Chapter 18 – Flame Beneath the Mountain
The path to Mount Narthul was a gauntlet of ash and secrecy.
Cassien led Jean and Whitney through the old smuggler's roads—ancient caverns once used by rebels during the early Iron Wars. The deeper they went, the hotter the air became. The mountain breathed heat now, awakened by rituals not meant for mortal hands.
They emerged near the crater's edge.
And saw it.
A cathedral of flame, half-formed and pulsing with dragon runes. Obsidian spires curved into the sky. Crimson-robed cultists chanted at its base, surrounding a massive skeletal structure: a dragon corpse—its bones blackened, its skull marked with divine seals being torn apart by magic.
Jean's eyes widened. "They're not summoning… they're resurrecting."
Whitney snarled. "That's a flameborn. One of Antares' original lieutenants."
Cassien raised a spyglass. "There's a priest at the center. Tall, armored in scaled red, face hidden. He's using a blood-forged staff to undo the seals. That's what's keeping the creature from waking."
Jean narrowed her eyes.
"We destroy that staff."
Suddenly, the earth shook.
A roar rippled from beneath.
The skeletal dragon moved.
Jean didn't wait. She flared her aura, drawing the Radiant Fang in a blaze of divine light. Her cloak tore in the wind. Whitney leapt beside her, transforming mid-air into his Dire Wolf form, his divine markings blazing golden.
They charged.
Cassien remained above, firing enchanted crossbows into the cultist ranks, disrupting their ritual. Jean slammed into the first line of zealots, blade spinning with elegance and fury. Every strike disrupted runes and snapped bones.
Then she saw him.
The High Flame Priest.
He stood atop the dragon's ribcage, chanting, his staff pulsing with molten light. Fire coiled around him like a serpent.
"You are too late, Emissary!" he roared, voice echoing through the mountain. "Antares rises! And his kin shall raze your empires!"
Jean launched herself upward, aura forming radiant wings for a moment—just enough to reach him.
Their blades met in the air.
His staff clashed with Radiant Fang, releasing a shockwave of divine and cursed energy. Fire and light spiraled as they dueled atop the dragon's body. Whitney tackled a flaming wyrm that burst from the crater's side, locking it in a brutal fight.
Then Jean feinted low and cut through the priest's arm.
He screamed as the staff fell—Jean grabbed it, and with a final cry, drove Radiant Fang through its core.
It shattered.
The ritual faltered.
The dragon skeleton convulsed, then exploded into ash.
Silence.
Only wind and dying flame remained.
Jean stood on the ash-strewn ridge, breathing heavily, her cloak charred, the Radiant Fang still aglow.
Cassien emerged, bloody but alive. Whitney padded beside her, limping slightly.
Jean whispered, "They're moving faster than we thought."
Whitney nodded. "And we've just drawn their eyes."
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