"To challenge a god is madness.
But to conquer one is memory — and memory lives forever."
— Inscription on the Bladewall of Soltharyn, defaced after the siege
I.
The sun hung low, as if it, too, feared what was to come.
Soltharyn, jewel of the high south, stood upon the golden cliffs of Kherathel — its towers kissed by light, its walls laced with divinity. Built in the age of old flame and first speech, its throne was not ruled by mortal blood, but by a divine flame — Solmara, the Living Sun-God.
Here, priests walked with flames for eyes.
Here, angels wore armor etched with screams.
Here, kings were no more than footstools for the divine.
But this day… something darker than shadow approached the gate.
And its name was Reginal J. Ashveil.
II.
The march was silent.
No horns. No drums. No boasts.
Just the rhythmic stomp of House Embersong, now ten thousand strong — a tide of blackened steel, ember-plated monstrosities, dreambound archers, and whisper-mages whose tongues were cut to preserve the purity of death.
At its center rode Reginal, seated on a beast forged from the bones of dragons and the iron will of slaves. His armor no longer shimmered — it absorbed light.
Velkrath pulsed beside him like a hungry planet, folding in and out of reality.
"This city calls itself holy," he murmured to Kammy, who rode beside him, her blades sheathed but glowing.
"Then let's make it bleed like anything else."
III.
The gates of Soltharyn opened.
But not to welcome.
To warn.
From it poured flame-armored paladins, winged avatars, and golden war-machines fed by the prayers of orphans and the tears of the faithful.
And above it all, hovering in radiant light, was Solmara — a god of molten gold, no face, only light and voice, booming like suns colliding.
"Turn back, Fangborn," Solmara intoned.
"This city is holy. You are not welcome."
Reginal dismounted.
He did not unsheathe his blade.
He raised one hand.
"If you are god," he said, "then bleed like one."
IV.
The sky shattered.
Solmara descended like a falling star, golden chains dragging the sky with it.
And Reginal met the god with bare hands.
The impact cracked the battlefield, sending shockwaves that turned men to red mist.
Reginal's laughter echoed as he was slammed into the earth — but from the crater, he rose, eyes smoking, blood boiling with something older than sin.
"I don't kill gods," he spat, spitting golden blood.
"I rewrite them."
Then he drew Velkrath.
The blade did not cut — it revealed.
Solmara's divine light warped, flickered.
"You are… not mortal," the god whispered, faltering.
"No," Reginal said, stepping forward.
"I am the part of man you left behind when you called yourself divine."
And he pierced the sun.
V.
The scream shook temples in other countries.
Solmara fell.
Not like a meteor.
Like a child being dropped.
And when Reginal stood over the burning remnants of what had once been a god, he took its crown — not gold, not light, but will — and crushed it into the dirt.
"Soltharyn is no longer a city of gods," he declared.
"It is a city of flame."
VI.
The citizens emerged from hiding.
Not one fled.
Not one wept.
They knelt.
And in the light of the burning temples, Reginal turned to Kammy and Milo.
"It's started," he said.
"What has?" Kammy asked.
"Godfall."
"If gods can die, then who decides what replaces them?"
TO BE CONTINUED…
Next: Chapter IX – "The Banner of Bone"
With Soltharyn fallen, Reginal sends a message across the world. Not one of peace. But of claim.
A war council is formed — and one enemy, long hidden, begins to rise from beneath the continents.