The Exarch had a strange divine relic. He called it the Fire Stone.
It was an incredibly boring name for a guild that called their centurions 'Scarmothers' and their elite troops, 'The Branded.'
It was a roughly hewn, dull-colored crystal a bit bigger than her fist. Nothing about it looked particularly impressive. If she squinted her eyes, she could make out a vague Z-shaped rune inside of it-- but that didn't exactly scream 'holy artifact.'
The following night, Ptolema's life changed.
She had something... that she could only describe as a religious experience.
She dreamt of the Eternal Flame.
Kind. Warm. Everlasting. It was everything a deity was supposed to be.
But it was also... more than that.
Inside of the Flame... there was a dragon. It had scales and teeth and great, majestic wings that shot up into the heavens... It had gentle eyes that peered into her soul and saw all the hurt and pain and suffering.
