Ashar's power rippled through the air like a living force—pressing on Kael's chest, burning the oxygen from his lungs. The walls of the Sanctum cracked. Lava veins bled from the floor. The air screamed.
Kael stepped forward, shielding his brothers behind him.
"Leave them alone," he growled.
Ashar tilted his head. "You still protect the weak. Admirable. Foolish."
He raised a hand.
Flame surged toward them—pure black, the kind that devours light itself.
Kael braced himself, arms glowing red as he summoned his own fire—but before the inferno struck, a pulse of white-blue light exploded outward.
Seraphine stood between them, hands outstretched, eyes glowing like stars.
Ashar staggered back.
"You," he hissed. "What are you?"
Seraphine's voice was not her own. It echoed—layered, ancient.
"I am the fire he cannot command. The echo of the line you tried to erase."
Then she collapsed.
Kael caught her before she hit the stone.
"Seraphine?" he whispered, cradling her gently.
Her eyes fluttered open—still glowing faintly. "I saw her again… the woman in white. She called me her torch. Her legacy."
Kael's heart pounded. "What did she mean?"
Before Seraphine could answer, Ashar roared.
"You brought her here to destroy me!"
Kael stood, flames dancing across his skin. "No. She came of her own will."
Ashar's expression twisted into fury. "Then she dies for it."
But Kael was already moving.
Kael launched himself at his father, fire trailing from his fists. Ashar met him with a snarl, striking with devastating force.
Every blow cracked the air. The obsidian floor melted beneath them.
Ashar's flame was ancient, consuming.
Kael's was living, wild—infused with pain, memory, and love.
They clashed again and again, the chamber collapsing around them.
Kael screamed with everything he was.
For his mother.
For his lost childhood.
For the brothers behind him.
For Seraphine.
Ashar caught him by the throat mid-air.
"You are not my heir," he growled. "You are a mistake."
Kael smiled through bloodied teeth.
"Then this mistake… will end you."
He drove his hand into Ashar's chest.
At the moment of impact, the Mirror inside Kael cracked fully.
A soundless explosion ripped through the chamber—energy bursting from Kael's body in every direction. Flames of every color: red, white, blue, violet, gold.
Ashar screamed as his body was flung backward—seared by fire he couldn't control.
And then he vanished—ripped into ash and darkness, scattered into the winds of the crumbling Sanctum.
When the silence returned, Kael collapsed.
Seraphine crawled to him, cradling his head in her lap.
His body smoked. His eyes barely opened.
"Did I… stop him?" he rasped.
Seraphine nodded, tears streaking her soot-covered cheeks. "You didn't just stop him. You broke him."
Behind them, Malric, Dareth, and Soren were stirring—alive but badly burned.
The Sanctum continued to shake.
"We have to leave," Soren said, voice weak.
Kael sat up slowly. "Not yet."
He turned to the heart of the Sanctum—where the black brazier still burned.
He raised his hand, and for the first time, his flame didn't rage.
It sang.
He reached into the brazier.
And pulled free a blade made of living fire—its hilt etched in demon script, its edge glowing like the sun.
The Emberfang. The true heir's sword.
As they emerged from the collapsing mountain, Seraphine beside him, Kael looked out across the shattered peaks.
"This isn't the end," he murmured. "Ashar isn't dead. Not yet."
Seraphine gripped his hand. "Then we'll face him. Together."
Kael turned to his brothers—wounded, but alive.
"We reclaim the demon realms. We reunite what he tore apart. We become what he feared."
He raised the Emberfang to the sky.
"No longer cursed. No longer broken.We are fire reborn."