Heartstone - Chapter 57: Chapter 57

The night was quiet—but not with peace. The air hummed with purpose, tension, and something deeper: destiny.
Deep within the mountain’s inner chamber, surrounded by blackstone and ancient glyphs, Avera stood barefoot before the sacred forge—The Ember Cradle. Atera waited beside her, holding a glowing shard of the .
“The time has come,” Atera said softly. “You carry the Flame, but it needs a vessel. A weapon born of your soul.”
Marah, Dalen, and the other chiefs stood in respectful silence as Atera placed the shard in the forge.
Avera stepped forward.
She reached out her hand, and the shard responded—not with heat, but with a pulse of memory: of her mother’s laughter, her father’s final battle, of burning skies and ancient bloodlines.
Fire burst from the forge—but it did not burn.
It danced, alive, golden-red, swirling upward, until it began to form shape—a blade of fire and light, tempered by Avera’s own strength, grief, and hope.
She did not scream. She did not falter.
She forged it with her bare hands.
The metal cooled instantly as the fire coiled around the blade like a serpent, fading into an eternal ember within it.
Atera stepped back.
“It shall be called Flameheart,” she whispered. “Bound to you alone. No other can wield it.”
Avera lifted the blade. It felt like air. Like fire. Like home.
Dalen stepped forward. “It suits you.”
She smiled. “It chose me.”
That night, under starlight, Avera trained alone. Every strike from the blade left trails of fire in the air. Every motion pulsed with energy.
The Flameheart wasn’t just a sword.
It was a symbol.
To the people, it meant the last daughter had risen.
To the enemy—it would soon mean fear.