The storm had passed, but the world felt hollow.
Ash drifted through the air like falling snow, coating the valley where Yù Lóng's corrupted form had perished. Nothing stirred — no birds, no wind, only the echo of what had burned.
Kaito stood among the ruins, cloak torn, the hilt of his shattered blade clutched in his hand. The Blazeward's light was gone. The weapon that once held Yù Lóng's fire now felt like a corpse in his grasp.
Eira knelt beside him, bandaging a deep gash across her side. "The dragon's essence is gone," she murmured. "But I can still feel the Null Flame — like a pulse under the earth."
Kaito said nothing. His eyes were distant, fixed on the horizon where dawn tried and failed to break through the gray sky. "It's not over," he said quietly. "Seraphine was only the beginning. The Null Flame was meant to awaken something greater."
A rustle came from behind them — the faint sound of boots on scorched soil. Eira turned sharply, lightning flickering in her palms.
"Peace," a calm voice said. "If I wanted you dead, I'd have spoken in prayers, not words."
From the smoke emerged a tall, robed figure in ash-gray garments. His hood was drawn low, but his eyes gleamed faintly gold beneath the shadow. In his hand, he carried a staff of twisted obsidian, carved with dragon runes.
"I am called The Archivist," he said, voice low and patient. "Keeper of what your brother sought, Kaito of the Graveborn. And I come bearing truth — or what's left of it."
Eira tensed. "Another mystic? We've had enough riddles."
But Kaito raised a hand. "Adrian's journals spoke of you," he said slowly. "He mentioned a man who guards the memory of the dragons. I thought it was myth."
The Archivist smiled faintly. "Most truths are." He walked past them, touching the blackened earth. "This place will never heal. The Null Flame burns more than life — it burns the record of what life was. If left unchecked, even history itself will vanish."
Kaito's jaw tightened. "Then tell me how to stop it."
"You cannot," the Archivist said simply. "Not alone. Not as you are now."
Before Kaito could respond, a horn sounded in the distance — low, mournful, echoing across the valley. Shadows moved on the cliffs above. A column of armored riders descended through the smoke, their banners stitched with crimson wings and black suns.
"The emperor's remnants?" Eira asked, already drawing her curved daggers.
"Not quite," the Archivist murmured. "These are the Ashborne Covenant — survivors, zealots, and oathbreakers alike. They seek to control the Null Flame, believing it the divine judgment of dragons."
At their head rode a woman clad in scarlet armor streaked with soot. Her helm was open, revealing a scarred face and eyes like cold iron. She dismounted with the precision of a commander who had forgotten mercy.
"Kaito of the Graveborn," she called, her voice cutting through the smoke. "You slew Seraphine. You destroyed Yù Lóng's ghost. You've earned an audience."
Kaito's stance stiffened. "Who speaks for the Covenant?"
"I do," she said. "Commander Reika, heir of the Burned Legions."
Eira whispered, "She's supposed to be dead. She burned with the Third Citadel."
Reika smirked faintly. "Death doesn't mean much these days." She looked Kaito over. "You fight with dragonfire, and you bear their curse. Join us, and I'll give you what you seek — the means to extinguish the Null Flame forever."
Kaito's eyes narrowed. "And what would you gain?"
"Control," Reika said bluntly. "If the flame must exist, better in my hand than in the hands of ghosts."
The Archivist stepped forward, staff glowing faintly. "And so the age turns again. Every empire thinks it can tame fire."
Reika's gaze hardened. "Old man, stay your tongue before I remove it."
But before blood could be spilled, the wind shifted. From the east came a faint sound — not thunder, but chanting. Low, rhythmic, carried on the air like a curse.
"The Whispering Monk," the Archivist muttered. "He's here."
Reika's composure cracked. "You told me he was dead."
"He was," the Archivist said grimly. "But the Null Flame changes death."
From the mist emerged a solitary figure in tattered white robes, face hidden behind a wooden mask carved with a single burning rune. Every step he took left the ground scorched and blackened. The chanting grew louder — not from his lips, but from the air itself, as if the world echoed his voice.
He stopped before Kaito. "Graveborn," he said softly. "Your fire once burned for vengeance. Now it burns for silence. Do you know what that means?"
Kaito met his gaze. "That I still have something left to lose."
The monk tilted his head. "Then perhaps you will survive what comes next."
The earth trembled. The ashes shifted like waves. From deep below, a pulse of black fire erupted — faint, but rising. The Null Flame was awakening again.
Reika drew her sword. "Fall back!"
Eira gripped Kaito's arm. "We can't stay here!"
But Kaito didn't move. His eyes were fixed on the ground, where faint golden sparks glimmered among the ash. A whisper touched his thoughts — Yù Lóng's voice, fragile and distant:
The fire is not your enemy, Kaito. It is your mirror.
He clenched his fist around the broken hilt of Blazeward. "Then let it rise," he murmured. "Because this time… I'll shape it."
As the valley erupted once more in dark flame, the four — Kaito, Eira, Reika, and the Archivist — vanished into the storm, bound not by trust, but by the fire that refused to die.
And in the distance, the Whispering Monk watched, his mask splitting into a smile carved from shadow.
"The Covenant is formed," he whispered. "And so begins the second burning."