The chains howled.
As Kael lunged forward, Ashrend ignited—its obsidian edge bursting with red flame. The Mirrorbound moved with impossible fluidity, like it wasn't a warrior at all, but an echo given form. Its hourglass-shaped blade shimmered, drawing light from the chamber. The first strike clashed with Kael's sword and sent a shockwave through the ruined temple.
Kael flew backward, skidding against stone. His ribs rattled from the impact, but his grip held.
Lyra was already beside him, twin blades singing as she threw herself into the fray. The Mirrorbound deflected her flurry with inhuman precision. It never moved its head. Never made a sound. As if it didn't see with eyes.
As if it didn't need to.
Darric fired a bolt of crackling arc-metal from his gauntlet. The strike hit the Mirrorbound in the chest—sparks exploded—but it didn't slow. It absorbed the energy, and the runes on its blade gleamed with eerie violet light.
Kael's eyes narrowed. "It's feeding on us."
He stepped forward again, slower this time. The mark on his chest pulsed like a second heart.
His anger rose—not the reckless kind, but the one forged from pain, loss, the hollow weight of never belonging. That fury began to burn. Crimson sparks danced from his fingertips.
The air shifted.
The Mirrorbound paused, blade tilting in response.
Kael's aura exploded outward, a crimson shockwave crackling across the floor. His body lifted slightly from the ground, the brand on his chest burning like a forge.
Crimson Spark.
His first transformation.
Energy cloaked his limbs in red flame—his veins glowed, and his pupils narrowed into blazing slits. The power was unstable, raw—but it gave him clarity. He saw not just the Mirrorbound's movements, but the gaps between them.
He moved.
Ashrend struck down in an arc of red flame, meeting the Mirrorbound's hourglass sword with a deafening clang. This time, Kael held his ground. Sparks flew like shards of a dying star. Lyra dove under the creature's reach and slashed its side—Darric followed up with a flurry of bolts.
But the creature adapted. The mirrors on its armor began to show reflections—not just of the chamber, but of Kael.
And the Mirrorbound… split.
Two illusions lunged forward, each mimicking Kael's own stance.
Kael snarled. "That's new."
"It's trying to rewrite your identity," Isryn's voice echoed distantly—her magic tethered to Kael's mind through a spell she'd cast earlier. "Break the mirrors, or you'll lose more than the fight."
Kael focused. His flames surged, crackling higher, and he unleashed a strike he hadn't practiced—hadn't even known.
"Crimson Vortex!"
His blade spun in a blazing arc, igniting a whirlwind of red fire. The illusions shattered, mirrors cracking, the Mirrorbound recoiling at last. Smoke and flame swallowed the chamber.
Kael saw his chance. With a burst of speed, he drove Ashrend through the creature's chest—piercing where the mirrored armor was weakest.
The Mirrorbound let out a soundless shriek.
And then… it cracked. Glass and light split outward in violent arcs before the entire form collapsed inward like a dying star.
Only silence remained.
Kael fell to one knee. The aura faded. The Crimson Spark receded like a tide.
Lyra caught him.
"You burned too hot," she whispered.
Kael coughed once. "No choice."
Darric sheathed his gauntlet, scanning the room. "Whatever that thing was… it wasn't alone."
Kael nodded. His gaze shifted toward the pedestal where the second beacon had rested. Now, only scorched runes and faint cinders remained.
But something else had been left behind—a symbol carved into the stone. A sigil.
Old. Sovereign.
Kael didn't recognize it.
But it stirred something in him.
A memory of a battlefield. A man with white hair and crimson eyes like his own. A sword made of pure flame. And a name—
Velkael.
He stood, shaken. "We need to leave. Now."
Outside, the wind howled over the broken spires. From the distant north, dark clouds gathered over the horizon. Not natural weather—a storm forged by magic.
Darric pointed. "That's the Cindermoor. Smoke rising. There's a battle happening."
Kael's eyes burned again.
The first real battle. His first real war.
He stepped forward, cloak flaring behind him. The Crimson Mark shimmered on his chest.
"We head there next. If Malrik's moving his armies… then it's time the world learns I'm not a myth."