The Hollow Mountain no longer groaned beneath its burdens.
Instead, it slept.
Kael stood at its mouth with soot across his brow and blood staining his hands. He looked at the valley below—the land that was once his, torn by betrayal, scorched by ambition.
Now, it was his again.
But at what cost?
Seraphine approached him slowly, wind tousling her dark hair. Liora stood behind her, quiet, pale, her gaze never leaving the faint glow beneath her skin where the Hollow Flame had marked her.
"They're waiting," Seraphine said gently.
Kael turned.
At the base of the mountain, thousands of soldiers from the five united kingdoms knelt, heads bowed—not to a tyrant, not to a monster…
To their King.
The capital had been rebuilt hastily. Rubble turned to marble, and the palace that once belonged to his stepfather, King Adrien, now bore the sigil of Kael's true bloodline: a black crown wreathed in flame, with a crescent moon beneath it.
The coronation was a quiet affair—at Kael's request.
No trumpets.
No long sermons.
Just a blade, an oath, and the weight of the world.
He knelt before the Council of Flame and Moon. Liora placed the crown upon his head.
"I name thee Kael of House Iridale, Flameborne Prince, rightful heir to the demon blood, and sovereign of the Unified Realms," she declared.
"And I accept," Kael said, voice steady. "Not as ruler above—but as protector beside."
The hall erupted into thunderous cheers.
But Seraphine's gaze stayed fixed on his.
Their bond was deeper than thrones.
That night, as Kael lay in bed, sleep elusive, he felt the presence before he saw it.
Liora stood in the doorway, barefoot, her eyes troubled.
"I need to tell you something," she whispered.
Kael sat up. "Is it about the Flame?"
She nodded.
And then she dropped the truth like a dagger.
"Seraphine wasn't chosen by accident. She's not just human. Our mother was part of an ancient bloodline—from the Lunaris, the moonborn. The curse wasn't just in me. It's in her, too."
Kael's heart stilled.
"She's marked?"
"Yes," Liora whispered. "And the more the flame grows in her… the more it feeds on her soul."
Seraphine sat on the balcony, staring at the moon, when Kael found her.
He sat beside her, quiet at first.
Then: "You knew."
She nodded.
"I started hearing things… after the Hollow Mountain. Voices in my sleep. My body feels—off. Like something inside me is stretching, growing… and it's not all good."
Kael reached for her hand, squeezing gently.
"I would give up the crown. The realm. Everything. If it meant saving you."
But Seraphine shook her head. "You are the king the world needs. And I'm not dying. Not yet."
She smiled faintly.
"But we don't have forever."
Kael leaned in, kissing her brow.
"Then we love like fire—with no promises. And no regrets."
Beyond the kingdoms, in the frozen North, a lone figure watched the stars fall.
He wore no crown.
But in his hand was a blade older than empires.
And behind him stood the remnants of an ancient clan—horned, winged, and furious.
"They crowned a fireborn," one snarled.
"They disturbed the Hollow Flame," another hissed.
The man—tall, with silver eyes and a mark like a third eye glowing on his brow—spoke at last.
"Then let them burn in what they've awoken."
He raised the blade.
And the sky cracked.