By the second day after the message, the terrain had begun to change. Gone were the fractured ridges and stone-flamed hollows. In their place: smooth, weather-worn valleys that hummed with dormant leylines. The flame inside Surya pulsed in rhythm with the ground, subtle but constant—like something old was calling out in his blood.
"We're nearing the Rift," Kaelen said. "The scout will be watching."
Surya nodded, though his attention stayed fixed on the leyline's resonance. Something was off. Not dangerous. Not yet. But strange. Like footsteps in a dream you can't remember.
They passed a collapsed statue, half-buried in moss. A hand stretched skyward from the rubble—five fingers carved with symbols of the elements. One of them, the fire rune, was cracked down the center.
"An old Flamepost," Kaelen muttered. "Used to mark Spiral influence zones before the Fracture."
"Why leave it broken?" Surya asked.
"To remind people that control is temporary."
They moved on.
That night, camp was set near a river of ash-silt that shimmered under moonlight. Surya sat cross-legged, the flame in his hand flickering softly between hues—orange, then red, then pale white.
Kaelen watched him. "You've almost stabilized the second threshold. Your core is resisting less."
"I still can't reach full resonance," Surya muttered. "It's like I get close, and then something pulls back."
"That is the resonance trial. Fire doesn't yield. It dares. If you want it to walk with you, it needs to know you'll walk through it."
Surya looked up. "Have you ever failed a resonance trial?"
Kaelen didn't answer for a long time. Then: "Once. I lost three years to that failure."
Before Surya could respond, the flame in his palm blinked out.
A pulse ran through the air.
Kaelen stood instantly. "Get down."
From the tree line beyond the river, a figure emerged—hooded in bone-gray, face obscured by shifting masks of smoke. The emberlights near the camp dimmed.
The figure raised a hand, revealing a smooth, crystalline token shaped like a spiral gate.
Kaelen relaxed only slightly. "That's the scout."
The figure lowered their hood.
A woman, eyes like hollowed starlight. No visible weapon, but her presence cut like frost.
"You are late," she said.
Kaelen replied flatly, "We weren't idle."
Her eyes shifted to Surya. "You've drawn too much attention. I can feel it on the leylines. They're fraying behind you."
Surya stood slowly. "You're from the Sanctum?"
The woman nodded. "Second Circle. My name is Dazhra."
She reached into her robe and pulled a folded slip of gold-pulp parchment, layered with defensive runes.
"The threshold awaits. You have one cycle to cross the Rift before the gate closes again. Fail, and you'll be locked out until the next convergence."
Surya took the parchment, feeling its subtle warmth—the same frequency as the scroll that had summoned them.
Kaelen frowned. "That's cutting it close."
Dazhra nodded. "Because your arrival has triggered something. We've felt tremors in three nodes. The Veiled Hand is circling."
"Do they know about the threshold?" Surya asked.
Dazhra didn't answer.
Which was answer enough.
That night, as they prepared for the final leg toward the Rift, Surya found himself staring at the flame again. Only this time, something stirred within it.
A vision—uninvited, half-formed. A spiral tower in ruin. A sea of glass. A boy standing alone beneath five burning banners.
He gasped. The flame winked out.
Kaelen walked up behind him. "The Flame remembers its own history. Be careful what you let it show you."
Surya nodded. "I think it's trying to warn me."
Kaelen stared into the dark. "Or prepare you."