The moment Lena touched the obsidian shard, her soul was torn from her body.
There was no pain.
Only silence.
Then—
Ash.
Endless, colorless ash, falling from a sky with no sun.
She stood in a realm of ruin.
Charred trees twisted like corpses.
The ground cracked beneath her every step.
And far in the distance, something massive pulsed — like the beating heart of a dead god.
Her voice trembled as she whispered:
"…Where am I?"
A voice answered.
Not from behind her.
But within her.
"You stand in the Realm of the Forgotten Flame."
Meanwhile, Lucien descended into the Catacombs of Aevum.
The entrance had been buried beneath a mountain of bones — the remains of beasts too old to be named.
Even the air fought him as he entered.
Each step deeper into the darkness peeled at his essence like wind eroding stone.
He had faced hells.
But this was older.
At the final step, he saw it: a mural carved in gold-veined stone.
A woman — burning, faceless — standing over the corpses of gods.
THE FIRST EMBER.
THE UNMAKER.
THE GOD-KILLER.
Lucien's heart pounded.
And on the last wall:
SHE RETURNS WHEN THE WORLD FORGETS HER.
And beneath it:
SHE HAS ALREADY BEGUN TO REMEMBER.
Lena walked the Ash Realm alone, guided only by the voice in her head.
Each step made her feel lighter — not physically, but spiritually.
As if the rules that once bound her were peeling away.
She found a pool of black water, perfectly still.
When she gazed into it, she didn't see herself.
She saw a city burning.
Thousands screaming.
Lucien — kneeling.
His wings torn.
His eyes filled with sorrow.
And in the center of it all—
Herself.
But not this self.
A version of Lena crowned in fire, laughing as the world crumbled.
She fell back from the pool, gasping.
"No—no, I wouldn't—"
The voice echoed gently.
"You already have."
Lucien stood frozen before the mural, breathing heavily.
Aria stood beside him, silent, eyes wide with fear.
"This can't be about her," he said.
But even as he denied it, the truth was cracking inside him.
Because he knew.
The power inside Lena wasn't just ancient.
It was forbidden.
Designed not to save, but to end.
He touched the final carving with trembling fingers.
It was warm.
Too warm.
A pulse rippled through the chamber.
And in that moment, he felt it:
Lena's presence.
Far away.
But changing.
In the Ash Realm, Lena finally reached the source of the pulsing heart.
It wasn't a heart at all.
It was an altar.
Made of bones, wrapped in blackened vines, crowned with molten runes.
Something called to her from its center — a flame the size of her fist, suspended in air, burning with no fuel.
"Take it," the voice said.
"You are its vessel."
She hesitated.
Her hands shook.
"I don't want to destroy anything."
The voice laughed.
Not cruelly.
But like a mother humored by a child.
"Destruction is a form of release."
"You are not meant to carry peace. You are meant to carry balance."
"And sometimes, balance is only restored when everything burns."
Lucien made his choice.
He needed to reach Lena.
Even if it killed him.
Even if it meant facing the truth he was most afraid of.
He summoned a portal, fueled by everything he had left — power, memory, blood.
It shattered the Catacombs as it opened.
And through it—
He saw the Ash Realm.
He stepped through.
Lena stood at the altar.
The flame hovered just inches from her palm.
Her eyes glowed like suns.
Lucien called out.
"Lena!"
She turned.
And for a moment—
He didn't recognize her.
She was radiant.
Terrifying.
Divine.
But then her eyes found his.
And she broke.
"Lucien…"
He ran to her, cupping her face.
"What is this place?"
"I don't know," she whispered. "But it knows me."
She looked toward the flame.
"It wants me to take it."
"Then don't."
Her breath hitched. "But I think it's already mine."
Lucien's grip tightened.
"You are not a weapon."
She looked into his eyes.
And asked, softly:
"…What if I am?"
The flame pulsed behind them.
A warning.
A promise.
Lucien stepped between her and the altar.
"You're not alone," he said. "No matter what you become."
Tears spilled down her cheeks.
But her hands still glowed.
The flame still called.
And somewhere deep inside, she knew:
If she took it, there would be no turning back.
But maybe—
Maybe there had never been a path back to begin with.