The battlefield was caught in stunned silence. Soldiers from both sides dropped to one knee—not out of loyalty, but instinctive dread. Power that ancient didn't ask for obedience. It commanded it.
Askarion stood in the heart of the chaos, tall and ethereal, cloaked in black fire that flickered between shadow and flame. Twin antlers curved from his head like obsidian branches. His presence pulled at the threads of reality itself.
Kael stood frozen, Seraphine beside him, her breath catching in her throat.
"That's your father?" she whispered.
"Apparently," Kael said, sword still raised. "And he's a lot taller than I expected."
Askarion stepped toward Kael, his smirk cruelly affectionate.
"I had wondered when the Ember Line would awaken again," he said. "They buried you well. Hid you beneath a weak king and a broken name. But I see the fire in your veins, Kael. You are mine."
Kael gritted his teeth. "I'm no one's possession. Not anymore."
"And yet," Askarion said, tilting his head, "you are already dancing in the destiny I carved for you. Even now, the world burns, and you stand in the center. My son—the heir of shadowfire."
Seraphine stepped forward. "We don't need you. Kael doesn't need you."
"And yet you are losing," Askarion said, motioning to the cracked field. "You cannot stop the corrupted Flame on your own. But I can. I offer you power, not chains."
Kael's hand tightened around his blade.
"You always have a price."
"Only the truth," Askarion said. "Help me reclaim what was stolen. Break Nyxera. And I will help you become what you were always meant to be."
Kael glanced at Seraphine.
She was shaking her head.
"Don't trust him."
"I don't," Kael muttered. "But I might use him."
Cindros had watched the exchange in silence, his golden eyes glowing hotter. But now, he spoke.
"I don't need you," he said to Askarion. "I am not some pawn."
"No," Askarion replied calmly. "You are a mistake. A counterfeit of the Phoenix. A flicker made from stolen flame."
"I was born of fire!" Cindros roared.
"No," Seraphine said, stepping forward. "You were forged. But I was chosen."
She summoned her true flame. Pure, golden-red, radiant like a sun.
And it struck him like a divine blade.
Cindros staggered back, a scream of pain ripping from him.
"Your flame burns clean," Kael said. "His is corrupted. Use that."
"I intend to."
As Seraphine battled Cindros in an inferno of fury and mirrored flame, Nyxera watched from her black chariot, rage curling around her like smoke.
She turned to her high priestess, whispering, "Release the Ashborn."
The priestess gasped. "But they're unstable. Even you can't—"
"Now."
The ground split open.
And from beneath the battlefield, dark shapes began to emerge.
Dozens of them.
Creatures born from ash and twisted fire—neither living nor dead. The Ashborn.
They swarmed forward.
"We're running out of time," Kael said, spinning to meet them. "Can you father stop them?"
Askarion only smiled. "I can do more than stop them."
He raised his arms—and the shadows devoured the Ashborn, pulling them into the void between worlds.
"Consider that a gift," he said. "Next time, I ask for something in return."
After the battle, as twilight fell over the war-scarred land, Kael and Seraphine stood on the ruins of an old tower.
She was silent, watching the horizon.
"You used too much of your flame," Kael said gently. "You're pale."
"I felt him inside me," Seraphine whispered. "Cindros. Like he knew every part of me."
"You beat him."
"Barely."
She turned to face him, eyes soft but haunted.
"Kael, if your father asks you to become what he is… would you?"
Kael took her hand, pressed it to his chest.
"I don't want his power," he said. "I want ours. Yours and mine. Together."
Seraphine leaned in, her voice barely a whisper.
"Then let's burn everything that stands in our way."
And in the silence that followed, something deep beneath the earth began to stir.
Older than flame.
Older than the gods.
Something that even Askarion feared.