The dawn above Starfall came and went unnoticed by those below. In the forgotten cavern beneath the keep, Kael stood before the black crystal gate, his fingers splayed across its surface. The symbol—the Crest of the Forgotten Line—glowed faintly now, pulsing with each beat of his heart.
Araya stood behind him, her expression pale but composed. "It will respond to your blood," she said. "But you must offer it freely. Not with a weapon. With will."
Kael nodded once. He took a slow breath, focused, and drew a thin line across his palm—not with steel, but by forcing his qi to rupture the skin. The pain was sharp, but clean. His blood shimmered gold-red as it dripped onto the ancient gate.
The response was immediate.
A flash of violet lightning arced through the sigils. The entire gate trembled—and then, with a sound like ice breaking under pressure, it opened.
A slow, grinding movement pulled the crystal doors inward, revealing a vast hall beyond, shrouded in mist and silence.
They stepped inside.
The air was thick with old power, and something else—an ancient grief, like sorrow preserved for centuries. Stone pillars carved with battle scenes lined the passage. Statues of faceless warriors, their weapons pointed downward in mourning, stood in alcoves.
Kael walked slowly, taking in the murals that now revealed themselves as they passed.
A war against gods.
A rebellion in the skies.
A man in armor like flame, surrounded by figures bearing the Crest on their backs.
And then, a child—held aloft in fire, hidden behind veils.
Kael stopped.
That child… it wore a mark he had seen in the mirror since he was young. A scar above his heart, shaped like a spiral sun.
"It's you," Meiya whispered. "That's your birthmark."
"Then this," Jia said, "isn't just a tomb."
Araya's voice came quietly. "It's a vault. Built to protect what the heavens feared most."
At the center of the chamber lay a throne.
Not of gold, but of obsidian and bone. Runes danced across its arms, alive with sealed energy.
And behind it—a crystal cocoon.
Suspended in midair, wrapped in strands of black and silver qi, floated the perfectly preserved body of a man.
He looked eerily like Kael—older, regal, and draped in crimson armor.
Araya collapsed to her knees.
"That's him," she whispered. "Your father. The last of the Forgotten Kings."
Kael approached slowly, hand trembling. As he touched the edge of the cocoon, a surge of memory not his own tore through him.
Fire. Screams. A gate in the sky collapsing. A child torn away. A voice—"Hide him. Seal the blood. They must never find him."
Kael gasped and stumbled back.
Jia caught him, her eyes wide. "What did you see?"
"My past," he said. "And maybe… our future."
Suddenly, a warning rune flared at the cavern's mouth.
Meiya's eyes narrowed. "We're not alone."
Kael stood, gathering his strength. "Seal the gate. Arin—watch the upper passage. Jia, with me. Araya—get ready."
From the shadows, footsteps echoed—slow and deliberate.
And then a voice, mocking and smooth:
"Ah, how touching. The prodigal prince finds his crypt. Now… let's make sure he dies in it."
A dozen figures in bone-white armor emerged, led by a man whose face shimmered like broken glass.
Kael's hand tightened around his sword.
The past had awakened—and the war for the future had begun.
Kael's breath steadied, his qi coiling like a storm within. The man leading the intruders stepped fully into the crystal-lit chamber, his armor bearing no clan mark, no crest—only gleaming emptiness. A symbol of those who served none but the higher heavens.
"Who are you?" Kael demanded, sword drawn, his stance unwavering.
The man bowed mockingly. "I am Eiran, Blade of the Celestial Tribunal. And you, little prince, have opened a door meant to stay sealed. For that, the sentence… is oblivion."
Before Kael could respond, Arin moved.
She blurred forward, daggers singing through the air, targeting Eiran's throat. He caught both with a single hand, his expression unchanging.
"You'll need more than steel, girl," he said, twisting. Arin spun away, landing beside Kael.
"I'll distract him," she growled. "Get the rest out of here!"
Kael shook his head. "No one runs."
With a sharp whistle, Jia unleashed a wave of crimson lotus fire, forcing the armored soldiers back. Meiya, chanting low, conjured a spirit sigil that bloomed beneath Kael's feet—his qi surged, threads of golden flame wrapping around his limbs.
Araya stood by the crystal cocoon, arms outstretched, weaving protective seals around the throne.
