Ignis Dominion – High Sanctum
Thunder rolled above the Dominion, though no storm had touched the skies.
Renzo sat unmoving in the Chamber of Concentric Flame, surrounded by rings of fire-scribed glyphs—each one older than the Dominion itself. The room pulsed with heat and breath, every ember caught in the rhythm of his meditation.
> He was inside the Harmony Tuning, the highest form of control—a rite reserved only for Sovereign-class initiates.
And he was enduring it alone.
With every breath, Renzo drew flame not as fuel but as language. Each flicker of fire whispered forgotten words. Each spiral burned with hidden meaning. His aura was no longer a storm, but a choir attempting to sing.
Yna watched from the perimeter, arms folded tightly. Sweat beaded on her forehead despite the distance.
> "He's adapting too fast," she whispered to Dal, who had emerged from the shadows, silent and brooding.
Dal's gaze remained fixed on the boy in the flames.
> "He's not adapting," he muttered. "The flame is remembering him."
---
Dominion Depths – The Council Vault
Far beneath the arena, behind sealed flame-doors and molten wards, Sovereign Thorne stood within the Council Vault—a place few living had entered. Before him sat a hunched figure, cloaked in silence and scar tissue.
Gaelus.
The last surviving founder of the Ignis Dominion.
He wore no flame now. Only the memories of it, etched into his skin like cracked clay.
> "You told us the Vaults were extinct," Thorne said carefully.
Gaelus didn't move. He didn't need to.
> "They were," the old man rasped, voice dry as ancient ash. "Until you forced the door open."
Thorne's hands tightened behind his back. "Renzo isn't a threat."
Gaelus lifted his head at last. Eyes long devoid of youth stared directly through Thorne's conviction.
> "He's not the danger."
He turned toward the far end of the vault, where an old mural depicted eleven flamebearers raising their arms to a burning sky.
> "The Choir is."
---
Flashback – Thirty Years Ago
The Broken Expanse
A desert of red sand smoldered beneath a sky of fractured stars. Eleven Flame Anchors stood in a wide ring, their bodies seared by cosmic heat, their voices locked in unison.
From their open mouths poured golden sound—a song not heard with ears but felt with flame.
> This was the Flame Choir—the final shield against the first Void incursion.
Their voices stitched space itself. Their harmony sealed a star-sized rift.
From that sacrifice, the Ignis Dominion was born.
But the act carried a cost.
> In binding the rift, they fractured the Flame's memory.
The Void no longer remembered balance.
It remembered only hunger.
And the Flame Choir?
> Disappeared.
Some said they died.
Others whispered they were taken.
---
Present – Lower Training Chambers
Renzo stumbled from the Harmony Tuning ring, his skin glowing faintly with fractal glyphs that flickered in and out of coherence—like a radio tuning through static.
He dropped to one knee.
Yna caught him, steadying his shoulders.
> "What did you hear?" she asked.
His breathing was shaky. Controlled—but just barely.
> "Music," he whispered. "But… broken. Fragmented. Like something screaming for help in a hurricane."
Yna's eyes widened. "What kind of music?"
Renzo looked past her, toward the ceiling, as if listening to something above the world.
> "Screaming… in harmony."
---
Verus's Realm – The Spiral Crypt
Far beyond flame and time, Verus walked beneath a collapsed galaxy. Around him floated husks of stars—once burning, now cold, dimmed by his passing.
He had been collecting.
He had been building.
Before him now hovered a construct of ash and voidflame—twelve bodies bound together in a circle by soul-chain flame, floating in silence.
> The Ring of the Ash Choir.
Each figure once sang for salvation.
Now, they sang for him.
At the ring's center sat a newly-forged throne, shaped not with fire but silence—a void so pure, even starlight recoiled.
Verus rested his hand upon the stone.
> "The Choir will sing again," he whispered.
"But this time… they sing for me."
---
Ignis Dominion – Nightfall
The skies over the Dominion darkened without cloud.
A flare ripped across the sky—red and jagged—a distress signal from beyond the Flame Walls. An outpost. A scout.
By the time Dal and Yna arrived at the gates, the scout had collapsed—charred, smoke-breathed, barely clinging to life.
His eyes were gone, seared shut. His voice came in broken embers.
> "They're coming… back…"
Yna crouched beside him. "Who?"
The scout's blackened lips quivered.
> "The… Ash Choir…"
A final breath. "Not just voices… not songs anymore… they have bodies… twisted… bound… controlled…"
He died before he could say more.
Silence held the air like a held scream.
Renzo stepped forward, fists clenched. The Void in him stirred—but it was not rage.
> It was grief.
Recognition.
Mourning.
> "I have to go," he said.
Dal frowned. "Where?"
Renzo's eyes burned—not with fire, but with clarity.
> "To find the original Flamebearers.
To remember what the Void forgot."