The sky had split.
From horizon to horizon, a wound bled violet fire across the heavens, and through it came the first of the Forgotten Ones—creatures of bone, glass, and nightmare, slithering down the sky like serpents of starlight.
Kael stood at the gates of Wyrmspire, Seraphine at his side, their forces braced beneath banners still wet with ash.
"They're early," Torren growled, drawing his twin axes.
Ezren, staff in hand, looked toward Kael. "What did you do down there?"
Kael's eyes flickered. "I made a choice."
Then, the scream came.
High. Unnatural. A sound that made the ground shiver.
And the first wave of horrors crashed down.
Seraphine's Stand
Seraphine's blade sang.
She danced through the chaos—steel flashing, flames answering her call. Ever since Kael had returned, something inside her had shifted. Her dreams no longer ended in silence.
They ended in fire. In wings.
But she had no time to question them.
A Forgotten beast lunged, all needle-limbs and stitched mouths. She ducked under its strike and ran it through the gut—where its soul resided, if Ezren was right.
It didn't scream. It simply unraveled into mist.
Torren bellowed from behind her, bloodied and laughing. "You still move like a queen!"
"Remind me to hit you later!"
"Fair enough!"
Across the field, Kael stood like a pyre made flesh—Ashbreaker in hand, flame trailing his cloak, the sigils along his arms blazing like constellations.
Kael vs. the Mirrorblade
From the rift descended a new figure.
Clad in crimson armor, its face obscured, it moved with grace Kael recognized.
Too well.
When it attacked, Kael barely parried in time. Their blades clashed, metal on metal, sparks flying.
Then the helmet cracked.
And Kael stared into his own face.
But younger. Colder. Mouth curled in disdain.
"What…?"
"You left us behind," the doppelgänger snarled. "You left the flame."
Ezren cried out. "It's not a copy—it's a shard of your shadow! Lucen's using the Veil to weaponize fragments of souls!"
Kael grit his teeth, eyes flashing.
"Then I'll reclaim mine."
Their duel shook the battlefield. Kael was stronger, faster. But the mirror was merciless. It fought without fear, without doubt.
"Is this what you could've been?" Kael whispered.
"No," the shade sneered. "This is what you still are."
But Kael remembered Seraphine's touch. His mother's lullaby. The jeweler's kindness. The courage of those who followed him.
"I'm more."
And with a cry, he cleaved the doppelgänger in half, flame erupting around him.
The specter vanished in smoke and sparks.
A Rift in Her Soul
Far from the clash, Seraphine chased a retreating beast into a crevice—and froze.
The shadows there whispered in a voice she hadn't heard in years.
"Useless. Unwanted. Ungrateful."
Her father's voice.
Her mother's cold sneer.
She gasped—and suddenly, she wasn't in Wyrmspire anymore.
She stood in her childhood home. Alone. Small. The smell of burnt bread and lavender oil surrounded her.
Then she saw herself. Huddled beneath the stairs.
"You were never enough," the shadow said. "Not pretty enough. Not strong enough. They never loved you."
Seraphine trembled.
But then she heard Kael's voice.
"You are everything. And you were never the problem."
She clenched her fists—and the illusion shattered.
Back in the crevice, the Forgotten shade screamed as she drove her sword into its heart.
"I am not yours," she said. "Not anymore."
The Turning Tide
The army was faltering. The Forgotten kept coming—crawling from the wound in the sky.
Mhyra fell beside the Wyrmspire's gate, her staff broken.
Ezren bled from a wound in his side.
Even Torren's arms began to tremble.
Kael looked to the sky—and realized what he had to do.
He raised Ashbreaker and called the fire.
Not just his.
All of it.
The ancient flame. The abyssfire. The memory of the Old Ones. The pain of his childhood. The rage of being unloved. The love of being chosen.
It answered.
Ashbreaker ignited. His body burned with golden flame.
He leapt skyward—into the rift.
And slammed Ashbreaker into the heart of it.
The Fire Between Worlds
The world paused.
Time folded.
Kael found himself standing in a space beyond existence—a corridor of stars and screams.
At the far end: Lucen.
The usurper wore no crown. Just a smile.
"You shouldn't be here, boy."
"I'm not a boy anymore."
Lucen's eyes narrowed. "Then prove it."
And Kael charged into the void, flame trailing his fury.