The night in the Cinderwilds was alive with whispers. Even the crackling fire at their camp seemed to murmur secrets beyond mortal ears. Irisen lay awake, the Brand resting heavy beside him, its ember glowing faintly as if breathing alongside him.
Elyra, sitting by the fire, caught his restless gaze. "You feel it too, don't you?"
Irisen nodded. "Like the flame is trying to speak."
As if on cue, the fire flared, casting long shadows that danced on the scorched earth. The temperature rose, wrapping them in a warm but unnatural heat.
Suddenly, Irisen was no longer by the campfire.
He found himself standing inside a vast chamber forged from living flame — walls swirling with molten reds and oranges, the floor glowing like cooled lava.
At the chamber's center stood a colossal figure: tall, regal, and radiating intense heat. His skin flickered like burning coal; his eyes burned with white-hot fury.
"Ignarion," Irisen breathed, recognizing the god from Serithiel's words.
The god's voice echoed like thunder. "Bearer of my shard, you walk a perilous path. The flame is both creation and destruction. You must choose which it will be."
Images flashed before Irisen's eyes: cities engulfed in fire, but also forests renewed by wildfire's cleansing touch. A cycle of death and rebirth.
"You have the power to heal or to raze," Ignarion intoned. "But beware the hunger of the flame. It feeds on fear, doubt, and anger."
Irisen clenched his fists. "How do I control it? How do I make sure I don't become what the True Pyres fear?"
Ignarion's gaze softened. "The flame answers to the heart. Master your fears. Embrace your purpose. Only then will the brand's true power awaken."
The vision began to fade, the chamber dissolving into sparks carried away by an unseen wind.
Irisen gasped, returning to the cold air of the Cinderwilds. Elyra was immediately at his side, concern etched in her face.
"What did you see?"
"The god Ignarion," Irisen said. "And a warning. The flame can save or destroy."
Elyra nodded slowly. "You're not alone in this. We'll face the fire together."
Kareth, sharpening his sword nearby, looked up. "Whatever comes, we stand with you."
The next morning, their journey led them to a crater rimmed with obsidian and ash—the Heartforge, where the shard was said to have first touched mortal soil.
The ground shimmered beneath Irisen's feet, as if alive with latent energy.
Serithiel appeared once more, her blue flames flickering with urgency. "Here, the flame's memory lingers strongest. You must confront the brand's origin if you wish to master it."
Irisen stepped forward, placing a hand on the smouldering earth. The brand flared bright, and a pulse of heat raced through his veins.
Suddenly, visions flooded him—memories not his own but ancient, raw.
He saw Ignarion's fall from grace, his fury burning the heavens and fracturing the divine order.
He saw the forging of the Everburn Heart, a last desperate effort to imprison the god's destructive fire within a mortal vessel.
And he saw himself—not just as a bearer but as the key to the flame's final destiny.
Gasping, Irisen withdrew his hand.
"This power... It's more than I imagined."
Serithiel nodded. "The path ahead is treacherous. But the brand chooses its bearer for a reason."
As they left the Heartforge behind, the flames of the Cinderwilds seemed to bow in silent respect.
The road ahead was uncertain, but Irisen's resolve burned brighter than ever.
He was not just the Ember.
He was the Ember of the Forgotten Realms—and his story was only beginning.