The fortress bled.
Its stone wept black ichor, seeping from fractures older than memory—fluid with the scent of burnt bone and ancient betrayal. Its walls pulsed like a creature caught between life and undeath, bound in torment to a realm that had long since forgotten mercy.
Kael felt it under his boots—the throb of malevolence like a heartbeat echoing through the floor. This was no fortress.
It was a tomb.
Not for corpses. For hope.
Behind him, Elyra moved like a blade unsheathed. Her magic flickered at her fingertips, barely restrained, barely contained. The faint glow of her fire painted her face in hues of molten gold and sorrow. Her eyes—those starlit eyes—had seen too much, lost too much. And still, she stood.
And Vespera…
Vespera stood before the throne as if she belonged there. She didn't tremble. She didn't blink. She simply was, every inch the phantom queen she'd always hidden beneath leather and venom. Her stance was rigid, one hand resting on the hilt of her obsidian blade, the other curled tightly at her side.
The Pale Flame sat like a god who had grown tired of praying things. Cloaked in shadows, his eyes smoldered—molten pits of cruel amusement. His fingers drummed on the armrest of a throne carved from suffering.
"You're late," he said, voice like scorched velvet. "But punctuality was never your kind's strength."
Kael stepped forward, sword in hand. "Save your breath, monster. You won't live long enough to enjoy the gloat."
The Pale Flame's mouth curled. "Such fire, Kael. I remember your father had it too. It made his screams beautiful."
Kael's blade surged with light. Only Elyra's touch on his arm kept him from lunging.
"Don't," she whispered. "Not yet."
But Kael's mind raced, tangled in ghosts. His father—burnt alive in the Pale Flame's purge. His people—erased from maps and memory. And now this throne. This creature. This lie of a man sitting atop everything he had ever loved.
And then Vespera spoke.
Her voice was quiet. Deceptively so. But it cleaved through the silence like a blade through silk.
"I helped him," she said.
The world froze.
Elyra turned. "What did you just say?"
Kael blinked. "You're lying."
But Vespera wasn't.
Her expression didn't change. Cold. Steeled. Resigned.
"I helped him rise. I watched the kingdoms burn. I led him to the Gate of Echoes. I betrayed the last royal bloodline with my own hands."
Kael staggered backward like she'd struck him.
"You used us," Elyra said, voice trembling with a fury more dangerous than fire.
"I trained you," Vespera hissed. "I protected you. I gave you a chance to get here."
"And how many had to die for that chance?" Kael growled.
"Everyone," Vespera whispered. "Everyone but you."
The Pale Flame laughed, slow and delighted. "Oh, I do love a reunion. Shall we finish the family portrait with blood?"
The darkness surged.
From the walls. The floor. The ceiling. Shadows peeled away from the stone, forming into twisted phantoms—cloaked in void, eyes burning like twin stars ready to collapse.
Kael stepped forward.
No more questions.
Only resolve.
He and Elyra launched into the fray—his blade cutting through shadow with divine steel, her fire roaring to life like a phoenix reborn. The phantoms shrieked as they fell, but for every one they cut down, three more took its place.
Vespera fought beside them—but at a distance. Her daggers moved with lethal grace, her body a blur of shadow and motion. And yet… Kael watched her out of the corner of his eye.
Was she striking to kill?
Or to distract?
Could he trust her?
Should he?
Every moment, every strike, every flicker of hesitation clawed at his resolve. Elyra's fire wavered. Kael bled from the shoulder. The tide began to turn.
Then the throne itself cracked.
The Pale Flame stood—no longer a man, no longer pretending. Fire poured from his skin, licking the air with madness. Wings of ash and ember burst from his back. His voice shook the chamber.
"You want vengeance?" he bellowed. "Then come and burn with me!"
The room shattered.
Walls exploded outward. Wind screamed like banshees unleashed. The battlefield stretched into chaos, the lines between reality and nightmare blurring.
Kael grabbed Elyra's hand.
He didn't speak. He just held her.
Because if this was the end—
He wanted to face it with her.
Vespera landed hard beside them, one knee down, coughing up blood. She looked up at Kael.
"Do you trust me now?" she rasped.
"No," he said. "But I'll fight beside you."
Her lips twitched into something halfway between a smile and a snarl.
"Good enough."
Together, the three of them turned to face the Pale Flame.
Together, they stepped into the fire.
And the war truly began.