I Became the Error the Gods Couldn’t Erase

The road to Velhara wound like a vein of obsidian through the ashen wastes, its edges crumbling into fields of black glass that snapped beneath every footfall. Dawn's pale light barely pierced the low-hanging clouds, turning the sky into a sickly lavender. We moved in silence at first—Kaelin scanning the horizon, Toren testing the weight of his axes, Mara trailing like a ghost with her staff, and me gripping the Ember Shard so tightly my knuckles ached.

Every so often, I felt it tug at my chest, as though the shard itself urged me forward. I didn't know whether it was fear or destiny pushing me, but I obeyed.

"Toren," Kaelin murmured without taking her eyes off the road. "Keep watch to the right. The Ashen Road doesn't forgive the careless."

He nodded, shoulders tense. Mara shuffled closer, her eyes never leaving me. "The closer we get to Velhara," she whispered, "the louder the echoes grow. Prepare yourself."

I swallowed. "What do they sound like?"

"A dirge," she said. "A chorus of souls who died under these towers." Her gaze shifted to Kaelin. "He must learn to control the shard. Soon, or it will control him."

I met her eyes and saw pity and steel both shining there. Pity for my burden—steel for the fight ahead.

We walked for hours in that oppressive quiet. The shattered sun hovered on the horizon, and the wind rustled through the brittle weeds like whispered warnings. My mind drifted back to the battle with the ash wolves: the roar of the flames, the pain in my palm, the shard's hunger. I still bore the burn mark—a perfect spiral branded into my flesh. It throbbed as if alive.

"Toren," I said quietly, "do you ever regret following me?"

He glanced over, surprise flickering in his eyes. "Regret? Nah. You're the most interesting thing to happen since I was born. Besides," he added with a crooked grin, "who else would teach me how to handle gods' tools?"

I managed a weak smile. Kaelin shot him a look sharp enough to cut stone.

"Stop feeding him ego," she scolded. "We'll need every advantage in Velhara."

That night, we camped beneath the skeletal remains of a once-grand archway—now warped scrap metal entwined with glowing runes. I sat by the fading embers of our fire, the shard resting on my knee like a beast coiled to strike.

Mara lit a lantern and sat beside me. "Tell me what you feel when the shard hums."

I traced the glowing lines with a fingertip. "It's like… hearing a heartbeat that's not yours. Warm, urgent. It aches for something."

She nodded. "That ache is the Hollow Flame reaching out. It remembers Rael's sacrifice—and your role in the coming war."

My stomach twisted. "I don't know if I'm ready."

Mara's eyes softened. "None of us are. But courage isn't the absence of fear—it's moving forward despite it."

The wind sighed through the ruins, and I wondered if the very stones shared her counsel.

At first light, we resumed our march. The air felt charged, as though the world held its breath. The road climbed a final slope, and when we crested it, Velhara lay before us.

The city was a ruin of black towers and shattered spires, their silhouettes jagged against the dawn. Valleys of broken stone and rivers of molten glass radiated from its heart. Smoke drifted from distant chimneys, but no signs of life stirred—only the distant howl of something ancient.

Kaelin halted us at the edge of a craterous scar. "This is as close as we go on foot. From here, we navigate the Spinewalk—narrow ledges carved into the highest towers."

Toren whistled under his breath. "Looks suicidal."

Mara peered at the crumbling skyline. "The Spire of Ash stands in the heart of the city—the first tower Rael defended. Its foundations hold the final clue."

I gazed up at those spires, memories flooding back: visions of Rael's anguished face, the chains of fire, Morvaegoth's roar shaking the earth. The shard pulsed against my thigh, as if impatient.

"We start at the western gate," Kaelin said. "It's partially collapsed, but less kept by the Veil." She turned to me. "Stay close and let the shard guide you. Trust its pull."

My breath caught. Trust the shard—the same shard that nearly set a village ablaze.

We descended into the crater on narrow paths of cracked stone. Each step was an exercise in careful balance; every loose pebble threatened to send us tumbling into the molten flows below. Toren went first, axes carving footholds. Mara stayed close behind him, staff glowing, as if warding off more than just the darkness.

I brought up the rear, limbs trembling with adrenaline. Twice I nearly slipped, but Kaelin's steady hand on my shoulder kept me upright.

At last, we reached the western gate—a fractured archway flanked by statues of horned sentinels, their faces worn away. Faded runes carved into the stone glowed faintly beneath layers of ash. The gate itself was a jagged wound, rusted portcullis hanging at an angle.

Mara stepped forward, her voice reverent. "Speak the name of the fallen king." She placed her hand flat on the runes. "Rael."

The air around us rippled, and the runes blazed to life in molten orange. The gate trembled, then slowly edged open with a grinding roar that echoed through the empty city.

A blast of hot air met us—smoke and dust drifting through the archway. Beyond lay a courtyard of shattered pillars, the ground stained black as dried blood. At its center stood a dais, cracked but intact, with a circular indentation carved into it.

Toren wiped sweat from his brow. "Looks like the shard fits there."

I stepped forward, shard held aloft. My palms slick with sweat, heart hammering. As I placed the Ember Shard into the indentation, a tremor shook the ground and the statues' eyes flickered with life.

A pulse of golden light radiated outward, illuminating the courtyard. Engraved images blazed into view: Rael standing triumphant over Morvaegoth, chains of flame wrapped around the titan's shattered limbs.

Then the dais sank into the earth, revealing a spiral staircase descending into darkness.

Kaelin drew her blade. "After you."

I took a steadying breath and led the way into the spiral, every echo of my footsteps a drumbeat in my chest.

Below, the air was thick with arcane power. Walls were ringed with runes that throbbed in time with the shard's glow. Fissures in the rock dripped molten glass that sizzled where it met the cold stone floor.

At the bottom, we emerged into a massive chamber. Its domed ceiling vanished into shadows, and at its center, a colossal bound figure lay half-buried in rock and chains—Morvaegoth's broken form, eyes long extinguished.

Mara knelt beside its head. "The Devourer sleeps… but it still breathes. The seal holds—for now."

I placed a hand on the titan's fractured jaw. The shard pulsed fiercely, as if recoiling from the sight.

Kaelin stepped back. "Your next vision should reveal the path to Nexaris."

The shard's light flared, filling the chamber with warmth and memory. In my mind's eye, I saw a map etched in starfire—a road twisting over mountains to a city built on graves.

I gasped and staggered.

Toren caught me. "What did you see?"

I turned to him, eyes blazing with conviction. "The way to Nexaris."

Mara rose, staff tapping twice. "Then we have our path."

Above, the gates of Velhara groaned closed with finality. But down here, in the silent heart of the Spire of Ash, a new journey was just beginning—one that would lead us deeper into forgotten legends, toward the city of graves, and to the final reckoning with the Devourer.

And the Ember's curse would guide every step.