Ember Peak rose before them like a god asleep.

  The company emerged from the tunnels onto the mountain's lower slopes, blinking in the grey light of early dawn. They'd traveled through the night, putting as much distance as possible between themselves and the door, between themselves and Umbra's domain. No one had spoken of what happened in that tunnel. No one wanted to. But Kael could feel the weight of it in every step they took, in every glance they exchanged.

  Now, with the sun rising behind them, they could finally see their destination clearly.

  Smoke curled from the mountain's summit, lit from below by the glow of molten rock. The plume rose high into the sky, a dark banner against the blue, before being caught by winds and scattered across the landscape. The peak itself was jagged, broken, shaped by countless eruptions over millennia. Its slopes were barren—no trees grew here, no grass, nothing but ash and sharp stone and the occasional vent hissing steam into the cold air.

  But Kael could feel the heat even from miles away. It radiated from the mountain like a promise, like a threat, like the heartbeat of something vast and powerful. It pulsed through the ground, through the air, through the Aether itself. And beneath that heat, deeper than the magma chambers and volcanic vents, he could feel something else.

  A presence. Vast and fiery, sleeping beneath the rock, dreaming dreams of fire and destruction. It burned even in sleep, a furnace waiting to be stoked, a rage waiting to be unleashed.

  "Ignis," Vex murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "My brother. He burns."

  "He's in there?" Lyra asked. Aria's light flickered around her, protective and warm despite the mountain's chill.

  "Deep inside. The prison will be at the mountain's heart, where the heat is greatest." Kael studied the slopes, looking for any sign of an entrance. "The Gilded would have built it to use his power—they'd need direct access to the magma chambers, to the volcanic forces he controls. They'd have dug deep, built their cages where the fire is strongest."

  Corvus nodded, his miner's eyes reading the mountain's contours with professional interest. "There will be caves. Old lava tubes, probably, that lead deep into the mountain. When a volcano goes dormant, the tunnels remain—paths carved by fire, waiting for someone to follow." He pointed to a dark scar on the mountain's flank. "There. See how the rock is darker there, more weathered? That's an old vent. If we can reach it, it might lead us down."

  "Then we find it and go in." Kael looked at his company—exhausted, frightened, but still here, still following him. They had faced darkness older than the world and survived. They could face a mountain. "We rest here until nightfall. Eat, drink, gather your strength. Then we climb."

  They climbed through the darkness, picking their way up slopes of loose ash and razor-sharp rock. The terrain was treacherous—every step threatened to send them sliding back down, and more than once someone had to be pulled from a near-fall. The ash was deep in places, soft and unstable, hiding crevices and pits that could swallow the unwary.

  The heat intensified with every step, until Kael's skin was slick with sweat despite the cold night air. His lungs burned with every breath, the air thin and laced with sulfur. The smell was overwhelming—rotten eggs and burning metal, a combination that made his stomach churn.

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  Lyra struggled most, her small body not built for such exertion. Her breath came in gasps, her face pale and drawn, but she kept going. Aria lent her strength, pushing her forward, and she never complained. Kael watched her with a mixture of pride and fear—she was so young, too young for this, but she was also stronger than anyone he'd ever known.

  "She will make it," Vex said quietly. "Aria will not let her fall."

  "She shouldn't have to make it. She shouldn't be here at all."

  "No. But she is. And she is stronger for it."

  Kael wanted to argue, but he couldn't. Not when Lyra was proving him wrong with every step.

  The entrance to the prison revealed itself just before dawn—a cave mouth high on the mountain's flank, glowing with inner fire. The rock around it was blackened and fused, melted and resolidified countless times over millennia. It looked like a wound in the mountain's side, a throat that breathed heat and light.

  Heat blasted from the opening like a physical force, washing over them in waves. Kael's flames rose to meet it, Ignis's gift recognizing its source. The fire within him sang, rejoicing at being so close to its origin.

  "He is near," Ignis's voice whispered in his mind, faint but present. "I can feel him. My brother burns."

  Kael led the way inside, and immediately felt the difference.

  This prison wasn't crystal and light like Aria's. It was magma and stone, fire and fury. Rivers of molten rock flowed through channels in the floor, casting everything in hellish red light. The walls glowed with heat, radiating warmth that would have been unbearable without Ignis's protection. The air was thick with sulfur, with heat, with pressure.

  They walked deeper, following the tunnels as they wound downward. The heat grew with every step, until Kael felt like he was walking into a furnace. His flames protected him, but he could see the others struggling—Corvus sweating profusely, Finn pale and gasping, even stoic Petir looking uncomfortable.

  Then they reached the central chamber.

  It was vast—larger than anything Kael had imagined. A lake of molten fire stretched across the floor, its surface bubbling and churning. Bridges of cooled rock crossed it here and there, ancient paths that led to a central island. And on that island, suspended above the lake by chains of solidified light, hung a creature that made Kael's breath catch.

  Ignis.

  He was beautiful and terrible in equal measure—a titan of fire and stone, his body constantly shifting between solid and liquid, between humanoid and elemental. His skin was cracked like cooling lava, revealing the furnace within. Flames licked from the fissures, casting dancing shadows across the chamber. His eyes were like twin suns, too bright to look at directly. And his wings—great wings of flame and smoke—were folded around him like a shroud.

  Chains of solidified light pierced his form at a dozen points, running from his body to the walls of the prison, to the ceiling, to the lake of fire below. They pulsed with stolen power, channeling his essence into the mountain itself, feeding the volcano that the Gilded had shaped to their will.

  "Brother." Vex's voice was barely a whisper, choked with emotion. "Brother, I'm here. We've come."

  Ignis's eyes opened.

  For a moment, there was nothing in them—just the dull awareness of the long-imprisoned, the hopeless acceptance of those who have given up on rescue. Then, slowly, impossibly, they focused. Widened. Filled with light.

  "Vex?" His mental voice was like an avalanche, like a volcanic eruption—vast and powerful even in weakness. "Vex, is that truly you? Or has the prison finally broken my mind?"

  "It's me, brother. It's really me. I'm free—a human freed me. And I've come to free you too."

  Ignis's gaze found Kael, and Kael felt the weight of it like a physical force—the heat of a sun, the pressure of the deep earth. It was nothing like Vex's calm or Aria's music. This was fire and fury, passion and rage.

  "A human," Ignis said. "You bonded with a human." There was no judgment in the thought, only wonder—and something that might have been hope. "After everything they did to us, you chose to trust one again?"

  "This one is different." Vex's voice was firm. "This one freed me without asking for power. This one freed Aria. This one has come to free you, and all our siblings. This one is worth trusting."

  Ignis was silent for a long moment, studying Kael with those burning eyes. Then, slowly, he smiled—a terrible expression on a face of living fire.

  "Then let him try."