The world hung still.
Where moments before there had been a maelstrom of fire and steel, now only silence reigned—heavy, suffocating, unnatural. Ash drifted through the air like snow, settling upon the corpses of two armies frozen mid-motion. Even the wind seemed to have forgotten how to breathe.
At the center of that dead world stood Ray. His armor was half-melted, his body trembling, but his eyes still blazed—silver light against a horizon drowned in darkness.
Across from him, Karlin rose slowly from the crater their clash had carved into the earth. His cloak of black fire flickered erratically, its once-seamless inferno now torn and unstable. His lips twisted into a thin, mirthless smile.
"So," he rasped, voice like the hiss of dying embers. "You carry it too—the light of the First Flame."
Ray's grip tightened on his sword. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Karlin laughed softly, the sound brittle as broken glass. "You will. Every spark seeks its origin. And every flame… hungers to consume its own kind."
He raised his hand. The ground beneath him shuddered. From the depths of the plain, black fire erupted once more—but this time, it did not spread. It rose. Pillars of flame coiled upward, twisting into the shape of wings. A colossal shadow unfurled behind him, vast and monstrous.
Baru, watching from afar, felt the blood drain from his face. "Gods preserve us," he whispered. "He's calling upon the Infernal Core."
The soldiers around him faltered, their courage melting before the sight of that abomination. Even the most battle-hardened veterans stared in mute horror as Karlin ascended, wreathed in darkness that devoured light itself.
Ray staggered, the weight of that presence pressing against his chest. He could feel his aura flickering—failing. The silver glow of his blade dimmed as exhaustion clawed at him.
Then, through the haze of pain and fire, he heard a voice.
Soft. Familiar.
"Ray… do not falter."
He froze. The world faded, and for a heartbeat he saw her—Karin—standing before him in white armor, her hair glimmering like dawn, her hand reaching out.
"You were not born to burn. You were born to rise."
The vision vanished, but its warmth remained.
Ray's chest burned—not from Karlin's fire, but from within. The silver aura flared once more, brighter, purer, spreading from his heart to his blade. The flames around him bent and swayed, recoiling as though in fear.
Karlin's eyes widened. "Impossible! That power—!"
Ray raised his sword. His voice was hoarse, but steady. "You talk about fire as if you own it. But true flame doesn't destroy—it endures."
He drove his blade into the earth.
A tremor split the battlefield. From the depths of the scorched plains, a pillar of light erupted—silver, radiant, holy. The black fire howled as it was torn apart, devoured by the purity of the light.
Baru shielded his eyes, his cloak snapping in the shockwave. Around him, men fell to their knees, blinded by brilliance. The very clouds above the battlefield shredded into spirals, and the sky itself seemed to blaze.
When the light faded, Karlin stood alone amid the ruin—his dark wings shattered, his cloak of flame gone. His face was pale, almost human again.
He looked at Ray with something that might have been respect—or hatred too deep for words. "So the heir of the Flame still walks this world," he murmured. "Then let it be so. You've won this battle… but you've doomed us all."
Before Ray could answer, Karlin's body dissolved into ash, carried away by the wind. Only a single black ember remained, glowing faintly in the dust.
Ray fell to his knees, chest heaving, vision swimming. The silver aura around him flickered once… twice… then vanished.
"Ray!" Mira's voice cut through the smoke. She stumbled toward him, her face streaked with soot and tears. "You're alive—thank the stars, you're alive!"
He looked up weakly. The dawn was breaking—soft light spilling across the plains, glinting off broken blades and bloodstained banners. For the first time in what felt like centuries, the world seemed quiet.
Baru approached, limping, his sword dragging through the mud. He looked down at Ray and gave a faint, grim smile. "You've done what even I could not, boy."
Ray tried to speak, but only managed a whisper. "Is it… over?"
Baru's gaze turned toward the horizon, where distant thunder rumbled—low, ominous, unending. "No," he said quietly. "This was only the first spark. And now that you've lit it, the world will burn to see it."
He looked down again, his voice heavy with both pride and dread. "The Heart of the Flame has awakened."
And as the rising sun bathed the battlefield in light, the torn banner of the Silver Wolf fluttered once more—its shadow stretching long and black across the scorched earth, heralding both victory… and the dawn of a greater war.