The Ashen Spire stood like a jagged fang against the dimming sky — half-consumed by centuries of fire, half-alive with the whispers of the dead. What once was a grand tower of the Fireborn Clans had been reduced to a crucible of twisted rites, now repurposed by Malrik's corrupted faithful.
The gates groaned open as Kael and his companions approached. No guards. No warnings.
Just the scent of scorched iron and the distant sound of a heartbeat not his own.
"Feels like a trap," Eren muttered, his twin knives already drawn.
"It is," Kael said calmly.
They stepped inside.
The chamber was vast — circular, with obsidian stonework laced in red veins. At the center stood a brazier ten feet high, its flame blackened and still. Chains hung from the ceiling like the discarded limbs of some great beast.
And across the chamber knelt a figure in rusted crimson armor.
"I am Kharoth," the figure rasped, rising. "Last true Warden of the Flame. If you seek the Spire's blessing, you must bleed for it."
Kael didn't hesitate. "Then let me bleed."
Kharoth roared, and the chamber erupted.
Walls of fire encircled them, separating Kael from the others.
Pyra slammed a fist into the barrier. "Kael!"
But the flames held firm.
"This is his trial," Isryn murmured, stepping back. "If we interfere… he fails."
Inside the circle, Kharoth charged like a living forge.
Kael met him head-on.
Sparks exploded as Veyrhaal clashed against the Warden's twin axes, the sound like mountains splitting apart. Kael gritted his teeth, feeling the heat worm into his bones.
Kharoth was relentless — every strike a furnace blast, every step a small quake. But Kael moved like fire itself, weaving through the onslaught, his blade singing with each deflection.
"Veyrhaal — Awaken."
With a surge of red lightning, the sword answered. Runes blazed along its length. Kael spun.
"Ashrend Spiral."
A whirling arc of crimson wind burst outward, flinging Kharoth across the chamber.
The Warden coughed smoke. "Good. But flame isn't only destruction. It's endurance."
He rose again. This time, his body ignited — flames consuming his flesh, his armor fusing to charred muscle. His eyes burned like coals.
Kael stood tall. "So burn with me."
He focused.
The red aura around him condensed, sharper, darker — until it nearly turned black. The ground beneath cracked, molten energy spiraling upward.
"Black Requiem."
He vanished — then reappeared above Kharoth in a flash of blood-red light, blade descending with cataclysmic force. The impact shattered stone, sending ripples through the chamber.
Silence.
Kharoth fell to one knee, smoke pouring from the cracks in his armor. But instead of striking again, Kael planted his blade.
"I don't kill those who hold to honor," he said, voice steady. "Even if you were turned."
The Warden stared at him.
Then — with slow, deliberate motion — he bowed.
"You… are worthy."
The flames vanished.
The chamber stilled.
Kael's companions rushed in as the barrier dropped. Pyra was first to reach him, her gaze sharp. "You alright?"
"Still breathing."
"Barely," Darric added. "What the hell was that?"
Kael didn't answer at first. He looked to the brazier.
The black flame had turned red.
"Just the first trial."