The sky above the Murak dunes turned to ember as the Saint stepped fully from the tomb. Wind surged from the pit, scattering sand and screams in equal measure. Kaelin stood alone before the creature, her blade held steady, eyes fixed on the pulsing red crystal embedded in its chest.
Theron and the Ashbound fought in the distance against the last of Isara’s cultists, but none could tear their eyes away from the figure rising like a god reborn.
Isara knelt in the sand, arms outstretched toward the Ember Saint.
“Cleanse her,” she whispered. “Take her Hollow. Burn the illusion.”
The Saint’s voice was not human—it echoed with dozens of buried screams.
“You are Ash-born. A vessel of shadow. The flame remembers. The flame hungers.”
Kaelin narrowed her eyes. “Then it can starve.”
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The c
