The Silence Before the Burning
Ash hung thick in the sky like a suffocating shroud. Where once the skies above Valemire blazed with stars, now they churned with smoke and sorcery, fire and forgotten names. The remnants of the Elder Order's final stand smoldered beneath broken towers and fractured sigils. Yet, amidst the ruin, the world refused to die quietly.
Kael stood on the ledge of the broken amphitheater, overlooking the valley. The wind tugged at his cloak, and behind his eyes, the whispers had turned into a roar.
The Darksword pulsed.
It had never done that before.
"I know what you are now," Kael muttered to the blade. "And you know what I'm becoming."
The sword didn't reply. It didn't need to.
From behind him, footsteps crunched through scorched gravel. Not stealthy. Not friendly.
"Surrendering to theatrics again, Darkspawn?" Rhena's voice cut through the cold like a blade.
Kael smirked. "If we're doomed, I'd rather go down looking dramatic."
She stopped beside him. Her armor was dented, blackened in places, but her eyes still burned with the same silver fury that had haunted him since their first meeting.
"There are reports," she said. "Of something moving in the Inner Depths. Something… old."
Kael didn't look away from the valley. "Let me guess. The thing that's been whispering to me through the sword?"
Rhena hesitated. "Maybe. But there's more."
Of course there was.
The Chain of Curses
Beneath the valley floor lay tunnels—ancient, forbidden, riddled with glyphs that hummed when spoken aloud. The Elder Order had sealed them centuries ago, after the War of the Shattered Moon. The seals had held.
Until Kael touched the sword.
"I didn't open it," he said defensively, as they descended into the darkness. "It opened itself."
"You are the sword," Rhena said sharply. "You may not want to admit it, but whatever it is… it's responding to you."
Kael winced. "Thanks for the pep talk."
They moved through the darkness, lanterns flickering. The symbols lining the walls pulsed in time with Kael's heartbeat. Rhena reached out toward one—only to recoil as it hissed and sizzled beneath her fingers.
"Curse-warded," she muttered. "Typical."
They were not alone.
Shadows stirred just out of reach. Movements without footsteps. Voices that echoed without breath. And deeper still—where even the air had grown stale—Kael felt the hum become a thrum. Like a heartbeat. Like breathing.
No.
Like awakening.
The Leviathan Below
They found it chained to the roots of the world.
A creature not born of flesh, but of despair. Its form was fluid, constantly shifting—smoke, bone, metal, hunger. Thousands of runes had been carved across its body, each glowing faintly with the last breaths of the Elders who died to bind it.
"The Leviathan of Flame," Rhena whispered. "One of the original Forged. I thought it was a myth."
Kael stared at it, heart pounding.
It wasn't just chained.
It was connected—to the sword. To him.
The creature stirred as Kael stepped forward. No growl, no roar. Just a low, mournful exhale that made the entire chamber tremble.
"Son of Ash."
Kael's blood turned to ice.
"Return my name."
The Darksword surged in his hand. Pain lanced through his skull. Memories not his own ripped through his mind: battles across flaming fields, gods falling, empires crumbling. A war so ancient it had no record, only scars.
And in all of them—the Leviathan burned at the center.
"You were the blade," Kael whispered. "Before they broke you. Before they turned you into… this."
"Say it."
The word clawed at the back of Kael's throat. A name. A truth. A key.
Rhena stepped forward, grabbing his arm. "Don't. You don't know what it will do."
"I do," Kael said grimly. "It'll finish what I started."
He spoke the name aloud.
The Leviathan screamed—and the world shook.
The Rise of Fireborne
Outside, the sky cracked open. Flames curled upward from the veins of the earth, and from the ashes of ruined Valemire, figures began to rise.
Not undead.
Not Forged.
Fireborne.
Beings born from the Leviathan's breath. Armored in molten light, carrying shards of memory in every step. Dozens. Hundreds. A new army, loyal not to kings, not to gods, but to Kael.
Rhena stared in horror. "You've unleashed a war we can't stop."
Kael didn't argue.
He looked toward the heavens. The stars were no longer visible—just clouds of ash and flame.
"We don't need to stop it," he said quietly. "We need to finish it."
And deep below, the Leviathan let out one final sigh.
Then shattered—its essence flowing into Kael, into the sword, into the earth itself.
The Crowning of Ash
By nightfall, Kael stood where the Elder Council once ruled.
Around him, the Fireborne gathered.
Rhena, bloodied but alive, watched from a distance. Her sword was still drawn—but her hand trembled.
"Kael… what are you now?"
Kael looked down at the Darksword. It no longer felt like a weapon. It felt like an extension of his will. The world had tried to chain him. Bury him. Control him.
But now?
Now, the world would kneel.
"I'm the end of their age," he said. "And the beginning of mine."