The northern bog loomed ahead, a vast expanse of murky water, rotting vegetation, and thick, black mist. The air hung heavy with the stench of decay and the faint, sickly hum of dark magic—stronger here than anywhere Kael had felt since the Forgotten Crypts.
"This is where the scouts lost Titus," Leah said, her silver eyes scanning the mist. She held a elven tracking stone in her hand, its glow dimmed by the darkness. "His trail leads straight into the bog. The locals call it the Bog of Shadows—nothing that enters ever comes out."
Kael nodded, his merged fire glowing faintly in his palm to cut through the mist. The split in his magic was more pronounced here; the dragon fire raged, drawn to the darkness, while the phoenix fire fought to stay alight, its warmth fading. He clenched his fist, forcing them to balance.
"Stay close," he said. "The bog's magic will try to twist our minds. Trust your allies. Trust the light."
They waded into the bog, the murky water soaking their boots, the mud sucking at their feet. Lira, in her human form, walked beside Kael, her hands glowing with phoenix fire, warming the air. Gareth, in his humanoid form, walked at the rear, his claws sharpened, his golden eyes alert. Merlin walked in the center, his staff glowing with green magic, detecting dark magic and hidden threats.
The mist thickened as they went, obscuring their vision. Whispers echoed through the air—sounds of pain, of despair, of voices that sounded like the fallen warriors from the Ironspine Cliffs.
"Stay strong," Merlin said, his voice firm. "The bog feeds on grief. It uses your memories against you."
A low, guttural growl echoed from the mist ahead. A group of creatures emerged—tall, thin, their bodies made of rotting vegetation and dark magic, their eyes glowing red. They wielded claws of blackened wood, their movements jerky but fast.
"Bog wraiths," Gareth said, his voice tight. "Corrupted by the dark magic. They're relentless."
The wraiths charged. Kael summoned his flame sword, the merged fire burning bright. He sliced through a wraith's claw, the fire burning the dark magic from its body. The wraith screamed, dissolving into black smoke.
Leah fired arrows, hitting wraiths between the eyes. Lira launched waves of phoenix fire, burning the wraiths to ash. Gareth transformed into his griffin form, clawing at the wraiths, his roar shaking the bog. Merlin raised his staff, casting spells to repel the dark magic, purging the wraiths' corruption.
The battle was over in minutes. The wraiths lay in piles of ash, the darkness fading from the mist.
"We're getting closer," Leah said, checking the tracking stone. Its glow had brightened, pointing deeper into the bog.
They continued, fighting off more bog wraiths as they went. The dark magic grew stronger, the mist thicker, the whispers louder. Kael's magic wavered, the split widening—dragon fire flaring, phoenix fire dimming. He struggled to balance them, his head throbbing with pain.
"Kael, are you okay?" Lira asked, placing a hand on his arm. Her palm was warm, her phoenix fire helping to steady his magic.
"I'm fine," Kael said, gritting his teeth. "Just… the dark magic is strong."
By midday, the mist began to lift. They reached a small island in the center of the bog, surrounded by murky water. On the island, a massive stone fortress stood—its walls black, its windows glowing with dark magic, its gates emblazoned with a crimson cross.
The Crimson Order's secret
And at the gates, Titus stood, surrounded by a group of Crimson Order soldiers. The dark mist swirled around him, thicker than before, his eyes glowing red with darkness.
"You made it," Titus said, his voice cold. "I knew you would. The puppet master has been waiting for you."
Kael stepped forward, his flame sword burning bright. "Who is the puppet master? Who's pulling your strings?"
Titus laughed, a hollow sound. "You'll see. He's been waiting for the Emberborn. For your blood. For the split light."
He raised his hand, and the gates opened. Inside, the fortress was a labyrinth of stone corridors, cold and damp, the air thick with dark magic. They followed Titus through the corridors, the soldiers surrounding them, their weapons drawn.
They reached a massive chamber—round, with a high ceiling, its walls covered in glowing red runes. In the center of the chamber, a throne of black stone stood. On the throne, a figure sat—tall, clad in a black robe, his face hidden in shadow.
"The Emberborn," the figure said, his voice deep and familiar.
He pulled back his hood, revealing a face that made Kael's blood run cold.
It was his father—the North Duke, Alaric Voss. A man Kael had thought was dead, killed by Julian's men two years ago.
"Father," Kael said, his voice shaking. "You're alive. But how?"
Alaric smiled, a cold, cruel smile. "Death is just a door, Kael. The Ancient One revived me. Gave me power. Power to serve him. Power to shape the realm."
He stood, the dark mist swirling around him. "I am the puppet master. I am the one who created the Crimson Order. I am the one who fueled Titus's fear, who corrupted his mind. I am the one who's been harvesting the Ancient One's darkness, waiting for the split light prophecy to come true."