Eiran's blade appeared in his hand without movement. Not drawn—manifested. A weapon of thought, forged of divine essence.
He struck.
Kael met the blow, sword against pure light. The impact shook the chamber, cracks spidering across the obsidian floor. Their weapons shrieked as they clashed again, Kael's strength barely enough to hold Eiran at bay.
But with every strike, Kael's foundation held. His base—sharpened, refined, forged in hardship—endured.
"You're not like the rest," Eiran admitted. "There's fire in your core… too bad you'll never grow into it."
Kael smirked through clenched teeth. "You talk too much."
Araya completed her seal.
A shimmering barrier surged up around the cocooned king behind her. "It's done!" she called. "Now protect it!"
Jia and Meiya fought side by side, the skyfire of the Lotus Clan mixing with Meiya's illusions. Every time the enemy tried to breach the throne, they were turned back—wounded, confused, burning.
But Eiran was different.
Kael fought him with everything—force, speed, instinct—and yet Eiran adapted, always a half-step ahead.
Then came a break.
Eiran struck too wide, Kael ducked low, and slammed his palm into Eiran's chest.
The strike wasn't just martial—it was ancestral. Kael poured the essence of the Forgotten Line into the blow.
Eiran reeled back, coughing blood for the first time in centuries.
Kael stood tall, eyes glowing gold. "You're not the only one with a bloodline."
At that moment, the throne behind them pulsed.
The cocoon cracked.
The man inside opened his eyes.
Golden. Piercing. Alive.
"Son…" he whispered.
And the world trembled.
The crystal cocoon shattered.
Not with a roar—but a sound like time breaking. Shards of gleaming soulstone scattered into the air, drifting like snow. At the heart of the throne chamber, the man—tall, armored in bloodred and starlight—rose.
His eyes locked on Kael.
Golden met golden.
Kael froze. A tidal wave of recognition crashed through his soul—not memories, but echoes. Battles fought in the void. A woman's scream. A gate that burned the stars as it closed. And above all, a promise whispered into the wind: "He will awaken. And when he does, the heavens will tremble."
"Your name," the man said, his voice deep and calm, yet resonant with an ancient weight. "Speak it."
Kael clenched his fists. "Kael. Kael of no clan, raised among ashes, born to no banner—"
The man stepped down from the dais. "Wrong."
He stood before Kael now, eyes blazing.
"You are Kael of the Forgotten Line. Heir of the Obsidian Throne. My blood. My son."
Gasps echoed through the chamber.
Jia lowered her burning hands, her eyes wide. Araya had tears streaking her cheeks. Even Meiya, calm and quiet, held her breath.
But it was Eiran who reacted with rage.
"You should have stayed dead!" he shouted, leaping forward, divine blade drawn.
The King moved.
He didn't leap or lunge. He stepped—and the ground cracked. With a single open palm, he caught Eiran's descending sword. Divine metal hissed against his skin—and broke.
Eiran stumbled back, stunned.
The King's voice was like thunder contained. "You touch my son again, and I will shatter your soul across every realm."
Kael had never felt smaller—or prouder.
"Father…" he breathed.
The King turned to him. "There is no time for reunion. The Heavens know you live. The Tribunal will send more. But for now—" He faced Eiran. "This one belongs to me."
Kael stepped back, letting his father advance.
They clashed.
God against ghost.
King against executioner.
Eiran fought with fury, summoning blades of judgment and storms of celestial light. But the King fought with truth—strikes that echoed in the fabric of reality, each blow unweaving fate itself. Stone melted. Shadows screamed.
Kael watched, heart hammering, memorizing every motion.
Behind him, Jia approached, placing a hand on his shoulder. "He's everything they feared."
Kael nodded. "And I'm his son."
Eiran fell, screaming, cast into the abyss beneath the mountain.
The King turned, bloodless and calm.
"There will be more," he said. "Many more."
Kael stood straighter. "Then we stand. Together."
The King looked to the rest—Araya, Jia, Meiya, and Arin. "Then we train."
He raised his hand—and the throne rumbled.
Ancient doors opened behind the dais.
Revealing a staircase that spiraled downward into the earth, where light pulsed like a beating heart.
"The true legacy of our line begins below."
Kael took the first step.