It wasn’t paved in gold or guarded by marble statues of heroes.

It was mud. Endless, gray, suffocating mud — soaked with the tired footsteps of people who no longer believed in light.

The closer they came, the heavier the air grew.

Mist rolled from the valleys, thick and metallic. The Empire’s shadow loomed above them — a skyline of spires and towers that reached for the heavens like claws trying to tear through the clouds.

“Is this the capital?” Mira whispered, staring at the horizon.

Her voice trembled with awe and fear.

Eiden nodded, his cloak drawn tight around him. “The Sanctum of Aetheris. The heart of the Empire.”

And the place his mother had once told him never to go.

---

By nightfall, they reached the outskirts — a district called Verrin’s Hollow.

If the capital was a jewel, Verrin’s Hollow was the cracked edge that cut the hand holding it.

Slums twisted around abandoned factories, smoke bleeding from chimneys that never stopped burning.

Mira coughed softly. “It smells like rust and blood.”

“That’s because everything here is dying,” a voice said behind them.

Eiden spun around.

A man leaned against a broken lamp post — tall, wrapped in tattered gray robes, his eyes sharp as glass.

A faint sigil pulsed across his neck — a triangle within a circle. The mark of a Seeker.

“Don’t bother hiding it,” the man said, his gaze flicking to Eiden’s hand. “You glow when you breathe, boy.”

Eiden’s pulse quickened. “Who are you?”

The man smiled faintly. “Someone who remembers the world before the Empire began burning gods.”

---

He stepped closer, lowering his voice.

“Name’s Cale. Once served the Order of Lumen. What’s your name?”

“…Eiden.”

At that, Cale froze. Just for a second — but enough.

He studied Eiden’s face as if looking for proof of something impossible.

“So it’s true,” he murmured. “The Eighth spark lives.”

Eiden frowned. “You know that name?”

“Everyone who still believes in the old light knows it. You were a myth, a curse, a prayer. They said the Eighth Lumen would return when the last flame was about to die — carrying both salvation and ruin.”

Mira’s grip tightened on Eiden’s cloak. “He’s not a god,” she said.

Cale’s smile was sad. “No. But you might become one.”

---

They followed Cale through the narrow alleys into a hidden passage beneath the streets — a forgotten chapel swallowed by time.

Statues lined the walls, their faces cracked and erased.

At the center burned a single lantern — its flame golden, alive, and whispering faint hymns into the air.

Mira’s eyes widened. “This light… it feels like you, Eiden.”

Cale nodded. “That’s because it is. The Lumenflame exists in fragments across the world. Yours is just the strongest I’ve seen since the fall.”

He turned toward Eiden. “The Empire fears what you carry. They’ve spent centuries hunting your kind — not because you’re dangerous, but because your light reminds them of the truth.”

“What truth?” Eiden asked.

“That they were born from the same fire they tried to extinguish.”

---

Eiden stared at the flame. The gold reflections shimmered in his eyes — countless memories, countless voices.

“If I’m this Eighth Spark,” he said quietly, “then what am I supposed to do?”

Cale’s gaze hardened. “That depends. Do you want to save the world—or burn it clean?”

Mira flinched. “You talk like it’s the same thing.”

Cale gave her a look of pity. “It always has been.”

---

Before Eiden could reply, the lantern flickered violently.

The hymn warped into a distorted hum. The air grew cold.

Cale’s expression changed. “No… not here. Not so soon—”

The walls shook. Cracks of light burst from the stone like veins of molten gold.

Mira screamed as the floor fractured beneath them.

Eiden felt the pulse — the same burning rhythm from the village, stronger, wilder, alive.

Then, from within the light, a shape emerged.

A tall, feminine silhouette draped in shattered wings — her eyes blindfolded, her body made of fractured glass and light.

Each step she took sang like the breaking of time.

“Eiden Vale,” the voice echoed — layered, ancient, divine.

“Your flame calls me.”

Cale fell to his knees, trembling. “By the gods… an Echo.”

Eiden’s breath caught. The figure raised her hand.

 “You have awakened what should have slept. Now, the world remembers.”

A blinding pulse of gold erupted — shattering the chapel into dust.

---

When the light faded, only three words echoed in Eiden’s head:

---