The noon bells echoed through Vandor's capital. The streets were crowded, the air thick with dust and the smell of burning oil from food stalls. People climbed rooftops to see the arena where another Vandor brother was about to fight.
Lucen stood in the tunnel below the stands, rolling his shoulders as the roar of the crowd pulsed above him. Heat shimmered off his armor. His sword rested across his knees, black steel lined with red veins that pulsed with the rhythm of his heart.
He whispered to himself, This time, I won't fall behind.
When the gates opened, light poured over the arena floor. His opponent, Cael Vandor, waited at the far end, tall, calm, his armor polished to a mirror. The sunlight made him look like a statue of the gods their family once prayed to.
The bell rang.
Cael moved first, a spear of light bursting from his hand. Lucen swung, his blade cutting through it; fire and light exploded, shaking the stands. The crowd screamed with excitement.
They closed the distance. Steel met steel in a storm of sparks. Cael fought with perfect balance, every strike smooth and bright. Lucen countered with raw power, each blow heavier than the last.
"You've changed," Cael said between clashes.
"I had to," Lucen answered. "I was tired of being the shadow at your back."
Cael smiled faintly. "Then prove you deserve the light."
Their blades locked. Lucen pushed forward, fire spilling from his sword, but Cael twisted away and struck across his chest. The cut threw Lucen to the ground; his vision flashed white.
The crowd went silent.
Lucen forced himself up, breath ragged. The Ember Heart inside him pounded so loud it hurt. He felt heat crawl up his neck, burning through his veins. His father's words rang in his head, "You were born without light."
Then I'll make my own.
He gripped his sword with both hands. The glow under his skin turned red.
The ground cracked.
A wave of flame burst outward as Lucen shouted, "Ember Heart—ignite!"
The crowd gasped. The air shimmered with heat; his armor glowed faintly orange. Each heartbeat fed the fire.
Cael shielded his face. "Lucen, stop! You'll burn yourself alive!"
Lucen charged anyway. Every swing now carried the force of a hammer. Sparks flew; smoke rose from the stone floor. Cael blocked but stumbled back, his light faltering against the weight of that living flame.
Lucen's eyes burned crimson. "Weak? Not anymore!"
He drove his knee into Cael's chest and followed with an upward slash that shattered the knight's guard. Cael hit the ground, sword flying from his hand.
The bell rang.
Winner: Lucen Vandor.
Cheers erupted. Lucen stood in the center, chest heaving, steam curling from his body. For the first time, the youngest brother had beaten one of the blessed.
They gave him two days before the final match. He spent the first morning wrapped in bandages, sitting by the inn window, watching smoke rise from distant forges. His arms trembled from exhaustion, but a small smile tugged at his lips.
He had done it. He'd broken the wall that stood above him all his life.
On the second day, he walked through the marketplace. Merchants shouted, and children ran between stalls. A few villagers recognized him and bowed. "The ember knight!" they called. Lucen only nodded.
He bought bread from an old woman who looked at his burned hands and said, "You've fought hard, child. Don't lose yourself to the fire."
"I'll try," he said, though he knew he already had.
That night, he trained alone beyond the city walls. Each swing of his sword left a faint red trail in the dark. When he paused, he looked up at the cracked statues of the three dead gods on the hill.
"I don't need blessings," he whispered. "Just let me end this as myself."
The wind answered with silence.
The morning sky was clear and white when the horns sounded. The arena overflowed with people; nobles leaned from balconies, soldiers crowded the gates.
Lucen walked out first. His armor had been repaired but still bore black scorch marks from his last fight. Across the field, the gates opened again.
Ardyn Vandor, eldest son, stepped into the light.
Golden armor, eyes bright as dawn. The crowd bowed as he raised his sword; his presence filled the air like a hymn.
Lucen stared at him, the brother who'd always led every race, every duel, every prayer.
The bell rang.
Ardyn moved like lightning, his sword tracing arcs of white fire. Lucen met him blow for blow, the air bursting around them. The shockwaves rippled through the stands; spectators clung to the rails.
"You still fight without control," Ardyn said, blocking another strike. "That fire will consume you."
Lucen gritted his teeth. "Better to burn than fade."
He swung upward, his blade catching Ardyn's shoulder. The elder brother retaliated with a flash of blinding light that threw Lucen backward. The smell of scorched stone filled the arena.
Lucen forced himself up, coughing. "Always above me… always perfect."
"Perfection is duty," Ardyn replied, voice steady. "You never understood that."
"I don't need to. I need to prove I exist!"
He roared and let the Ember Heart loose.
Flames erupted, bright red turning white at the core. The heat warped the air; even Ardyn's divine armor began to shimmer. Lucen's skin cracked with light as his life force poured into the fire.
He charged. Each step left a crater. Their swords collided again and again, flame and light, destruction and order. The crowd could no longer see their faces, only streaks of color crossing faster than thought.
Minutes passed. Then an hour. Neither yielded.
Lucen's vision blurred; his pulse was chaos. Every breath hurt. Not yet, he told himself—one more strike. I'll reach him.
Ardyn's wings of light flared. "Lucen, stop! You've done enough!"
Lucen smiled weakly. "Not until you see me."
He gathered everything left in his heart. Fire coiled around him like a dragon, the roar of his mana drowning all sound. Ardyn lifted his blade, channeling the full force of divine light.
They charged.
The sky split.
The explosion blinded half the arena; heat and wind ripped through the stands. When the smoke cleared, two figures stood amid the ruins.
Ardyn's sword was broken. Lucen's blade had melted to slag. They faced each other in silence.
Then Ardyn dropped to one knee.
The bell rang.
Winner: Lucen Vandor.
For a heartbeat, no one cheered. Then the noise came like thunder. "Lucen! Lucen!" People screamed his name, chanting until the air shook.
Lucen turned toward his brother, smiling through blood. "You see me now, brother?"
Ardyn reached out, gripping his shoulder. "You were always one of us."
Lucen nodded once. "Tell Father… the shadow finally burned bright."
His knees gave out. The fire in his chest flickered, then dimmed. He looked up at the sky, the color of steel, endless. The pain faded; warmth filled his body.
So this is what it feels like… to shine.
He exhaled, slow and steady. The last spark of the Ember Heart pulsed once, twice, then stopped.
Lucen Vandor, the weakest son, the dim flame, lay still, a faint smile on his face.
The healers rushed in, but no spell could restart that heart. The king rose from his throne, expression unreadable. Ardyn knelt beside his brother, tears streaking down the dust on his cheeks.
The crowd bowed their heads. No one spoke.
As the sun set, its light turned the broken arena crimson. For a moment, it looked as if the fire still burned there, refusing to die.
And so the tale of Lucen Vandor, the ember that burned the sky, passed into legend, proof that even a single spark can outshine the heavens, if only for one beautiful, fleeting breath.