Smoke still clung to the night air, heavy and suffocating, as if the battlefield itself refused to release its last breath. The fortress was silent now—too silent. Where there should have been cries, groans, and the ringing of steel, there was only the whisper of the wind brushing across charred stone.
Leina walked slowly through the wreckage, her silver cloak torn, her blade dark with blood not her own. Every step she took pressed against the ashes of the fallen. She searched, her eyes scanning every shadow, every broken wall. But the one figure she sought—Rondan—was nowhere to be found.
"Where are you…?" she murmured, her voice barely louder than the crackling of dying flames.
Suddenly, she froze. A symbol was etched across the blackened ground, glowing faintly crimson—the same rune that haunted their every battle. But this time, the lines were jagged, unstable, as though drawn in desperation. The sight sent a chill through her spine.
Behind her, a survivor staggered forward, his armor dented, his breath shallow.
"They… they took him," he rasped, collapsing to his knees. "The ones with the mark… they didn't kill him. They bound him. Said the flame was incomplete without its vessel."
Leina's eyes widened. Her grip on her dagger tightened until her knuckles turned pale.
"Vessel…? No."
Before she could demand more, the soldier's body went limp, his last breath leaving in silence.
Far beyond the ruined camp, deep within the veil of shadows, Rondan opened his eyes. Chains of black fire coiled around his arms, searing into his skin, forcing his crimson gaze downward. He was kneeling in a place that wasn't the fortress, nor any land he knew. The air was heavy with whispers, countless voices circling like predators unseen.
"Awaken, Catalyst," a voice echoed, not of man nor beast, but something older.
"The Forgotten Flame waits."
Rondan gritted his teeth, struggling against the bonds, his body trembling with fury.
"You think I'll bend to your fire?" he spat. "You'll burn before I ever kneel."
The chains tightened, sparks raining across the void. Yet in the depths of his chest, his own fire flickered—not broken, not silenced, but waiting.
And as the shadows closed in, Rondan's roar tore through the void, defiant and unyielding.
The world trembled in answer.