Chapter Thirty-Five: The Black Palace
"The throne was never built for mercy. But neither was I."
The gates of the capital loomed like the mouth of a beast.
Blackened by time and war, the obsidian walls of the Emperor's palace stretched high above the battleground, casting shadows over the bloodied earth. The last of the rebels had gathered—those who survived the Witch, those who dared to hope.
Kael stood at the head of the line, blood dried on his face, cloak torn, crown of scorched gold still clinging to his head.
Riven stood beside him, limping slightly, the sword in his hand still warm from battle.
"Are you sure?" Riven asked, voice low.
"No," Kael replied. "But I've never been sure of anything, except you."
Riven's gaze softened.
"Then let's finish this."
They broke through the gates like a storm.
Kael led with fire—pure, molten vengeance unleashed. His Heartflame didn't flicker anymore. It roared. The guards tried to hold the line. Tried to raise shields, conjure spells, shout orders.
They were too late.
Kael moved like a god of war—his blade cleaving through armor, flame tearing through the stone halls. Behind him, Riven struck with cold precision, his dagger flashing through necks and tendons.
The palace screamed around them.
But ahead—at the very heart of the throne room—the Emperor waited.
He sat on a throne made of bone and obsidian, draped in crimson robes that shimmered with enchantments. His crown was sharp as razors. His eyes held the same emptiness as the sky before a storm.
"Well," the Emperor said, "you made it farther than most."
Kael didn't speak.
He stepped forward, blade raised.
The Emperor didn't flinch. "You killed my Witch. Burned half my city. And yet here you are… still a boy playing war."
Kael's flame pulsed in answer.
"I'm not playing."
The final battle began without fanfare.
The Emperor raised his hand—and lightning cracked through the throne room. Riven flung himself aside, narrowly dodging a spear of pure magic. Kael met the onslaught with fire, fire that didn't just defend—but consumed.
Walls buckled. Chandeliers fell.
The Emperor rose from his throne, and shadows swirled around him—living things that screamed.
"You think your flame is special?" he spat. "You think love gives you power?"
Kael bled from a cut across his chest, but his hand never trembled.
"No," he said. "But it gives me purpose."
And then Riven struck from behind.
The dagger pierced the Emperor's side—just enough to stagger him.
Kael saw the opening.
He hurled his sword, Heartflame blazing like the sun.
It pierced the Emperor through the chest.
The throne cracked.
The shadows howled—
And everything went white.
When the light faded, Kael stood in the ruins of the throne room.
The Emperor lay at his feet, unmoving.
The palace was burning. The sky beyond it turned gold with sunrise.
Riven limped to his side, breathing hard. Blood streaked his temple.
Kael caught him as he swayed.
"It's done," Riven whispered.
Kael looked at the broken throne.
"No," he said. "It's only just begun."
End of Chapter 35