"Empires fall when kings die. But kingdoms end when kings awaken."
— The Black Chronicle of Urran-Kai, lost scripture of the Eastwinds
I.
When Reginal returned from the Tomb of the First Fang, the world tilted.
The sky itself grew darker — not in shadow, but in weight. Lightning struck twice where it once struck once. Winds bent around his fortress. Crows flew lower.
The land remembered who it once served.
And kingdoms… trembled.
For word had spread:
The Crimson Sigil now burned with voidfire.
The boy king had gone beyond Devourer.
He was no longer a rebel, nor conqueror, nor cursed heir.
He was the fated edge of the world.
II.
The kingdoms, in desperation and terror, did what kings and cowards always do when they see their time ending — they united.
The Pact of Ten Crowns was formed.
A final alliance of the remaining kingdoms, Houses, and war-nations — bitter rivals forged into a brittle alliance by their shared fear of House Embersong.
Each kingdom brought its own horror to the table:
The White Paladins of Eshkar, blessed by false gods and draped in armor that bled when struck.
The Nightsworn of Varn, shadow-hunters who flayed souls and sold screams to summon their blades.
The Stormriders of Brakkon, who rode war-elephants bound to thunder spirits.
And worst of all: the Sentient Fortress of Vaeruun, a living city, chained to consciousness, that would crawl across the earth with legions growing from its very walls.
They all had one goal:
End Reginal J. Ashveil.
Burn Embersong before it became inevitable.
III.
Inside the Emberhall, Reginal stood before his war-table. Around him were the greatest generals of his time — though none yet called themselves that:
Kammy, now cloaked in the silver-and-red of the Dreamfang Guard, her eyes sharper than any steel, her blades now bonded with the spirits of two slain gods.
Milo, reborn in the Bloodhowl ritual, now a Fangbeast, his body covered in crimson tattoos that moved with his heartbeat, his voice deeper, older.
Beside them stood newly risen leaders — embers made warriors:
Theruun the Unburned, a fire mage Reginal freed from a sun-prison.
Nyari Duskcaller, a banshee tactician with a voice that killed memory.
And Vaelus, a blind swordsmith who carved warplans with his feet, dancing in sand.
Reginal's hand hovered over the war-map.
Ten kingdoms.
Thousands of troops.
Skyships. Titans. Siege-gods.
And then there was him.
"They call this Ash and Thunder," Kammy whispered.
"Because they think they'll bury us in both."
Reginal smiled.
"Good."
"Let them bring thunder."
"We'll answer with fire."
IV.
The battle began on the Plains of Tor Vhalor.
The Pact of Ten Crowns descended like a divine plague. Siege weapons powered by dragon hearts. Airships that rained swords. Engines fed by children's screams. Marching hymns of judgment.
And then, House Embersong answered.
Kammy led the Veilblade Strike — cutting into the command lines like whispers through a dream, decapitating entire legions before the drums could sound.
Milo launched into the flanks with the Howl Guard, leaving nothing but shattered helmets and bloodied earth in their wake.
The Emberborn chanted old war-prayers, lighting themselves on fire before charging.
And then Reginal walked onto the battlefield — alone.
Not running.
Not riding.
Just walking — as Velkrath floated beside him, singing with voices of every warlord who had ever been slain.
V.
The Sentient Fortress of Vaeruun — three hundred feet tall, covered in spiked towers and wailing ramparts — moved to meet him.
It opened its gate-mouth. From it came not troops… but the voices of every soul it had ever consumed.
Reginal raised his hand.
Velkrath extended.
Then he spoke.
"I am not here to rule."
"I am here to replace you."
He leapt.
And the sky cracked.
He tore through the city itself, rending streets from spines, ripping the heart of the Fortress — a sentient core called The Root-Mind — from the inside, dragging it into the light.
The Root-Mind begged.
Reginal whispered:
"No kings. No gods. No cities without soul."
And he crushed it with one hand.
The fortress collapsed.
VI.
By sundown, the battle was over.
The Pact of Ten was now the Ash of Nine.
Thousands of soldiers threw down their weapons and begged to join him. Whole cities raised the Crimson Sigil willingly.
And the wind began to carry a phrase not spoken in generations:
"Fangborn."
"Fangborn."
"Fangborn."
VII.
Back in the Emberhall, Milo drank in silence. Kammy traced the battlefield scars on Reginal's arms like constellations.
"What now?" Milo asked.
Reginal didn't look up from the map.
"They thought this was thunder."
"But thunder is after lightning."
"I'm the lightning."
He looked to the east — where the old gods still hid behind golden cities, and where something darker had begun to stir.
"It's time we remind the world…"
"...why it ever feared the Fang."
TO BE CONTINUED…
Next: Chapter VIII — "The Golden City and the Godless Crown"
The holy city of Soltharyn dares to call Reginal a false king. Their sun-god lives still… but Reginal is coming.