The moon hung low, veiled in crimson haze.
In the old war chapel beneath the palace ruins—now little more than stone dust and hollow statues—Kael knelt before the shattered altar, his sword stabbed into the ground like a headstone.
He had fought in twenty-two battles. Buried friends, enemies, brothers.
But nothing had prepared him for this moment.
"I swear," he whispered, voice like grinding steel, "not to the Emperor. Not to gods. But to him."
Blood dripped from the cut on his palm onto the blade—his blade—the one he had once used to serve the Empire.
Now it would be used against it.
"I, Kael of the Ashguard, revoke my oath of binding. From this day forward, I serve only Lucien. Not as his seal. Not as his soldier. But as his sword."
The sword pulsed once. Then stilled.
The pact was made.
---
1. The Forgotten Portrait
Far above, in a chamber filled with relics of the past, Elias stared at a portrait covered in black cloth.
He pulled the fabric free.
The face that stared back was young. Beautiful. Familiar.
Azrael.
But the inscription below was what made Elias freeze.
"Azrael: Son of Riven. First Heir of Flame."
His breath caught.
"Son…?" he whispered.
That wasn't possible.
Lucien—Riven—was in love with Azrael.
But this inscription said otherwise. Was it a lie? A cover-up? Or something worse?
He flipped through the royal records stacked nearby, his hands trembling.
And there it was.
A sealed file. Stamped in the Emperor's own mark.
Project: Crown of Fire.
Inside, details written in cold language:
- Subject 1: Riven
- Subject 2: Azrael
- Objective: "Split soul across bloodline. Bind power by blood, love, betrayal."
Elias dropped the page.
It wasn't just betrayal.
It was a ritual.
Lucien's death. Azrael's love. The curse.
All of it… engineered.
---
2. Lucien Breaks
Back in the temple courtyard, Lucien stood at the center of a fire circle.
The air shimmered, his sigil glowing brighter than it ever had.
He wasn't meditating. He wasn't even thinking.
He was unraveling.
The pressure inside his chest—Riven's soul—was no longer just whispering. It was roaring.
"Let me through," it growled. "Let me *burnthemall."*
Lucien clutched his chest. "You'll consume me."
"No," the voice said gently. "I'll finish what they started. I'll take back everything they stole. Azrael. Kael. Elias. The Empire. *You."*
Lucien dropped to his knees, breath ragged.
But then a warm hand touched his shoulder.
Kael.
His voice steady. "You don't have to let it win."
Lucien turned, eyes wet. "I don't know where I end and he begins anymore."
Kael knelt in front of him, gaze intense.
"I made an oath. My blade is no longer theirs. It's yours."
Lucien swallowed hard. "Even if I lose myself?"
Kael touched his cheek, rough fingers trembling. "Then I'll find you. Every time. Even in the dark."
Lucien broke.
Not from weakness—but from finally being seen.
And in that moment, the flames around them bent low—as if bowing to Lucien's grief.
---
3. The Emperor Moves
Far away, the Emperor stood before a basin of blood-filled water, watching the scene unfold.
His lips curled.
"So the general turns," he murmured.
A shadow figure emerged behind him. "Shall we activate the Rite of Chains?"
"Not yet," the Emperor replied. "Let them struggle. Let them believe they have a choice."
He dipped a finger into the water, and Lucien's image shuddered.
"The boy has power. But power without pain is a hollow crown."
He smiled.
"I'll teach him the difference."