The moment they crossed the border into Elareth, the world felt… wrong.
The wind was too still. The trees leaned as if bowing to some unseen presence. No birds sang, no insects chirped. Even the sun seemed hesitant to shine.
Kael rode at the front, his black cloak whipping behind him, Seraphine at his side. Vaerion followed on foot, his presence quiet and unsettling, eyes ever scanning the horizon.
Smoke bloomed in the distance, curling up like fingers clawing at the sky.
"There," Seraphine whispered, pointing. "The capital."
Elareth, once a city of marble spires and golden towers, was now a grave of its own beauty.
When they reached the city walls, they found them shattered—stone ripped apart as though by monstrous hands. No bodies. No signs of resistance.
Just ash.
Kael crouched near the gate, running gloved fingers through the dust.
"This isn't from fire," he murmured. "This is what's left after fire consumes the soul."
Seraphine's throat bobbed. "What kind of magic does that?"
"Not magic," Vaerion said grimly. "Something older. Something hungry."
They stepped over the broken gate.
Inside, silence ruled. Buildings leaned like broken teeth, and the air was thick with the scent of old blood. Every window was dark. Every street empty.
Until Seraphine saw the first statue.
A woman, mid-run, mouth open in a silent scream. Her body turned entirely to obsidian.
Kael touched her shoulder. It crumbled under his hand like dry leaves.
"She wasn't carved," he said. "She was… transformed."
They found the temple just before nightfall. It had once been a majestic hall, its doors gilded and domed roof painted with the stories of the gods.
Now, it was cracked open like an egg. Shadows spilled from its heart.
"The seal was here," Vaerion murmured, stepping carefully through the threshold. "One of the seven. The Seal of Ember Eyes."
Kael followed slowly, his fingers grazing the charred walls. Symbols of ancient divine figures lay scorched, melted down the columns like wax.
Then, beneath the altar, they found the hole.
It descended into darkness. A spiral staircase of melted stone led downward, and a whisper—faint and feminine—drifted upward.
"Kael..."
He froze.
"Did you hear that?" he asked.
Seraphine shook her head. "No."
Vaerion's eyes narrowed. "That voice wasn't for us."
They descended, weapons drawn. The air grew colder with every step, yet sweat beaded on their brows.
When they reached the bottom, they found a massive chamber, its walls covered in ancient runes—burned black. At the center was a shattered dais, and beneath it, the remains of the seal: a ring of molten gold, cracked down the middle.
And rising from the center… was her.
A woman in a gown of black feathers and gold embroidery. Her skin shimmered like obsidian, but her eyes—her eyes were flames.
"Who are you?" Kael demanded, stepping forward, sword in hand.
She turned slowly, her voice echoing like silk unraveling in darkness.
"I am the first to wake. I am the promise of fire and ruin. I am Ashmira, Daughter of the Dying Star."
Seraphine raised her blade. "That name hasn't been spoken in a thousand years."
Ashmira smiled.
"And yet here I am.
Ashmira raised one slender hand. Fire exploded outward—black, cold fire. Kael threw up a barrier of his own flame, shielding Seraphine, while Vaerion lunged with a roar, slashing through the wave.
They were thrown back like ragdolls.
Kael rolled to his feet, bleeding from his temple, and shouted, "You broke the seal!"
Ashmira tilted her head. "No, prince. You broke it… when you lived."
The words cut like ice. Kael froze.
"What do you mean?"
She floated closer, eyes burning brighter.
"You were never meant to survive. The prophecy called for a dying prince, not a living one. When you lived… the pact failed."
Seraphine surged forward, blade drawn, but Ashmira vanished into smoke.
Her voice lingered.
"One seal is broken. Six remain. Run if you like, Prince of Flame. But you cannot outrun what sleeps beneath the world."
They surfaced from the temple, breathless and silent.
Kael's hands trembled. The thought gnawed at him like rot: Was his survival truly the catalyst?
Seraphine touched his hand.
"This isn't your fault," she said softly.
But Kael didn't answer.
He looked up at the sky, where clouds rolled unnaturally fast.
Vaerion joined them, his face pale. "We need to leave. Now."
"Where to?" Kael asked.
Vaerion turned to him grimly.
"To the Obsidian Sea. Where the Second Seal sleeps."
Kael nodded, fire flaring in his veins.
No more running.
Let the gods rise.
He would rise higher.