body. Just flame, thought, and history.

Images surged:

A dying star collapsing into a crystal seed.

An ancient civilization worshipping that seed, calling it Serak-Tel, "The Memory Flame."

A girl with golden eyes holding the seed in her hands, smiling before being consumed.

The fire pulled at him, searching for his truth.

He gave it none.

Instead, he consumed it.

With a roar, Kun raised his arms—and the starfire flared from his body, not in defense, but in claim.

He twisted the Skyfire around him, weaving it into a cloak of golden heat. The circle around him shattered. The flame bowed.

---

Verdict of the Tyrant

Ignarok stared in silence.

Then, slowly, he raised his gauntlet and struck it to his chest.

A salute.

"Flame accepts flame," he said.

The crowd erupted—not in joy, but in fearful reverence.

"Then kneel," Kun said quietly.

Ignarok's head tilted. "Do not mistake acceptance for submission, Fireborn. You have passed the trial. You are kin. But if you wish to rule flame… you must still take it from my hands."

He turned, his cape of molten chains dragging sparks across the obsidian.

"Three nights from now," he said. "The Emberheart is born. If you survive its birth, it is yours."

He disappeared into the Pyrean Spire.

---

Epilogue: A Crack in the Flame

That night, Lyra tended to Kun's burns—though his body showed almost none. Rein sharpened his sword in silence. Elandor stared into the distance, troubled.

"The fire knew you," the old mage finally said.

Kun looked up at the stars, the ash still falling.

"No," he said. "It remembered me."