Rath's body jerked violently as Kael's blade pierced his chest. The throne room held its breath.
The blackened energy swirling around the tyrant flickered.
Rath looked down at the sword embedded in him, then back up at Kael. There was no rage in his eyes now—only shock. As if, in all his centuries of torment, he never imagined this moment could come.
"You…" he whispered. "You were never supposed to matter."
Kael didn't answer.
He twisted the blade.
A deep, guttural sound escaped Rath's throat, and the darkness around him howled in agony, dispersing like ash in the wind.
Collapse
Rath stumbled back, clutching his chest, the cursed sword slipping from his grasp and shattering against the floor. The moment it broke, a chain reaction tore through the magic sustaining his unnatural life.
Cracks webbed across the stone beneath him.
The throne split in two.
Above them, the ceiling began to tremble.
"KAEL!" Lyra cried, running to him, grabbing his wrist. "We have to move—this whole place is falling!"
Kael's knees gave out.
Thorn was already scooping up Merek while Elira and Vess pulled debris off the main path. Dust and fire poured from the cracks overhead.
Rath fell to his knees.
"I… made myself a god…" he muttered. "And still… I was defeated… by the last name…"
Kael looked over his shoulder.
"No," he said. "You were defeated by the people you thought were beneath you."
And then the ceiling caved in.
Escape From Ruin
The group burst from the collapsing palace as flames and smoke swallowed the skyline. The night was pierced by the sound of crumbling stone and the roar of ancient spells unraveling.
Outside, Kael fell to one knee again, blood still leaking from his side. Lyra caught him.
"You did it," she said. "He's gone."
Kael didn't answer.
He stared into the burning capital.
He didn't feel victory.
Only the weight of everyone who'd died getting him here.
Ashes of a Kingdom
They camped in the hills just beyond the city's edge.
Elira treated wounds in silence.
Vess kept watch, bow still ready, even with Rath dead.
Merek lay flat on the grass, eyes closed, whispering prayers to gods he'd never believed in until now.
Thorn passed out halfway through telling a story.
And Kael sat alone.
He reached into his coat and pulled out a scrap of fabric: his mother's shawl. Burnt at the edge. Faded. But still there.
He closed his eyes.
He didn't cry.
He couldn't.
The Last Name Lives
As dawn crept over the horizon, Lyra joined him.
"Rath was the last," she said.
Kael looked at her. "That's what I thought."
She hesitated. "There's something I didn't tell you."
His jaw tensed. "What?"
"I overheard Rath's final whisper… something about the First Bloodline. A hidden heir. He said he was only the last king—not the last hand."
Kael's heart sank.
The name wasn't finished.
Not yet.
He looked east, toward the untouched borderlands.
Toward the shadows that remained.
To be continue...