The first flame appeared at dusk.A single spark blooming in the fog like an ember in the veins of the world. Then another. Then dozens—until the night burned with moving fire.
Kael felt them before he saw them. The ground trembled beneath armored feet; the air filled with the hiss of sanctified torches.He and Serah stood on the ridge overlooking the plain. The ruins of Eryndor glowed faintly below, their shadows flickering like the ghosts of a city waiting to be judged.
Serah's face turned pale.
"The Inquisitors of the Old Flame," she whispered. "The last priests of the dead gods."
Kael's hand went to his sword."How did they find us?"
"They always find what the gods fear."
The first ranks emerged from the mist—figures in heavy crimson armor, masks shaped like snarling suns, each bearing a torch burning with white fire. Behind them marched standard-bearers, their banners woven from ash-black silk that writhed as if alive.
A single voice thundered from their vanguard:
"Kael of the Void! Kneel before the Light, or be unmade!"
Kael's gold-rimmed eyes caught the firelight.He drew his blade, the steel humming with a sound that was not entirely of this world.
"I've knelt enough for one lifetime."
The Inquisitors roared and charged.
The Battle in the Ash
Steel met steel with a scream that split the fog. Sparks flew. Kael moved like a storm, his sword carving arcs of pale light. The first Inquisitor fell, cleaved from shoulder to breastplate, white fire spilling from the wound like molten wax.
Another swung a halberd wreathed in sacred flame. Kael caught the blow, twisted, and drove his elbow into the man's visor. Bone cracked. The helmet collapsed inward.
Serah stood behind him, chanting under her breath. The air shimmered around her; the runes carved into her wrists flared with dark light. She raised her hands, and the ground beneath the Inquisitors turned to black glass, swallowing their feet like tar.
"Kael!" she cried. "They won't stop! The Light cannot allow the Void to live!"
Kael's vision blurred. He could feel it rising inside him—the hum, the warmth, the hunger. His veins burned gold. His heart struck once, twice, then faltered.
The voice returned."Let go. They burn in your name."
Kael gritted his teeth."No…"
"You are the flame that unmade the gods."
He screamed, and the world answered.
The Awakening
A burst of golden fire exploded from him—neither holy nor hellish, but something in between. The shockwave hurled men and stone alike through the air. The torches of the Inquisitors went out, devoured by the lightless blaze.
Kael stood at the center of the storm, his cloak torn, eyes ablaze like molten suns. Every breath he took bent the air.
He swung his sword once, and the fire followed—a vast arc of gold that carved through armor and prayer alike. The Inquisitors fell screaming, their bodies reduced to ash before they touched the ground.
When the smoke cleared, only silence remained. The survivors had fled into the fog, leaving their dead behind to smolder like dying coals.
Kael fell to one knee, gasping. His hands trembled; his skin was hot to the touch. The runes burned into his flesh, glowing brighter with each heartbeat.
Serah rushed to him, kneeling at his side.
"Kael! Stop—breathe! You're tearing yourself apart!"
He tried to speak, but his voice was drowned beneath the sound inside his skull—a rhythmic, thunderous pounding.
"The Crown remembers…" the voice said."And the world trembles."
Kael's scream echoed across the valley.
Aftermath
When he finally opened his eyes, the dawn had come.The ash-fields were quiet again, littered with charred armor and twisted banners. The air shimmered faintly where his fire had burned away the night.
Serah sat beside him, watching the sunrise with a look of awe and terror.
"You shouldn't be alive," she whispered. "No one should wield that much power and survive."
Kael stared at his hands—scarred, shaking, still faintly glowing beneath the skin."I didn't wield it," he said. "It used me."
Serah turned to him.
"Then you must learn to control it… before it decides what you are."
Kael looked toward the horizon where the sky split in faint lines of crimson. He could feel it there—something vast and ancient, awakening beneath the earth.The world was changing.And he was the reason why.
He rose slowly, gripping his sword, his voice low and steady:
"If this is what the Crown wants… it will learn that I burn back."
And as they left the valley of the dead, the ashes of the Inquisitors stirred in the wind—forming, for an instant, the shape of a crown before scattering into the gray sky.