The sky over Eldenhold burned.
Not with ordinary fire.
With **First Flame**—the sacred fire of the dragons reborn, raining down like judgment upon the city that dared defy its god.
Buildings collapsed beneath the weight of falling embers. Streets cracked under the heat. People fled, screaming as shadows passed overhead—wings vast as storm clouds, eyes glowing like dying suns.
Talen led them.
High above, he soared among his kin, his form no longer fully man. His body shimmered with power, his voice carried the weight of ancient command.
> "Bow or burn."
The words echoed across the ruins.
But not all bowed.
From below, a single horn sounded.
Then another.
And another.
The resistance had answered.
---
Vintrinx stood atop the shattered watchtower, rain soaking her cloak, firelight reflecting in her eyes.
Beside her, Seyra adjusted her wings, the silver in her gaze gleaming with anticipation.
"They're coming," Seyra said.
"I know," Vintrinx replied.
She turned to the gathered rebels—Marked warriors, former soldiers, survivors who refused to kneel.
"This is it," she said. "We fight not just for our lives. We fight for our right to choose our own fate."
A murmur rippled through the ranks.
They were outnumbered.
Outmatched.
But they were ready.
Vintrinx raised her sword.
"Hold the line!"
The first dragon descended.
Fire rained.
Steel met wing.
And the war began.
---
Talen landed at the heart of the battlefield.
Flames parted around him as if bowing to his will.
He moved through the chaos with calm precision, cutting down those who opposed him—not with cruelty, but with certainty.
He was not here to destroy.
He was here to restore.
Yet even as he fought, his eyes searched the field.
For her.
He found her at the edge of the ruined square—Vintrinx, locked in combat with one of his own, a warrior born from the old blood.
Without hesitation, he crossed the distance.
The Marked soldier fell back when Talen raised a hand.
Vintrinx didn't flinch.
"You should've left this place," Talen said.
"I could say the same about you," she shot back.
Talen looked around at the burning city, the fallen on both sides.
"This isn't what I wanted," he murmured.
Vintrinx wiped blood from her brow.
"No," she said. "It's what you chose."
He studied her, searching for some trace of the past—the boy who once laughed by the river, the girl who once believed in heroes.
"I gave you peace," he said softly.
"And I gave you freedom," she countered. "You didn't want it."
Talen exhaled.
"I am not your enemy."
Vintrinx lifted her sword again.
"But you are."
---
The battle raged through the night.
By dawn, the city lay in ruins.
Talen's forces had taken the northern districts.
Vintrinx's rebels held the south.
Neither side had won.
Only lost.
As the sun rose, Talen stood atop the palace spire once more, watching the smoke rise like ghosts into the sky.
His generals approached.
"The rebels refuse to surrender," one said.
Talen remained silent.
"We can end this," another offered. "One strike. One flame."
Talen looked toward the south, where Vintrinx still stood, wounded but unbroken.
He thought of the boy he used to be.
Of the friend he had lost.
Of the world he had tried to save.
Then he spoke:
"No."
There was a pause.
"My lord?" one of them asked.
Talen turned away from the battlefield.
"We retreat."
Shocked silence followed.
But none dared question him.