The first light of dawn crept over the Ashen Plains.
The sky was streaked with red and gold, but Lian didn't see its beauty. He felt only the power thrumming inside his chest—the Tyrant's Heart, tempered now, no longer a wild fire but a weapon under his control.
He had endured weeks under the Core King's training, and though his body still ached, he had learned restraint.
The Oracle approached quietly, her robes dusted with ash from the plains.
"You've changed," she said softly. "Kael won't recognize you when he returns."
Lian looked at her, expression unreadable.
"I'll be ready," he said simply. "Next time, I won't let him—or anyone—stand in my way."
Behind him, the Core King stood silently, watching the horizon.
"Control alone is not enough," he said. "You have mastered restraint, yes. But the world beyond these plains will demand more. Strength. Cunning. Ruthlessness. All tempered by the restraint you have learned here."
Lian nodded, understanding.
He was no longer the boy who had fled a burning palace. No longer the weak vessel for the Tyrant's Heart. He was a Core King in training—a predator rising from the ashes of empires.
Suddenly, the wind shifted.
A ripple of movement across the plains caught their attention.
Figures emerged from the east—agents of the Nine Tyrants, masked and clad in black, each one radiating a Core's power so potent it made the remnants of the Beast Tide look like sparks.
The Oracle stiffened.
"They're here," she whispered. "The Tyrants' scouts. They've come for you… and for the Cores."
Lian's eyes narrowed.
The Tyrant's Heart pulsed in response, its power testing the edges of his control.
We will burn. We will rise. We will conquer.
He gritted his teeth.
"Let them come," he said. "I've learned restraint… but I've also learned to strike."
The Core King finally drew his black greatsword.
"Then we test it," he said. "Let the scouts feel what you've become."
The first scout stepped forward.
Its aura was suffocating—Core energy warping the air, fragments of fallen stars spinning around its body like orbiting moons.
Lian felt a flicker of fear, the instinctive warning that death walked here.
But he remembered the training.
The Tyrant's Heart flowed through him smoothly now, no longer tearing at his flesh, no longer threatening to consume him.
He exhaled.
And struck.
The clash was immediate.
The scout's weapon collided with Lian's sword, Core energy flaring in a wave that flattened the ash around them. Sparks and fragments rained down like shooting stars.
Lian moved with a precision and speed he had never known, the Tyrant's Heart lending him strength without overwhelming him.
The scout staggered, shocked at the sudden mastery.
Another scout charged.
Then another.
The plains erupted into chaos once more—but this time, Lian was ready.
He moved like a force of nature, every strike controlled, every pulse of the Heart directed. The Core King's presence reinforced him, a cold anchor to keep his power focused.
The Oracle's wards flared gold, keeping the scouts from overwhelming them.
"You're a storm," she murmured, awe creeping into her voice. "Stronger than I imagined."
Lian didn't respond. He was focused, calm, ruthless—everything the Core King had demanded.
In the midst of battle, a shadow fell across the eastern horizon.
Kael.
Riding alone this time, his cloak black as night, the Ashen Vanguard behind him paused, as if he carried their command in every breath.
Their eyes met across the battlefield.
"You've changed," Kael said softly, dismounting with effortless grace. "I can feel it… the Heart doesn't burn you as it did before. You've learned control."
Lian didn't flinch.
"Control isn't enough," he said, voice steady. "You'll see that soon."
Kael's lips curved faintly.
"Good," he said. "Because the War of the Cores begins now. And this… this is only the beginning."
The Nine Tyrants' agents retreated into the horizon.
The Ashen Vanguard regrouped.
The world was preparing to burn.
And Lian—no longer a boy, no longer a vessel—was ready to rise.