The fire that had filled the arena was gone. All that remained were ashes carried by the evening wind.
Lucen Vandor's body lay in the center of the field, wrapped in a silver cloth that shimmered faintly with the last trace of his mana. The crowd that had once roared now stood silent. Even the king, seated high on his throne, had not spoken for minutes.
When he finally rose, his voice carried across the broken arena.
"Lucen Vandor, fourth son of our house, you fought with honor. You burned brighter than any of us could have imagined. Your flame will not be forgotten."
He raised his hand, and a hundred soldiers knelt. The ceremony began.
As the sun sank below the horizon, Lucen's body was carried through the capital's streets. Thousands followed behind, heads bowed, torches in hand. The flames looked weak beside the light that once burned from his heart.
At the front walked Ardyn Vandor, his face hidden under his hood, his armor still scarred from their battle. To his right was Cael, arm bound in bandages, eyes hollow.
No one spoke. The sound of footsteps on stone was the only rhythm.
When they reached the great cathedral, the bells began to ring, deep, slow, vibrating across the city. Inside, white lilies covered the altar, their scent mixing with the smoke of burning incense.
Lucen's sword, now blackened and broken, rested on his chest. His hands were folded over it, fingers still faintly glowing red.
Lord Valen stepped forward first. His armor gleamed under the torchlight, but his eyes were tired.
"He is my son," he said quietly, voice breaking for the first time in years. "And though his fire took him from us, it also gave this kingdom hope. Let that flame be the light that guides Vandor."
He turned to Ardyn. "As the eldest, you will bear his title. You are now the Champion of Vandor."
Ardyn bowed deeply. "I accept the title, Father. But I'll never wear it proudly. That was his title."
The king said nothing. He only placed a hand on his shoulder, a rare gesture of understanding.
That night, long after the funeral, Ardyn sat alone near the river outside the capital. The moon shimmered on the surface of the water, and the sound of flowing currents brought back memories he'd buried for years.
He remembered the three of them, himself, Cael, Andor, and Lucen, as boys. They had played by this same river, wooden swords in hand.
"Ardyn, you'll always be the hero," little Lucen had said once, swinging his toy blade clumsily. "I'll be the knight who guards you."
Ardyn laughed back then. "Then don't fall behind, little brother."
Lucen had puffed his cheeks, striking the air. "One day I'll catch up!"
The memory faded with the wind. Ardyn closed his eyes, his throat tightening and his heart in pain. He would never hear that voice again.
Back at the estate, Cael sat by Lucen's old training ground. The soil still carried the marks of his practice, the scars of his blade on the stone. He whispered to himself, "You finally did it, brother. You burned so bright that none of us can see past you now."
His hands shook. "And you left me behind in the shadows."
He looked up at the night sky, no stars, only drifting smoke from the pyres.
Later, Ardyn entered the great hall, where the family armor of each Vandor heir was displayed. Lucen's new armor, the one forged for the champion's title, hung empty on a stand beside his burned blade.
He stopped in front of it and touched the chestplate, still warm from the forge.
Cael entered quietly behind him."Father wants you to rest. The council meets at dawn."
"I can't sleep," Ardyn said.
Neither could Cael.
The room was silent except for the crackling torches.
After a long pause, Ardyn spoke again, his voice low."He shouldn't have had to die to be seen."
Cael nodded slowly. "He always tried to prove he wasn't weak. But maybe… maybe he never needed to prove anything to us."
Ardyn clenched his fist. "He needed us to tell him that."
The torchlight flickered over their faces, making the tears in their eyes shine.
The next morning, the royal courtyard was filled again, this time for the final farewell. The pyre had been built from white wood and golden thread, symbols of purity and honor.
Lucen's body lay upon it, peaceful, his features calm. The broken blade rested beside him.
When the king gave the signal, Ardyn stepped forward with a torch. He stood there for a moment, staring at the brother who had once followed him everywhere.
Then, quietly, he said, "You weren't born without light, Lucen. You were the light we never saw."
He lowered the torch.
The pyre ignited with a soft crack, flames rising high into the dawn air. The fire glowed red first, then turned white, just like Lucen's final blaze in the arena.
The crowd watched in silence. Some cried; others prayed. Even the wind seemed to pause, carrying the ashes upward toward the pale sky.
That evening, Ardyn stood on the balcony overlooking the city. Below him, the lights of Vandor flickered like tiny embers. Cael joined him, the two brothers standing side by side without speaking for a long time.
Finally, Ardyn said, "I'll make sure his fire wasn't for nothing. I'll carry what he started."
Cael turned to him. "What will you do?"
"Whatever this kingdom needs," Ardyn said, his eyes fixed on the horizon. "I won't let his name fade. His flame will live through mine."
They stood there as night fell, the city quiet below them. Somewhere far away, thunder rolled, a faint echo, like Lucen's heartbeat still lingering in the wind.
In the following days, bards sang songs about The Ember Knight. Children practiced sword swings, shouting Lucen's name. The people spoke of how a single unblessed man had burned so bright he outshone angels.
And though the kingdom tried to return to normal, something had changed. The Vandor family felt emptier, and even the king spent long hours in silence at the window of his chamber.
But sometimes, when the torches flickered late at night, a few swore they saw a brief flash of red flame drift through the palace halls, small, soft, and fleeting, like a farewell that never truly ended.
Ardyn returned once more to the river where the three brothers used to play. He knelt, dipped his hand into the water, and whispered, "I'll carry it, Lucen. Your will, your fire, all of it."
The water rippled, reflecting the sky's fading light. And for a moment, he thought he saw another reflection beside his own, a faint image of Lucen smiling, his eyes calm, his fire eternal.