Smoke curled into the horizon as Kael, Seraphine, Liam, and Zafira crested the final ridge.
Below them lay Emberhold—his reclaimed capital. Once shattered, now slowly healing.
But something was wrong.
The watchtowers were lit red—not gold. The banner of the phoenix, once restored to Kael's colors, now flew tattered, flickering with embers that resisted the wind.
Kael narrowed his eyes. "That's not a signal for welcome. That's a warning."
Liam, already unsheathing his blade, muttered, "We're walking into a siege."
Zafira touched the ground, murmuring an incantation. A swirl of dark sand revealed movement near the southern walls—figures in armor unlike any Kael had seen before. Pale. Serpentine. Reeking of magic that didn't belong to this plane.
"Who are they?" Seraphine whispered.
Zafira's face paled. "They wear the mark of the God-Blooded. That… shouldn't be possible. They were destroyed before the last Sundering."
Kael's voice dropped, cold and sharp. "Or they were waiting. Just like the Unmade King."
Inside Emberhold's throne room, General Arden knelt, blood on his temple. He looked up as Kael strode in.
"My king. You return… not a moment too soon."
Kael helped him to his feet. "What happened?"
"Three days ago, emissaries arrived from the south. They bore false gifts, poisoned some of the guard, then summoned a Gate Circle to bring through those… creatures."
Zafira frowned. "God-Blooded aren't natural. They were made—sorcerers born of divine experimentation, broken minds with a hunger for control."
"And now," Arden said grimly, "they want you, Kael. Or more specifically—your blood."
Kael remembered the words of the Unmade King.
You are my flame. My heir. My jailer. My key.
He cursed under his breath.
"They want to open the Vault."
That night, a war council gathered in the Phoenix Hall.
Kael sat at the head of the long table, the firelight catching the red in his eyes. Seraphine stood beside him, her presence no longer silent—but steel.
"Three legions are marching north," Zafira reported. "Their leader calls himself Valas."
Kael's head snapped up. "Valas?"
Liam's voice dropped. "Wasn't he one of your brothers? The one who vanished into the Void Realms?"
Kael nodded slowly. "He wasn't just a brother. He was the strongest of us all before the war. Before… he was Unmade."
Seraphine took a sharp breath. "You think he's serving the Unmade King now?"
"I think," Kael said, "he is the herald."
That night, unable to sleep, Kael walked alone through the Phoenix Garden—the last place his mother had touched before her death.
The wind whispered through the ashes of once-blooming flame lilies.
He sank to his knees beside the fountain, closed his eyes—
And heard her voice.
Kael… no. Not Kael. Aeren'Kael. You must remember. He will lie. He will wear your face. And when the moon turns black, do not believe your heart.
He opened his eyes with a gasp.
Across the water stood a man—his face familiar and wrong. Hair the same silver-black. Eyes golden, but colder. Smiling.
"Brother," said Valas.
Kael rose to his feet, fists clenched. "What are you doing here?"
Valas stepped closer, the grass wilting beneath his boots. "I came to offer you freedom. Join me, and we unlock the Vault. Restore the gods. Restore our family."
"You murdered our kin."
"I freed them," Valas said simply. "From the cage of mortality."
Seraphine appeared behind Kael, her magic rising like a storm. "He's stalling. The siege begins tomorrow."
Valas tilted his head at her. "Ah, the flame-bride. Lovely. I see why he's hesitant. She smells like starlight and ruin."
Kael summoned a blade of fire.
"Leave," he growled, "or I'll send what's left of you back to the gate that birthed you."
Valas's smile faded.
"Then let the war begin."
He vanished in a shudder of shadow and light.
At dawn, Emberhold shook.
Ballistae carved of bone launched into the outer ramparts. The God-Blooded army swept in like a flood—pale-skinned warriors with silver eyes and voices that sang in tongues that cracked stone.
Kael led the charge.
His blade carved arcs of flame through the invaders, his rage focused, his name remembered: Aeren'Kael. The name sang in his blood like war drums.
Beside him, Seraphine fought with the grace of fury—light and fire in perfect unity. Their bond, once forged in ceremony, now pulsed with something older. Deeper.
Liam and Zafira cut through the rear lines, spell and sword in perfect rhythm.
And then Kael saw him—Valas, atop a shadow-steed, cloak of moonsmoke, blade drawn and pointing toward the citadel.
"Come, brother," he called. "Let's end the lie of peace."
Kael's eyes flared.
"With pleasure."