Kael Azreth had always believed he understood what it meant to burn.
He had felt the crackle of raw flame devouring his flesh when the sigils first carved into his skin. He had known the taste of searing pain, the stench of charred bone, the silence that follows after screaming too long. But this fire—this wasn't the fire of battle or betrayal.
This was different.
This was the fire of being watched by something ancient. Not evil—no, that would have been easier. But ancient, with a mind that operated beyond right or wrong. It looked at him like a collector assessing the worth of a broken blade.
And in this moment, Kael wasn't sure he was worth anything at all.
The chamber was too quiet. Only the soft hum of the glyph-lined walls echoed back his breath. His wrists ached from the obsidian shackles that hung him half-suspended from the central obelisk. Blood ran down his arms, slow and rhythmic, painting the stone beneath him in a crimson spiral.
He didn't remember how long it had been since he was brought here. Maybe hours. Maybe days. Time dissolved when pain became a language of its own.
"Awake again, are we?" a voice murmured from the edge of the firelight. Female. Amused. Mocking.
Kael raised his head, just barely. His vision blurred, then sharpened.
She stood draped in crimson and black, her mask carved from bone, etched with runes that pulsed faintly with power. Her voice had the cold confidence of someone who could end kingdoms with a whisper. He didn't know her name—but she was the one in control here.
"Why don't you just kill me?" Kael rasped.
She tilted her head. "Because you're still interesting."
He spat blood, and she let it land at her feet without flinching.
"You think this cage is your end, Kael Azreth?" she asked, circling him slowly. "You haven't even glimpsed the threshold of your purpose. Do you know what you carry inside you?"
"I don't care," he growled. "If you're after the flame—take it. But you won't use me."
The masked woman stopped behind him. For a heartbeat, nothing moved.
Then she whispered, "Oh, Kael… the flame isn't yours to give."
And she plunged a hand into his back.
Not physically. Not flesh and blood.
But it felt like a thousand hooks tore through his soul.
He screamed. Not in pain—though there was plenty of that—but in fury. Raw, feral, unfiltered rage that cracked the air and made the walls tremble. The bindings glowed white-hot, trying to suppress the surge, but Kael didn't care. For the first time since he entered this wretched sanctum, he felt something stir.
The fire in his chest wasn't passive anymore.
It snarled.
It moved.
The woman jerked her hand back, breathless. A flicker of unease danced across her composure.
"You're waking it too soon," she hissed to herself.
Kael slumped forward, the chains rattling violently. His vision swam with darkness. He barely heard her footsteps as she retreated, leaving him alone.
He laughed, hoarse and broken.
Because if she was afraid… that meant he still had a chance.
Elsewhere. Far away.
The warband rode beneath a crimson sky, ash falling like rain. Among them, cloaked and silent, rode a girl with silver eyes. Her name was Seris.
She was only sixteen, yet she bore the weight of an ancient bloodline long forgotten.
The whispers had told her that Kael Azreth was still alive.
They had told her that he would be the one to burn the old gods from their thrones.
But he would need her to survive it.
Back in the chamber.
Kael dreamed.
He stood before a throne of glass. Empty. The hall was shattered, moonlight streaming through collapsed stone. On the walls, tapestries of battles he hadn't fought. Names he didn't recognize. Symbols that felt like they had once mattered.
He was alone. Yet not.
From the far side of the hall, a boy stepped into view.
Young. Barefoot. Wrapped in a robe of ashes.
Kael stared.
The boy's eyes were burning.
"You let it die," the boy whispered.
Kael tried to speak, but no sound came.
"You let us die."
And then the hall burned. Silent fire. White as snow. Cold as betrayal.
Kael awoke screaming.
The chains clattered. A distant alarm hummed to life.
He was breathing hard, body soaked in sweat and blood. But something had changed. Something inside him had shifted.
The fire was listening now.
And it wanted out.
Far beyond the walls of the sanctum, on the edge of the Hollow Wastes…
A shadow moved across the sands. Taller than towers. A creature of broken prophecy, risen again.
Its head turned. It sniffed the air.
The flame had stirred.
The Oathbreaker had awakened.
And the hunt would begin.