The plateau groaned under the weight of coming war.
From the northern dunes, the army of kings surged like a storm tide—steel flashing under moonlight, war drums echoing through the bones of the desert. And at the edge of the cliff, where sand met starlight, two stood unmoved.
Nael—the fire-bound son, marked by the curse of inheritance.
Rayyan—the bearer of the Divine Eye, heir to light forged when Iblis still wore the mantle of grace.
But Rayyan was more than just a brother.
He was a liege.
And beneath the sand… his army waited.
He raised his hand, the blue-white veins of his divine aura pulsing.
"Come forth," Rayyan whispered.
The earth split with a deep, thunderous sigh.
From the canyon below, figures rose—clad in ash-metal and spectral mail, each face bearing the mark of the lost. Knights from a forgotten time. Echoes of a war buried beneath sand and silence. Their leader rode a beast made of bone and starlight—Barak, General of the Ash Oath.
He dismounted before Rayyan, kneeling.
"My Liege," Barak spoke, his voice like wind through the graves, "we have waited. The call is ours once more."
Rayyan nodded. "We stand for the living. For truth. For what he"—he looked toward the horizon, where the enemy marched—"never understood."
Nael stepped forward, shoulder to shoulder with Rayyan.
"I thought they were gone," he said quietly.
Rayyan's eye glowed faintly. "So did they. But light doesn't forget its shadows. It learns from them."
Barak stood, and at his gesture, the army of ash took formation.
Spears of ember. Shields carved from comet-glass. Banners made of smoke and oaths.
Rayyan turned to Nael. "We end this. Not just for us—but to stop Sammael from awakening whatever slumbers in the Temple of Sundering."
Nael nodded. "Then let's burn the lies out of this war."
---
The First Clash
The battlefield blazed.
Rayyan led the charge, his presence radiant—bolts of holy light raining from his eye, carving holes through siege towers and iron walls. He moved like a vengeful comet, untouchable and precise.
Nael followed in his wake, no longer chaotic—his flames honed, his strikes exact. The Solar Eye pulsed with rhythm, a heartbeat of destruction that refused corruption.
Barak's army met the kings' legions with thunder and shadow. Blade met bone, flame met steel. And every time Rayyan's blade struck, a lie was undone. Every time Nael's fire surged, a truth ignited.
---
Sammael's Gambit
Far above, from a ridge of black rock, Sammael watched, face calm but fingers twitching.
"They were not meant to be this strong," he hissed. "Rayyan was supposed to break. Nael, to fall."
Beside him stood a hooded woman—her eyes like mirrors.
"They are not broken. They are brothers," she said. "And that makes them dangerous."
Sammael's smile returned.
"Then I'll break the bond. And when I do… the Temple will fall without resistance."
---
The Turning Point
As dawn cracked the sky in gold and crimson, Rayyan stood atop a dune soaked in firelight. Around him, the enemy broke—scattered by Barak's relentless charge, Nael's scorched fury, and the might of the Ash Oath resurrected.
The war was not yet won.
But the tide had shifted.
And for the first time since the shadow of Iblis crept back into the world…
Hope stood taller than fear.
---
To Be Continued…
The Temple of Sundering waited beyond the western ridges.
There, the veil would thin.
And the true enemy—the One Who Feared Death—would stir.
But first, the brothers had one thing left to do:
End the arc in fire and light.