You slide the bag across the table, the hooded figure opposite you peers inside.

“Where the hell did you find this?!”

Their gloved fingers trembled as they pulled out the object: a coin no larger than a silver piece, yet it pulsed with a dim, orange glow—like a coal refusing to die. Etched on its face was a rune long banned by the High Mages, the mark of the Ember Court.

“In the ruins east of Thorne Hollow,” you said, voice low. “Under the old watchtower.”

The figure’s hood shifted just enough to reveal the glint of golden eyes. Not human. “That place was sealed for a reason. This coin… it’s not just currency. It’s a key.”

“A key to what?” you asked, though part of you wasn’t sure you wanted to know.

“To the Ash Gate,” the figure whispered. “To the prison of fire.”

A silence settled between you, thick with the weight of ancient danger. Outside, the wind howled against the cracked windows of the tavern. You could feel the heat from the coin still radiating through the table.

“Who else knows you have it?” the figure asked.

“No one. Just me. And now… you.”

They stood suddenly, the chair scraping across the wooden floor. “Then we need to move. If the Ember Court senses it’s been found, they’ll burn the realm trying to reclaim it.”

You stood too, hand resting on the hilt of your blade.

“Good,” you said. “Let them come.”