Kael's jaw tightened. The merged fire in his veins raged, the split widening—dragon fire dominant, hot and angry. "Why? Why would you do this? You're my father. You're a Voss."
"Because the Voss family was meant to rule," Alaric said, his voice cold. "But you ruined it, Kael. You united the four bloodlines. You gave power to elves, to phoenixes, to griffins. You turned humans into equals, not rulers."
He raised his hand, the dark magic swirling around him. "The split light prophecy says the Emberborn's blood is the key. Your blood—dragon and phoenix, split between darkness and light—will break the final seal. It will free the Ancient One's full power, and I will rule the realm as his vessel."
Titus stepped forward, the dark mist fading from around him. His eyes were clear, his face filled with shame. "I'm sorry, Kael. I didn't know. He manipulated me. He made me believe the four bloodlines were a threat."
Alaric sneered. "Foolish Titus. You were just a pawn. A means to an end."
He raised his hand, and the dark magic swirled around him. The runes on the walls glowed brighter, and the chamber shook.
"Now, Kael," Alaric said. "Surrender your blood. Or the realm will burn."
Kael stepped forward, his flame sword burning bright. The merged fire wavered, the split growing deeper—dragon fire screaming for revenge, phoenix fire urging mercy. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.
He thought of Leah, of Lira, of Gareth, of Merlin. He thought of the warriors who'd died for the alliance. He thought of the realm, of the peace they'd fought so hard to build.
He opened his eyes, his resolve hardening. The merged fire burned bright, the split mended—dragon fire and phoenix fire balanced, stronger than ever.
"I will not surrender," Kael said. "I will not let you destroy the realm. I will not let the prophecy win."
Alaric laughed. "Foolish child. You think you can stop me? I am your father. I am stronger than you. I am darkness."
He charged at Kael, his claws glowing with dark magic. Kael swung his flame sword, clashing with Alaric's claws. The two fought—flame against darkness, son against father, light against shadow.
"You are weak, Kael," Alaric said, his voice cold. "You always have been. You let Julian bully you. You let the four bloodlines control you. You are not a Voss. You are a disappointment."
Kael pushed forward, the merged fire burning brighter. He sliced through Alaric's claws, then stabbed him in the chest. Alaric screamed, the dark mist fading from around him. He fell to the ground, his robe clattering.
"Kael… help me," he whispered, his eyes filled with fear. "The darkness… it's controlling me. I didn't want this."
Kael hesitated. For a moment, he saw the old Alaric—the man who'd taught him to fight, who'd told him stories of the Voss family's legacy.
But then the dark mist swirled around Alaric again, and his eyes glowed red. He grabbed Kael's sword, his hands burning, and pushed it back.
"Fool," he said. "You think you can save me? The darkness is too strong. It will consume you too. The split light will destroy you. The realm will fall."
He launched a wave of dark magic at Kael, hitting him square in the chest. Kael flew backward, landing hard on the ground. The merged fire in his veins flickered, the split widening—dragon fire raging, phoenix fire dimming.
"Kael!" Leah shouted, running toward him.
Alaric laughed, pushing himself up. He raised his hand, and the dark magic swirled around him. The runes on the walls glowed brighter, and the chamber began to collapse.
"Goodbye, Kael," Alaric said. "The realm is mine."
But before he could strike, a beam of light shot from the sky—gold, green, white, and orange. It hit Alaric square in the chest, and he screamed, dissolving into black smoke.
Kael looked up. The warriors—Leah, Lira, Gareth, Merlin, and the remaining loyal soldiers—were standing together, their magic combined.
"We're with you," Leah said, helping Kael up.
Kael smiled, summoning his flame sword. The merged fire burned bright again, the split mended.
The chamber continued to collapse, stones falling from the ceiling.
"We need to get out of here," Gareth shouted.
They turned and ran, the warriors following behind. They raced through the corridors, the stones crashing around them. They burst through the gates, into the bog, just as the fortress collapsed, sending a wave of mud and water rushing toward them.
They ran, the wave chasing them. They reached the edge of the bog, collapsing on the dry ground as the wave crashed behind them.
They lay there, breathing hard, covered in mud and sweat. The sun was setting, painting the sky in hues of orange and gold. The Bog of Shadows loomed behind them, its dark magic fading.
"We did it," Leah said, her voice weak.
Kael nodded, his eyes closed. The merged fire in his veins hummed, calm and steady. The split was gone—for now.
But he knew it was only temporary.
The prophecy was still unfolding.
The light would split again.
And his choice—dragon fire or phoenix fire, anger or calm, division or unity—would decide the fate of the realm.
He opened his eyes, looking at his friends. They were tired, injured, but their eyes were full of hope.
The fight was far from over.
But this time, Kael was ready.
He would mend the split.
He would fulfill his destiny as the Emberborn.
He would save the realm.
The merged fire in his veins burned bright, a beacon of light in the fading darkness.