The tomb shook with every breath of the Wyrmfather.
A being older than stars.
He loomed above me, his flame vast and wounded, barely contained. Cracks ran through his molten scales, leaking voidlight—a sign that the Hollowed had already begun their feast.
And now, he offered me the final choice:
> "Take my Core. Let the flame end with you. No more Vaults. No more dragons. No more Hollowed."
Or—
> "Do nothing… and the flame burns the world until only shadow remains."
Behind me, Kaela screamed my name.
But I couldn't hear her.
Because I wasn't truly standing in the tomb anymore.
I was in his mind.
---
Memories of Flame
The Wyrmfather showed me everything.
> I saw the First Flame igniting in a world of ice.
The birth of dragons. The rise of the Flameborn.
The rebellion of the gods.
The first Hollowed spark, formed from grief—not greed.
And then…
I saw me.
A dozen versions.
