The embers from the Trial by Fire had long since faded, but the scent of scorched earth and residual magic still lingered in the air. The training grounds of Aurimora were quiet now, the chaos of the previous trial giving way to an uneasy calm. Aurelian stood at the edge of the arena, eyes scanning the shattered stones and scorched pillars as if the secrets of what happened lay etched in the rubble.
He hadn't slept much. Not since the voice—ancient and fragmented—whispered to him through the flames.
"Heir of the Blade, the Balance falters…"
That message gnawed at his mind. What blade? What balance? And why him?
Dawn broke gently over Aurimora, light spilling across the gilded domes and arcane spires of the academy. The air shimmered with magic, and Aurelian, despite the pull of weariness, walked toward the east wing. A summons had come for him in the early hours—a sealed note in dark blue wax bearing the sigil of the Grand Magus Council.
It was rare to be summoned so soon after a trial, especially one so unusual.
As he stepped through the vaulted hall of the Council Chambers, he caught his reflection in one of the enchanted crystal mirrors. Aurelian was no longer the wanderer who'd arrived barely a week ago. His raven-black hair was still tousled from the fire winds, but his forest green eyes gleamed with a clarity that hadn't been there before. His robes, once simple, now bore the silver-lined crest of an official instructor—earned in combat and sealed in flame.
He straightened his posture, adjusted the newly affixed shoulder clasp that signified his authority, and entered.
The chamber was circular, marble pillars wrapped in ivy rising around a large round table. The Grand Magi sat in a ring, their expressions unreadable.
At the center of the table floated a small flame—a remnant from the Trial. It pulsed faintly as Aurelian approached.
"You summoned me?" he asked, bowing with measured grace.
Elder Caldus, the highest-ranking member of the council, nodded gravely. "We did. Sit, Master Aurelian. There are matters to discuss… matters of old magic and buried truths."
He sat, unsure if he should feel honored or anxious.
"The Trial by Fire was not meant to awaken what now stirs," said Magus Veina, her voice laced with concern. "The spirit that reached for you—it was not part of the test."
Aurelian tensed. "You mean the voice? It wasn't… an illusion?"
"No," Elder Caldus said flatly. "What you heard was real. And it confirms something we've long feared."
He waved a hand, and the flame in the center swirled into an image—an ancient sword, forged from celestial metal, floating above a battlefield soaked in shadow. Around it, armies clashed, and a figure cloaked in both light and darkness walked alone toward the chaos.
"The Elemental Blade," whispered Veina. "It exists."
Aurelian's heartbeat stilled. "That's… a myth. A relic from the Old War."
"Not a myth," Caldus said. "It was wielded by your ancestor—Caelum the Flamebearer. You are his bloodline."
The weight of the words struck like thunder. Aurelian reeled, memories of his simple village upbringing, the quiet stories his grandfather told, the way his mother used to hum an old melody when no one was listening—all came rushing back. He had always known there was something unusual in his blood. But this…
"Why tell me now?"
"Because the Blade calls to you," Veina said. "And if it has chosen a new bearer, then its counterpart will stir as well."
"The Shadowbrand," Aurelian murmured, barely able to breathe the word.
Veina nodded. "And with it, the balance between creation and destruction will once again tremble."
Elder Caldus stood. "You must leave the academy temporarily, Aurelian. There is a place buried in the western peaks—The Temple of Echoes. Only those of Flamebearer blood can enter. Within it lies a fragment of the Blade, and perhaps, the answers we desperately need."
Aurelian stood as well. "When do I leave?"
"Tonight," Caldus said. "We've assigned someone to accompany you."
At that, a side door creaked open.
A woman entered, tall and elegant, her long platinum hair tied in a battle braid. Her armor shimmered with sigils of wind and lightning. She moved with a warrior's grace and a noble's posture.
"Irina Valeborn," Caldus said. "Captain of the Stormguard. She will ensure your safe passage."
Irina gave a curt nod. "I trust you can keep up, Master Aurelian."
He raised a brow. "I could ask the same of you."
A small smirk played at the corner of her lips. "Good. I like fire."
That night, under a crescent moon, Aurelian and Irina set off from Aurimora. They traveled by skybeast—an avian creature with silver feathers and a wingspan as wide as a ship. As the academy faded behind them, Aurelian felt a strange pull in his chest, like something ancient had awakened and was calling him home.
The wind howled through the peaks as they reached the mountain pass leading to the Temple of Echoes. Crystalline snow glistened underfoot, and the air buzzed with dormant magic.
"This is it," Irina said, landing softly beside him. "No one's entered here in centuries."
Aurelian looked ahead. Before them stood a doorway of obsidian, marked by fire runes that pulsed faintly at his presence. When he reached out, the door opened without resistance.
They stepped inside.
The temple was vast—columns shaped like roaring dragons lined the halls, and a faint heat radiated from the walls. Echoes whispered from distant chambers, voices of warriors past and memories trapped in stone.
In the heart of the temple, they found it—a pedestal, cracked but still standing, and upon it, a fragment of the Elemental Blade. It glowed dimly, like an ember refusing to die.
As Aurelian approached, the blade flared—and he saw.
Visions flooded his mind. A war unlike any told in books. Two blades—light and dark—clashing in the sky. And at the center… a figure with his face, but not his soul.
A shadow moved behind him.
"Aurelian!" Irina shouted.
He spun just in time to parry a strike from a hooded figure—robes of shifting black, eyes void of light. The intruder hissed.
"You should not have come, Heir."
Blades clashed, magic roared, and stone crumbled. The battle was swift but brutal. Aurelian, his power awakened by the fragment, held his own—but the figure vanished in a cloud of shadows before a killing blow could be dealt.
"Who was that?" Irina asked, panting.
"A harbinger," Aurelian replied, lifting the blade fragment.
It melted into his palm, searing his skin—and marking it with the sigil of the Flamebearer.
"The beginning," he said, "has just begun."