The gates of the Sisterhood shut behind them with a thunderous sigh, sealing in ancient knowledge and the quiet strength of embers that had remembered the world when it had forgotten itself.
Kael, cloaked in a long coat threaded with embersteel, looked down at Ashbreaker—now reborn with symbols that shimmered like living flame. Beside him, Seraphine rode in silence, her hood drawn low. Since the mural, something had changed in her. Her eyes flickered with memory, not entirely her own.
"Still with me?" Kael asked gently.
She didn't answer immediately.
Then she looked up, her voice low. "We're walking toward the end of the world."
He smiled sadly. "Then let's make it a beautiful one."
Their first destination was the Kingdom of Tharion, a bastion of magic and neutrality nestled between the frozen peaks of the north. Once ruled by seers and scholars, it now held the largest free mage circle outside Kael's fallen empire.
Ezren rode ahead, his face tight with worry. "Tharion's new High Magister is… cautious. Convincing him won't be easy."
"I don't need easy," Kael said. "I need truth."
But as the castle came into view—tall, white spires stained with smoke—Kael's fire surged.
The banners had changed.
No longer the crescent flame of Tharion.
But the serpent sun—Lucen's crest.
They entered through shadowed halls, the walls lined with mirrors. Kael tensed.
"Mirrors," he murmured. "That's not just decoration."
"No," Seraphine whispered. "They're watching."
Inside the throne room, a single figure awaited: Magister Vane, tall, robed in silver, his eyes gleaming with something too knowing.
"Prince Kael," Vane purred. "You arrive late to your own funeral."
Kael narrowed his eyes. "I'm not here to play court."
"Pity." Vane rose. "Your kingdom fell. Your gods are silent. And your name… is cursed. Tell me, why should I follow the dying spark of a broken prince?"
Kael didn't flinch. He stepped forward, voice quiet, but every syllable burned.
"Because I am not a prince anymore. I am the Flamebreaker. And I've seen what's coming."
He raised his hand—and flame answered. Not fire, but memory. The room filled with visions: Lucen's ritual, the gods behind the Veil, the sky splitting open.
Vane stumbled back, face pale.
But then—he laughed.
"Impressive trick. But it's too late."
The mirrors cracked.
From their depths, shadows poured—silent, slithering forms with eyes like coins. Mirrorborne.
Seraphine drew her blades. Ezren cursed.
Kael ignited Ashbreaker.
And the room exploded into war.
The battle was chaos.
The Mirrorborne moved like illusions—half-there, half-death.
Kael fought with brutal precision, fire trailing his every strike. Seraphine's movements were faster now, more fluid—prophetic. She dodged attacks she hadn't yet seen, blades moving before thoughts could catch up.
Ezren unleashed a storm of sigils, but the Mirrorborne adapted, reflecting back his own spells.
"We need to destroy the source!" Seraphine shouted, pointing at the largest mirror behind Vane's throne.
Kael lunged, flame roaring.
But just before he could strike—
A blade pierced his side.
He gasped.
Turning slowly… he saw Veyra.
His trusted friend. The scout who had fought beside him since the fall.
Her eyes were wet. "I'm sorry."
The blade twisted.
"I had to. He promised to save her. My sister. She's still alive—Lucen has her—"
Kael dropped to one knee, blood soaking his coat.
Ezren screamed.
But Seraphine… froze.
Because the prophecy she had seen—of betrayal, of Kael falling—
It was happening now.
She didn't think.
She moved.
Blade in hand, she struck Veyra down with one clean blow. Not out of hate. Not out of rage.
Out of necessity.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, as Veyra crumpled.
Kael was on the ground, flame flickering, his breath ragged.
"I'll heal you," Seraphine said, kneeling.
But his hand found hers.
"No," he whispered. "The mirror. Stop it."
Ezren and Seraphine exchanged a look.
Then together, they turned and hurled everything—fire, spell, steel—at the grand mirror.
It shattered.
And the Mirrorborne screamed, disintegrating into smoke.
Later, Kael lay beneath a tent of healing wards.
His wound wasn't fatal. But the betrayal ran deeper than any blade.
"She was with us for years," he murmured.
Seraphine held his hand. "She made a choice. So did we."
He turned to her.
"You saw this, didn't you?"
She hesitated.
"Yes."
His gaze sharpened. "Then what else did you see?"
"…You die," she whispered.
He stiffened.
"But you come back. Changed. Marked."
She met his gaze, fear and fire warring in her heart.
"And me?"
She swallowed.
"I stand alone. At the end. Holding the world together with blood."
Far away, in a temple long forgotten, Lucen knelt before a burning throne.
The gods whispered in his ears.
"The Flamebreaker has awakened."
Lucen's eyes bled silver.
"Let him rise," he said. "Let him burn."
He looked up at the stars, now dimming.
"In the end, it won't be the fire that destroys them.
It will be hope."