The sky cracked with thunder as Kael and Elira crossed into the Crimson Plateau.
The air here smelled of salt and sulfur. Ash swirled in small whirlwinds across the dry earth. Distant volcanoes rumbled like sleeping giants. Even the wind tasted scorched.
Kael walked in silence, The First Flame strapped across his back—wrapped in cloth, but still pulsing faintly with heat that seeped into his skin.
Elira led the way, glancing often at the Codex, which now pointed them north, toward the Ruins of Yvallon—where another shard of the Flameking's soul was said to be hidden.
But both of them knew something had changed since Hollowreach.
The Temple would no longer send Heralds to offer warnings.
They would send executioners.
They made camp near a ravine.
As Kael tended the fire, Elira etched protection glyphs around the perimeter with powdered emberdust. The wind shifted sharply—unnaturally.
"Someone's watching," she muttered.
Kael's hand moved to the sword.
"Seeker?"
"No. Worse."
Elira didn't need to explain. Kael heard it too now—whispers carried on the wind, not in words, but in oaths.
"He walks with flame that should not burn…"
"…he holds a memory that must not rise…"
"…the Black Vow has come."
They struck just before midnight.
The fire sputtered—then extinguished all at once.
Kael barely had time to react before a blade of pure silence sliced through the tent.
He rolled, drawing The First Flame.
The sword sang as it ignited—its light burning away the dark like a new sun. Its fire cast no shadow, only truth.
Three figures emerged from the trees.
Draped in black robes woven with ash, their faces were hidden behind obsidian masks marked with the Temple's seal. No footsteps. No breathing.
The Black Vow.
Temple assassins who swore eternal silence, surrendering their names, voices, and identities to become perfect instruments of death.
One of them lunged.
Kael moved faster.
He brought the sword down in a vertical arc—not cutting, but unmaking the air between them. The assassin twisted unnaturally to dodge, but the edge of the flame brushed his cloak.
The robe ignited.
The assassin did not scream—he could not—but his body convulsed before disintegrating into black smoke.
The other two closed in from both sides.
Elira joined the fight, unleashing streams of red-hot glyphfire from her twin daggers. One assassin deflected her attack with a mirror-like shield of null magic—but Kael was already behind him.
The First Flame pierced through the shield like glass.
Ash exploded outward.
The last assassin didn't retreat.
Instead, he drew a chain made of blackened bone—each link engraved with runes meant to suppress divine magic.
He flung it at Kael.
The moment the chain touched Kael's skin, the fire dimmed.
The Codex thrashed inside his satchel, vibrating violently.
Kael felt pressure build in his chest, like something inside him was resisting the nullification.
The assassin pulled hard, yanking Kael to his knees.
Elira screamed, rushing forward—too slow.
Kael clenched his teeth. He looked into the assassin's mask—and for a brief second, saw a flicker of humanity. A man trapped in silence. In service. In chains.
Kael whispered a word.
Not in Common. Not in Bloodfire.
But in the tongue of the First Flame.
"Vah'mor."
"Be free."
The sword erupted—not in heat, but in light. Pure, golden fire.
The chain shattered. The mask cracked.
The assassin fell backward—and for the first time in centuries, a dying whisper escaped his throat:
"Thank you…"
Silence returned.
Kael stood breathing heavily, sword still glowing.
Elira approached, eyes wide.
"You spoke in Flame-tongue."
Kael nodded, stunned.
"I… I didn't know I could."
"It's not something you learn. It's something that remembers you."
She glanced down at the scorched earth where the Black Vow had fallen.
"They'll send more. Stronger ones. You understand that, don't you?"
Kael looked at the blade in his hand.
"Let them come."
Elira looked at him long and hard.
"You're changing."
Kael didn't deny it.
"The Flame doesn't just burn around me now. It burns through me. And I don't think it wants to stop."
Later that night, the Codex opened on its own.
The page was blank for a long time.
Then, slowly, letters etched themselves in fire:
"Flame remembers truth.
Truth remembers pain.
Pain forges purpose."
Kael read it over and over again.
He no longer feared the pain.
He welcomed it.