The battlefield was a graveyard of fire. Ash and ember drifted in slow spirals, glowing faintly in the darkened sky as the molten lieutenants' remains faded to nothing. Only Kael remained standing at the center, his aura simmering like a furnace barely contained, Ashrend gripped tightly in his hands.
The ground around him was cracked, scorched black from the weight of his strikes. Steam rose from his wounds, burns seared into his flesh by the molten weapons that had pressed him to the brink. Yet his stance was unbroken, his eyes sharp as they locked onto the figure who had not moved—until now.
The Sovereign rose from his throne of fire. Each step thundered like a bell tolling doom, molten chains unraveling from his shoulders, the ground melting beneath his tread. His voice rumbled across the battlefield, deep and resonant, carrying both mockery and anticipation.
"You cut them down," the Sovereign said. "One by one, as though they were kindling for your blade. Impressive. But they were only the smoke."
He raised a hand, and flames flared skyward, painting the clouds in crimson and gold. "Now comes the fire."
Kael's grip on Ashrend tightened. His crimson aura flared higher, black lightning arcing around his form. For a heartbeat, he looked every bit the warrior born for this moment—yet in the silence that followed, his companions' voices broke through.
"Kael—" Lyra's voice was sharp, almost pleading. She had never looked smaller than in that moment, bow trembling in her hands as she stared up at the towering figure of the Sovereign. "Don't do this alone."
Draven stepped forward, shoulders squared, though even he seemed weighed by the air. "We've fought to stand here with you. Let us carry this, too."
Kael turned his head slightly. His eyes softened for the barest moment, his aura dimming as he looked at them—his companions, who had bled and burned beside him through every step.
"You already have," he said quietly. Then his voice hardened. "But this—this is mine."
Neither Lyra nor Draven answered. Their jaws clenched, and they lowered their weapons, unwilling but trusting.
Far away, in the dark vaults of the Sovereign's court, nobles and generals watched through enchanted flames. The chamber hummed with whispers, fear and awe mingling in equal measure.
"Impossible," one murmured. "The lieutenants—all gone?"
"He wields more than mortal power," another said, eyes fixed on Kael's crackling lightning aura. "That blade… that blood… he is not human alone."
And at the far end of the chamber, Kaelen stood among shadows, his hood drawn low. His eyes burned with something sharper than awe—something like vindication.
So the boy has come to the brink, Kaelen thought, watching as Kael squared his shoulders. This is the crucible I foresaw the night I found him, broken and bleeding among the ruins. Whether he burns away or becomes the flame itself… depends on what he chooses now.
The Sovereign halted before Kael. He loomed, his form a tower of molten steel and fire, his gaze glowing like twin furnaces.
"Child of Rivenhart," the Sovereign said, voice low, carrying across the silence. "You have slaughtered my kin, defied my legions, torn through my walls of fire. But the game ends here. Before me, there are no victories—only ash."
Kael lifted Ashrend, the blade humming as his aura raged. His red eyes locked onto the Sovereign's, unflinching.
"Then you'll learn," Kael said, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade, "that ash can rise again."
The battlefield quaked. Flames swirled, lightning cracked—and the final clash drew near.