The sky was a strange gray—a dusk that lingered without sun, as if the world itself were holding its breath.
Kael stood in the center of the crumbled temple ruins where the Ember Line had once been worshipped, before the purges. Scattered mosaics beneath his boots showed images of winged demons with eyes like burning coals, and priests kneeling in flame. A half-buried inscription near his feet read:
From ash, a crown shall rise. From broken flame, a king reborn.
He had read the words five times already.
Behind him, Askarion's voice stirred the air.
"They feared you. Even before you were born. That's why they broke the bloodline and buried you among wolves."
Kael didn't turn. "I'm not your puppet."
"No," the demon lord said, stepping closer. "You're my heir."
"I don't want your throne."
"You already sit on it. Whether you acknowledge it or not."
Kael clenched his fists. His power pulsed beneath his skin, simmering like molten steel. It had changed since the last battle—wilder, darker, tempting.
"There's a door beneath this place," Askarion said. "A prison made by the ancient gods. Your mother locked part of you away when you were born—to keep the world safe from what you might become."
Kael turned slowly. "And you want me to unseal it?"
"I want you to survive. Against Nyxera… against what's coming… you'll need all of it."
Seraphine arrived just as Kael began descending the crumbled stairs hidden beneath the temple altar.
"Kael," she called, breathless. "Don't do this alone."
He turned. "You shouldn't be here. This is demon blood magic. It's dangerous for a human."
"I'm not just a human anymore," she said softly. "And I'm not leaving you."
He paused, something in his chest aching at her words.
"If I open this," he said, "I might not be the same."
Seraphine stepped to his side, taking his hand.
"Then I'll remind you who you are. Even if I have to fight you myself."
Her fire met his in a quiet spark, twin embers in the gloom.
Together, they descended.
The chamber below was silent and circular, carved from obsidian and bone. Symbols glowed faintly on the walls—forgotten sigils of the demon crown. In the center: a sealed circle etched with blood-metal, pulsing slowly.
Kael stood before it, his breath shallow.
"How do I open it?"
"With memory," Askarion said. "With pain."
"Of course it is," Kael muttered.
He stepped into the circle, and immediately, the ground ignited.
Visions tore through him—memories not only of his own life but of his ancestors. Firestorms, wars, betrayals, coronations soaked in ash. His mind screamed. His body buckled.
He saw his mother's face.
Her smile. Her death.
He saw his siblings sneering. His false father snarling. Chains around his young wrists.
Then, he saw himself—with burning wings, a crown of flame, and eyes like suns.
And the seal shattered.
The flames vanished.
Kael collapsed to his knees, coughing smoke.
Seraphine rushed to him, holding his shoulders. "Kael?"
He lifted his head slowly.
His eyes had changed.
They weren't red anymore.
They were gold.
Not the cruel gleam of corrupted fire—but the warm, divine gold of ancient flame.
"You're… glowing," she whispered.
Kael rose to his feet, and the air around him shifted. Not with rage, but power. Controlled. Balanced. Sacred.
"I remember now," he said softly. "What I am."
"What are you?"
"Not just a demon. Not just a prince."
He turned, smiling faintly.
"I'm the Emberborn King."
Above the ruins, a storm gathered.
Nyxera stood in the high tower of her obsidian fortress, watching the dark clouds form.
"He's awakened," she whispered.
A shadow knelt beside her. "Shall we prepare the legions?"
"No," she said. "Send the hounds first. Let them test his mercy."
"And if he has none?"
She smiled, sharp and cruel.
"Then the game becomes interesting."
Kael and Seraphine returned to the rebel encampment under the cloak of night. Liam was the first to spot them and went still at the sight of Kael's glowing eyes.
"Holy gods," he muttered. "You are different."
"Still me," Kael said.
"Not sure if that's comforting," Liam replied. "But alright."
They entered the war tent.
The council looked up—and fell silent.
Kael didn't need to raise his voice.
"We ride at dawn," he said. "For the Ash Vale. For the last bastion Nyxera holds. And when it falls…"
He looked to Seraphine.
"The Empress falls next."