The blade hummed.
Even when Kael wasn't holding it, the Soulstone Blade whispered at the edge of his senses—a pulse, steady and alive, like a second heartbeat. He'd kept it close since the chamber had offered it to him, though he barely understood it.
Mira called it a relic.
Revak called it a weapon of war.
But to Kael, it felt like a memory made solid.
---
Training with Fire
"Again," Revak barked, standing in the Hollow's upper arena, where Soulmarked warriors tested their limits.
Kael exhaled sharply and raised the blade. With a thought, fire burst along the weapon's edge—not wild this time, but curved and controlled, bending with each motion.
He moved through the flame forms Mira had taught him—sweeping arcs, defensive swirls, and then the final strike: a downward slash meant to channel flame into a wave.
But nothing happened.
Revak shook his head. "You're holding back."
"I'm trying not to burn down the platform," Kael muttered.
"Then burn it down!" Revak roared. "This is war, boy! Not a dance! You don't master the flame by fearing it."
Kael gritted his teeth.
He closed his eyes.
And this time… he let go.
The scar on his palm flared, and the blade ignited with blinding force. As he moved, flame spiraled around him like a living storm. He struck—once, twice, three times—and on the final blow, a surge of fire exploded outward, crashing into the training dummies and reducing them to ash.
The ground cracked.
The arena steamed.
Revak smiled grimly. "Now we're getting somewhere."
---
The Ashforged Arrive
That night, the Hollow's peace shattered again.
The alarm bells rang once more—but this time, only once.
A single tone.
A warning of something worse than an attack.
Kael rushed to the upper ledge where scouts gathered, overlooking the mouth of the southern cavern—one of the oldest, nearly collapsed from age.
From the shadows… something emerged.
Figures. Human-shaped, but wrong.
They moved like broken puppets, limbs jerking unnaturally. Their skin was pale and cracked like stone, and from their chests glowed molten runes, pulsating in time with unnatural breaths.
"By the Flame…" Mira whispered. "Are those—?"
Revak's voice was a growl. "Ashforged."
The figures marched in formation. Behind them came cloaked Inquisition soldiers, their armor reinforced with rune-steel. And in the center rode a tall figure in black and crimson—a mask covering half his face, the other burned beyond recognition.
But it was his voice that froze Kael's blood.
"Kael of the First Flame," the man shouted, voice amplified by magic. "You don't remember me. But I remember everything."
Kael stepped forward. "Who are you?"
The man raised his hand—and flames swirled to life.
Not orange. Not gold.
Blue.
Cold and sharp, like death given form.
"I am Arion. You once called me brother."
Mira gasped.
Kael's heart stopped.
He had no memory of the name—but the flame within him trembled. Not in fear.
In grief.
---
A Flame Divided
"Arion died during the Purge," Mira whispered. "That's what all records said. He was the Soulmarked commander of the Moonfire Guard. He… he died defending the capital."
Kael couldn't speak.
Arion's presence burned like a scar across the world.
A Soulmarked, turned against his own.
A brother reborn as a weapon.
Arion raised his hand. The Ashforged stepped forward.
"I give you this chance," Arion said coldly. "Surrender. Return to the Empire. Or be burned away like the rest of the heretics."
Kael's blade pulsed in his hand.
His scar flared.
And for the first time, the fire within whispered not of destruction—but of choice.
He lifted the sword and pointed it toward his lost brother.
"We rise," Kael said. "We do not kneel."
The Hollow roared behind him.
The war had truly begun.