The journey to the Temple of the First Flame was not marked on any map.
Hidden beneath ash-covered hills in the charred north, it was said to be the place where the first demon lords were born from fire—not in hatred, but in sorrow. Few ever returned from its ruins. Fewer still returned sane.
But Kael had no choice.
He had to understand the prophecy—When fire weds light, the Veil shall break—and why his very existence was feared by kings, gods, and even stars.
Seraphine rode beside him, her hand close to his. They hadn't spoken much since the kiss at camp, but silence wasn't emptiness between them. It was weight. Meaning. Unsaid trust.
Veyra guided them, her knowledge of old bloodlines and infernal paths unmatched.
Even Ezren, the trickster scout, had grown quiet.
Something in the air around them had changed. Something old. Watching.
The temple was carved into the side of a scorched mountain, its entrance hidden behind a stone veil etched with runes Kael could feel humming beneath his skin.
Lilwen, the girl they had rescued, clung to Seraphine's cloak.
"It doesn't like me," she whispered.
Kael touched the stone, and the runes blazed red beneath his palm.
"It doesn't like anyone," he said. "But it remembers me."
With a low growl, the veil of stone slid aside—revealing the Mouth of Flame.
They entered.
Inside, the air was heavy with heat, but it wasn't the kind that burned skin. It was deeper—soul heat, as Veyra called it. The kind of heat that stripped away lies.
The hall led to a great chamber where ancient fire burned eternally in a suspended brazier above a pool of obsidian. Symbols spiraled across the walls—demonic, fae, celestial, human. All bound in a wheel of fate.
Ezren approached the murals.
"This… this is everything. All the histories we were denied."
Kael's eyes stopped on one image: a man of flame and a woman of starlight standing hand in hand as shadows devoured the edges of the world.
Seraphine stepped closer. "It's us."
"And this," Veyra whispered, pointing to a shattered sword carved beneath them, "is Zerakh's Fang."
Kael stiffened.
"That sword was stolen from Velkaris."
Seraphine's voice tightened. "You think someone's going to use it on us?"
Kael said nothing.
But he was already turning toward the shadows at the edge of the room.
Something was here.
The attack came without warning.
A blur of black steel and shadows descended from the rafters. Kael shoved Seraphine aside just in time as a blade carved through the air where her neck had been.
The assassin was fast—inhumanly so. Cloaked in Eclipse armor, but twisted—enhanced by runes that pulsed sickly green.
Kael summoned flame into his hands, but the assassin's blade sliced straight through it.
Zerakh's Fang.
The soul-eater.
Every block Kael made felt like his fire was being drained. The assassin didn't speak. Didn't grunt. Only moved—perfect, surgical, merciless.
Veyra hurled a dagger toward him.
It passed through his shoulder—no blood.
Ezren lunged, morphing into a shadow-cat mid-leap. But the assassin rolled and sliced deep into Ezren's side.
Kael's vision blurred with fury. Flame burst from his chest, lighting the entire chamber in a golden-red blaze.
"You want me?" he roared. "Come and try!"
The assassin leapt—
—and Seraphine intercepted him.
She raised her hands, and for the first time, light burst from her palms—not sunlight, not fire, but pure, blinding starlight.
The assassin shrieked. His form convulsed.
Kael drove a burst of hellfire into his chest. The combined force sent the assassin crashing into the pool of obsidian.
Sizzling.
Screaming.
Melting.
When the smoke cleared, all that remained was the sword—Zerakh's Fang—half-melted, humming with fading energy.
Kael collapsed beside it.
"That blade…" he gasped. "It was trying to pull me apart."
Seraphine touched his shoulder. "Are you—?"
"I'm fine," he said. "Thanks to you."
Veyra knelt beside the ruined sword. "That wasn't a guard. That was something else. Twisted. Enhanced. Sacrificed."
Kael nodded. "The traitor is getting desperate."
Ezren, bleeding but alive, groaned, "Desperate... is fine. Stupid… is better."
Kael chuckled grimly. "They won't get another chance."
As the group rested, Lilwen approached Kael and Seraphine.
She held something in her hands—an ancient scroll she had found hidden behind the wall mural.
"I think this is about you," she whispered.
Kael took it, unrolling the brittle parchment.
A single line was written in ancient script, glowing faintly:
"When fire and light become one, the Firstborn shall rise again—and the Veil shall no longer hold."
Seraphine read it aloud.
"What does that mean?" she asked softly.
Kael stared into the flames of the brazier above.
"It means we're not the end of the story," he said.
"We're the beginning."
Far away, in Velkaris, the traitor moved again.
The failed assassin had bought them time.
Time to open the forbidden tomb below the citadel.
Inside, buried beneath layers of ash and forgotten names, lay a creature long thought dead.
Eyes blinked open in the dark.
Claws scraped against stone.
And a whisper echoed from the tomb's heart:
"The Bloodfire lives. Bring me his bones."