In the lower rungs of the Tower
A thousand lesser factions whispered the new name like prayer and curse.
"Flamebreaker."
Mercenaries etched it into tavern walls. Pilgrims muttered it with awe as they crossed domains that once bent to Kaelith's shadow. Guildmasters began shifting resources, preparing for the inevitable upheaval.
To defy inevitability was to prove the Tower itself could be bent. And that meant the rules of Ascension were no longer untouchable.
In the middle floors, among rival Ascenders
Some laughed, some raged.
"Good," snarled Vorrak, the Anvil Thought, from within the war-prisons of his faction. "If Kaelith can fall, so can the rest. Even the Thrones."
Others recoiled in dread. A trio of Ascender-lords from rival factions gathered, voices low:
"You don't understand. The Ants nurtured him. Fed him fragments. This wasn't chance. This was… design."
"And now the Upper Thrones know. He won't last."
"…Or he'll consume them."
Among Leon's allies
