Chapter 93 The Sunken Vale, the Third Shard, and the Battle Beneath the Flame
The Sunken Vale was not a place you found—it was a place that found you.
We crossed into it at dusk, the sky bleeding violet as the land dipped into a basin of drowned ruins and whispering fog. The air was thick with forgotten magic, the kind that didn’t ask permission and didn’t care about consequences.
“This place is older than the Rift,” Yuel said, his voice hushed. “It was a cradle of flame before flame had a name.”
“Is anyone here finding it hard to breathe?” Talon says as he continues to follow the goat.
“Yeah, it is like I am sucking in wet heat,” Kael replies while coughing.
“Lovely,” Thessa muttered. “I always wanted to die in a magical swamp. While not being able to breathe, because really, why would you need to breathe?”
Gerald the goat trotted ahead, undeterred by the terrain. Quacknor flew low, wings slicing through mist like a knife through butter, occasionally dive-bombing puddles with righteous fury.
Milo walked beside me, the black flame in his hand pulsing in rhythm with the Vale’s heartbeat. He hadn’t spoken much since Frostspire. I could feel the tension in him—like the Void was whispering again.
“So, what do you think is going to happen this time?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Nothing good that is for sure.”
“At least we are together.”
“I know,” he said. “That’s what’s keeping me together.”
The Vale opened into a clearing of drowned stone and twisted trees. It looked like a large lake, and at its center stood a monolith, half-submerged, etched with runes that shimmered in green and violet.
“The third shard is here,” Yuel said. “Buried beneath the monolith.”
Kael squinted. “So, we dig? I didn’t bring a shovel. Hey Thessa, do your thing.”
“Sure, get a bucket and remove the water, and I will be happy to help Kael.”
“No,” Ellira said. “We listen.”
“I might be able to bring it to the surface,” Lira says as she walks into the water and uses her magic.
She knelt beside the stone, pressing her hand to its surface. The runes pulsed.
And then—
The Vale spoke.
Not in words.
In memory.
A city of flame.
A people who danced with fire.
A queen who betrayed them.
Lady Virellian.
She stole the shard.
But it rejected her.
It sank into the Vale.
Waiting.
The memory faded.
And the monolith cracked.
The shard rose from the earth, hovering in a sphere of mist and flame.
But before we could reach it—
She arrived.
Lady Virellian.
Clad in obsidian armour, eyes burning with stolen fire.
“You found it,” she said. “Good. Saved me the trouble.”
Thessa drew her blade. “You’re not taking it.”
“Finders keepers,” Zeke says as he sticks out his tongue at Virellina.
“Losers weepers,” Yuel adds as he, too, pokes his tongue out.
Virellian smiled. “I already have.”
She raised her hand.
And the Vale screamed.
Lira threw water spears at her.
The ground split.
Flame surged.
And the Flameborn rose.
Vexa of the Ashborn.
The Kindlers.
The Cindersworn.
The Embercallers.
They had followed us.
They had come to fight.
“This is our legacy,” Vexa said. “And we will not let you rewrite it.”
Virellian laughed. “You are relics. I am the future.”
She launched a wave of flame.
Vexa countered with a wall of ash.
Lira adds a wave of water.
Thessa charged, blade glowing.
Kael followed, hurling flame glyphs.
Zeke fired bolts of emberlight.
Ellira summoned shields of fire.
Yuel wove ley lines into traps.
Talon advanced with his sword.
Gerald headbutted a summoned beast.
Quacknor dive-bombed Virellian’s helmet.
Milo stood beside me.
“I can hold her,” he said. “But not forever.”
“I’ll take the shard,” I said.
I ran.
Through fire.
Through memory.
To the shard.
It pulsed.
And entered me.
Three shards.
The Forgotten Flame surged.
And I burned. The scream that left my mouth knocked everyone off their feet, flattened trees, and blasted all the water from the lake that we were fighting in.
Virellian screamed.
“You are not worthy!”
The Flameborn surrounded her.
The Vale pulsed.
And the monolith shattered.
Virellian staggered.
But she didn’t fall.
She vanished.
Leaving behind a whisper.
“I will return.”
We stood in silence.
The Vale was still.
The shard pulsed in my chest.
Three down.
Two to go.
Milo took my hand.
“You’re glowing,” he said.
“Like a light stick that has been shaken too much,” Kael said as he stood to the side, shaking his body imitating a light stick.
“I’m burning,” I replied.
He smiled. “Like a good burning, right? ”
A scroll appeared.
Thessa read it:
Dear Flamekeeper and Associates,
We are aware of your battle in the Sunken Vale. Who gave you permission to disrupt ancient sights?
We remind you that magical warfare is prohibited. So is goat and duck-led combat.
We suggest you surrender. Or don’t. But if you don’t, we will send the Royal Flame Arbiter. He speaks in riddles and wears velvet guilt.
Sincerely (and with never-ending disappointment that you haven’t failed yet),
The one and Only Queen & King of Aeloria.
Gerald ripped the scroll while.
Quacknor quacked in triumph and flapped his wings.
“Next up, we are heading towards the Crown’s vault,” I said as I looked at the horizon.
“The Queen will fight,” Talon mutters as he looks at everyone.
“We stand together and don’t forget to get more snacks when we get to the royal kitchens. They have the best snacks,” Yuel mutters.
“Right, steal the last shard, steal a snack, and fight the Queen. Sounds easy.” Thessa mutters.
“Just another day grinding away,” Ellira adds, gathering her weapons.
“We need to move quickly, Virellina is already gone, you know she needs the next piece,” I mutter as we march toward the Crown’s vault.
“Let’s go, Gerald, Quacknor move out,” Milo calls as we make our way from the Sunken Vale.
Gerald bleats, and Quacknor hisses as he takes flight.
Toward the fourth shard.
Toward the end.