The wind howled through the high cliffs as the group left the Forest of Forgotten Flame behind.
Arien hadn't spoken much since the vision. The memory the Sage had given her still clung to her bones—like a prophecy etched in fire.
Kael kept close, watching her. He didn't ask questions, but she knew he had a thousand of them.
They reached the ancient pass of Drenhaal by nightfall. The stars were out, cold and sharp.
That's where they found him—waiting in the dark, arms folded, armor black as pitch.
Valrik.
A rogue mage. A traitor general. And Kael's former brother-in-arms.
"Didn't expect you to answer the call," Kael said, drawing his blade.
Valrik just smirked. "Didn't expect the girl to carry godfire, but here we are."
Joss hissed, "Should I kill him or is this a reunion?"
Arien stepped forward. "We need allies. Even dark ones."
Valrik nodded. "Wise. The king's shadow mages are already on the march. You'll need my army of Forsaken if you plan to reach the throne."
Kael scowled. "And what do you want?"
Valrik's eyes gleamed. "The same thing you do. The end of the false king. And the truth unburied."
They sat around the fire that night, the mountain air thin and biting.
Valrik told them of the Crown's secret: a pact with an ancient spirit—the same darkness that once tried to control the flame goddess. The king had let it into the world in exchange for long life and unbreakable power.
"That's why his shadow bleeds black," Valrik said. "He's not human anymore."
Maev whispered, "If we kill him, we break the pact."
"No," Arien said. "I have to face it. I carry her flame. And only fire can fight what he's become."
Valrik smirked. "Then let's make a pact of our own."
They clasped hands under moonlight—Kael, Arien, Maev, Joss, and Valrik.
A new alliance.
A fragile flame in the dark.
In the palace, the king sat still as stone while shadows danced behind him.
They whispered, "She comes."
And the king smiled.
> "Let her. I've stolen from gods before."