"When you build an empire from ash, you do not ask who will follow.
You ask — who will kneel, and who will burn."
— Inscribed on the War-Tables of Ashveil
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I.
Smoke still curled from the broken spires of Gravemount. The corpse of the Fang-Eater, now a blackened husk half-buried in the stone, pulsed faintly — like even death feared to silence it fully.
Reginal stood barefoot on its skull, his body steaming from the aftermath of battle, his armor clinging to his flesh like a second skin.
Behind him stood two warriors, bloodied but unbroken:
Milo, face scarred, eyes sharper, gauntlets cracked but still hungry.
Kammy, arms bare, blades sheathed, her silver hair tied with a torn strip of the Fang-Eater's tongue.
They had survived the impossible.
But victory was never enough.
Not for kings.
---
II.
In the shadow of their triumph, something ancient stirred in the bones of the earth.
> "We need a flag," Kammy said, lips curling into a grin. "A symbol. One they'll curse as they die."
> "And land," Milo added. "We need to hold more than ruins."
Reginal said nothing. He knelt beside the remains of the beast. With a clawed hand, he drew three symbols into the ash:
A Fang – for strength.
A Flame – for change.
An Eye – for truth that watches, even in darkness.
Then he stood.
> "No more hiding. No more wandering."
"We make it known: the House of Embersong lives."
---
III.
And so, from the ashes of Gravemount, the first stone of the Embersong Pact was laid.
They did not rule with treaties.
They ruled with oaths of blood and bone.
Any clan, outcast, warlock, or warrior who sought shelter was given it — so long as they offered something in return:
Their blade.
Their secret.
Or their loyalty unto death.
The House did not grow with gold.
It grew with rage.
With revenge.
With the remnants of those who had no place in the golden halls of Aerodahl and its council.
From blacksmiths who forged weapons from dragonbone, to exile-mages who stitched spell-runes onto their skin, to beastkin outcasts who howled only for war — they came.
One by one.
Then in droves.
By the waning moon, hundreds knelt.
By the next eclipse, thousands marched under the Black Banner of Embersong.
---
IV.
But power demands balance.
In the ironwood forest of Karthsil Grove, where the trees bled sap like blood and whispered names long dead, Reginal made a choice that would shape all of Val'Khora.
He forged the Ember Pact.
A private vow, etched into their souls using a forbidden rite older than even the Sigils — something not of gods, but of the void between them.
Each pactmember would share:
Pain across distance. If one was tortured, the others would feel it.
Dreams. Their minds would walk the same planes at night, able to speak, see, and plan without words.
And, at the edge of death, they could transfer a piece of their soul into another's body, giving rise to The Emberkin Rebirth.
Only three made the vow that day:
Reginal.
Milo.
Kammy.
They sealed it in flame, biting their palms and burning their names into the bark of the First Tree of Karthsil.
And the tree did not burn.
It sang.
---
V.
But across the sea, in the sunlit palace of Silvahrin, Queen Elestra of the Dawn Court felt a tremor in her silver bones. Her oracles wept blood. Her knights screamed in their dreams.
> "The Crimson Sigil rises," whispered the Mirror Seer.
"And he brings with him the storm that ends kings."
Queen Elestra summoned the Jade Covenant, five of the strongest Sigil-Bound Houses — and gave one command:
> "Kill the boy king of ash."
---
VI.
In the depths of Gravemount's war chamber, Reginal stared down at the rough war-map carved from cracked slate and bone shards. Kammy adjusted her knives. Milo leaned over the table, his breath fogging the edges.
> "What do we call it?" Kammy asked. "This... empire we're about to build?"
Reginal's voice came soft — a whisper carried by the bones of dead gods.
> "Not an empire. Not yet."
"First, we build a House."
He placed his hand atop the map, fingers pressing into the heart of the continent.
> "The House of Embersong."
> "And what of the others?" Milo asked.
Reginal looked up, eyes burning like the old suns.
> "They will join us...
Or they will be buried beneath us."
---
[End of Chapter IV]
Chapter V – "The War of the Five Brands" coming next…