Chapter 188: The Devourer Stirs

Far north, where the sun barely rose and the mountains wept frost, a tremor echoed deep beneath the stone.

It wasn’t natural.

It was summoned.

And in the silence that followed, a voice—ancient and cruel—rasped into being:

“She has awakened it.”

The Sleeping One

Darian’s old sanctum had been sealed for decades, but in the deepest layer—where no Keeper dared venture—something had been hidden. Buried. Bound in chains forged from corrupted fire.

Now, the chains cracked.

The air grew sharp, dry. Heavy with long-dead smoke.

And from the cocoon of molten iron, a figure emerged.

Naked. Scarred. Eyes black as the void.

He stumbled at first, as if the earth beneath him had forgotten how to carry his weight.

Then—he smiled.

Name of Ruin

They had once called him Maeron—a gifted Flamekeeper from the First Circle, known for his brilliance and obsession with memory.

But centuries ago, Maeron had gone too far.

He didn’t just remember fire.

He fed on it.

He sought to consume memory itself. To erase, devour, rewrite.

They tried to kill him.

They failed.

Instead, they buried him beneath the sanctum, sealed with six sacrifices and a silent flame.

But now, Serena had reignited what he once corrupted.

And Maeron—the one they now called The Devourer—was free.

A Hollow of His Own

Maeron walked alone through the shattered bones of the northern ruins. Wherever he stepped, ash peeled away from the ground like skin. The world recoiled from him, and he enjoyed it.

A fox crossed his path.

He stared at it.

“Do you remember your name, little thing?”

The fox blinked.

Maeron reached forward and whispered into the animal’s mind.

It convulsed. Twitched. Its eyes turned black.

Then it collapsed—lifeless.

Maeron sighed.

“Still too weak.”

But not for long.

Back at the Hollow

Serena jolted awake in the middle of the night, her heartbeat thundering in her chest.

“Something’s wrong,” she gasped.

Elias, beside her, was already up. “I felt it too.”

The fire inside the Hollow dimmed—just for a moment. But it was enough to send panic through every Keeper.

Leoré gathered the others. “What happened?”

Kael had drawn his blade instinctively. “Feels like something touched the edge of our flame.”

Atheira arrived, robes half-draped, face pale. “No. Not touched. Fed.”

Serena’s voice was low. “He’s back, isn’t he?”

Lilith stepped closer. “Who?”

Atheira’s lips trembled.

“Maeron.”

And suddenly the Hollow didn’t feel safe anymore.

History Unveiled

The next morning, beneath the Weeping Tree, Atheira told them the full story.

“Maeron was once our greatest archivist. He believed memory was salvation.”

“But then he started taking memories—stripping them from the dying, rewriting their final thoughts, controlling their legacy.”

“He tried to bind the fire to himself.”

Kael frowned. “Like a parasite.”

Elias clenched his fists. “What happened?”

“We bound him beneath the Sixth Sanctum, using the last of the living bloodlines. But that seal was never meant to last forever. Only until the fire healed.”

Darian stood silent.

He had trained at that Sanctum.

And never knew what was buried beneath his feet.

The Dream-Flame Warns

That night, Serena dreamed again—but it wasn’t hers.

She stood in a burning city made of glass, the sky weeping cinders.

Children ran without names.

Monuments collapsed silently.

And at the center—Maeron.

He stood, smiling, holding a glowing orb.

But it wasn’t memory.

It was oblivion.

He saw her.

And said:

“Come find me, Ashbearer. Or I’ll unmake every story you hope to save.”

Serena woke with fire in her throat.

She didn’t scream.

She didn’t cry.

She simply stood.

And said:

“We’re going north.”

Preparing for War of Memory

The First Flamekeepers agreed.

Kael sharpened weapons laced with light-fire.

Kiva began constructing a map of flame-ley lines—routes Maeron might use to reach other memory pools.

Lilith worked day and night, deciphering ancient glyphs left behind in hidden scrolls—some with Auriel’s handwriting.

Darian, guilt-ridden and silent, offered to lead them through the ruins of the Sixth Sanctum.

“I know the shadows,” he said. “And I owe you more than truth.”

Elias touched Serena’s back as she packed.

“I’m with you,” he said.

She didn’t look up.

“I know.”

But this time, her voice shook.

Maeron Gains Strength

Meanwhile, in the North, Maeron entered the Temple of Hollowed Names—a forgotten site where the names of fallen Keepers were once carved into stone.

He knelt at the base of the monolith.

And began to eat.

Not stone.

Not fire.

Memory.

The names faded from the wall.

And the world forgot those Keepers ever lived.

A shadow whispered beside him:

“She’s coming for you.”

Maeron stood.

“She’ll try.”

He turned to the sky.

“But I’ll make her forget why.”