The land twisted the closer they came to the Black Vale. Trees blackened into husks. Rivers ran thick with oil-like sludge. The sky bled violet lightning, and the earth pulsed with dark magic—tainted, corrupted.
Kael's army halted at the precipice of the desecrated land. Before them stood the Blight Wall—a monolith of obsidian and bone, sealing in the darkness that festered beyond.
"It reeks of necromancy," Malric muttered, narrowing his golden eyes. "Ashar's doing. Or something worse."
Kael dismounted and approached the wall. Fire bloomed in his palm as the Emberfang pulsed behind his shoulder.
"They fear the light," he said, and slammed his flame into the cursed stone.
The fire hissed. Then the wall cracked—not from outside force, but from within. As if it had been waiting.
The ground trembled.
And then came the scream.
Not of a beast.
Of thousands.
From the wall spilled soldiers—warped demons with bone-twisted armor, rotting wolves fused to their flesh, and humans bearing empty eyes. The Blightborn were not a faction.
They were perversions.
And at their head marched General Virek, once one of Ashar's chosen. Now a beast of corrupted flame, his body rippled with unnatural veins of shadowfire.
"You bring torches to a realm that eats light," Virek sneered.
Kael stepped forward, voice like iron.
"We bring fire to burn the rot."
He unsheathed Emberfang, and its cry split the sky like a clarion call. Behind him, the five demon clans raised their banners.
"CHARGE!" Kael roared.
The collision was cataclysmic. Ironfang brutes slammed into Blightborn abominations. Emberbound sorcerers hurled waves of golden flame. Wyrmkin flyers spiraled through poisoned skies.
Kael fought at the vanguard, Emberfang carving swathes of searing light. But the enemy seemed endless, rising from the blackened soil as if born of it.
And then Kael saw him.
Ashar.
Or what remained of him.
High above, atop a throne of flesh and bone, the tyrant hovered—his face a hollow shell, eyes twin voids that bled magic. Chains of cursed energy trailed from his body into the earth.
He was feeding off the corruption.
"You cannot stop what's already rotted through," Ashar's voice echoed across the battlefield. "You are the last fire. And I… will snuff you out."
Kael faltered—just for a moment.
That was all it took for a Blightborn blade to strike him in the side.
He collapsed to one knee.
From across the battlefield, Seraphine felt the blade pierce Kael—and something ancient snapped awake in her chest.
Time slowed.
The world dimmed.
And inside her, a core of blue-white fire flared to life.
Ilirya's voice whispered across the ether:
"Let it burn, child. Let it burn through everything."
Seraphine screamed—not in fear, but in release—and her body erupted in flame.
But not Kael's fire.
Primordial Flame.
Wings of burning light unfurled from her back. Her skin glowed like starlit glass. Her eyes were suns.
The battlefield stopped as both armies turned to behold her.
And then Seraphine raised her hand—
—and the sky caught fire.
The Blightborn screamed as holy fire seared their twisted forms. Shadows burned. Corruption peeled from the land like old skin.
Kael watched from the ground, bloodied but breathless, as Seraphine hovered above the battlefield, wielding a power that remade the sky.
"She's not just a spark," Soren whispered. "She's a star."
Seraphine swept her hand toward Ashar's throne.
"This ends now."
A beam of pure, ancient flame burst from her palm, slamming into the throne.
Ashar roared—a sound like a universe collapsing. His chains shattered. His body twisted.
"NO—this world is mine!"
"You never deserved it," Seraphine said.
And with one final pulse, her flame consumed him.
When the light faded, there was nothing left of Ashar but dust.
The battle had ended.
The Blightborn fell like puppets with severed strings. The corruption receded. The land, broken for centuries, began to breathe again.
Kael limped through the battlefield toward Seraphine. Her flames had dimmed. She looked… mortal again. Barely standing.
He caught her before she collapsed.
"You came back," she whispered.
"Always," he said, pressing his forehead to hers. "You lit the world again, Seraphine."
Around them, the armies knelt.
Not in submission.
In reverence.