Smoke from the fallen battlefield trailed behind Kael's army as they advanced eastward through the narrow ravines. The mountain snow had melted from the heat of the magical clash, leaving scorched stone and blackened earth in their wake. At the front of the formation, Kael rode a dark warhorse wrapped in enchanted steel. His cloak trailed behind him, billowing like a banner.
Mira and Rogan rode just behind him, flanking their commander in silence. The soldiers around them did not cheer or speak. They had witnessed the storm mage fall. They had seen Kael rise, bloodied but victorious. Now they followed with unwavering fear and reverence.
From the final ridge, the city of Ironridge came into view.
It stood like a fortress carved into the mountains themselves. Dark towers rose from the cliffs. Bridges of steel arched between them. Thick walls glowed faintly with magical wards, and heavy ballistae lined the battlements. Hundreds of guards patrolled the walls in tight formations. This was no village to be conquered in a night.
Kael dismounted slowly and walked to the edge of the cliff to observe the city's defenses. His eyes scanned every tower, every rune-marked barricade, every watchful soldier. His mind moved faster than any general's. He was not planning a siege. He was planning a display.
"Mira," he said calmly, "bring the relic priests forward."
She nodded once and vanished into the ranks.
Moments later, a procession of robed followers emerged, each carrying a black lantern lit with soulfire. These lanterns were more than decoration. They were infused with the faith of Kael's growing cult. And they would be used to break open the will of Ironridge.
Kael turned to Rogan. "Take the right flank. Find the aqueducts. Cut their water, then flood the lower levels with fire. If they can't breathe or drink, they'll panic."
"And the front?" Rogan asked, cracking his knuckles.
Kael looked back to the iron gates with a cruel smile. "Leave the front to me."
At dawn, Kael walked alone to the city's gates.
He raised Ashveil in the morning light. Flames licked up its edge, hungry and wild.
The soldiers above called out warnings.
Kael ignored them.
"I am Kael of the Black Flame," he called. "Your mage has fallen. Your gods have abandoned you. Surrender this city and I will spare those who kneel. Resist, and Ironridge will become a memory burned into stone."
There was a pause. Then a horn sounded. Arrows were loosed from the towers. Magic bolts screamed through the sky.
Kael lifted his hand. A barrier of flame rose in a circle around him. Every projectile melted before reaching his flesh. The ground beneath his feet cracked and hissed.
Then he whispered a single word.
"Burn."
The lanterns carried by his priests flared to life. Columns of black fire erupted from the earth around the city walls. Screams echoed as the lower districts caught flame. Panic spread like a plague.
Within an hour, the gates opened—not from surrender, but from collapse. The hinges melted. The walls cracked. Kael walked through the opening as smoke poured outward.
Inside, he found chaos.
He did not stop.
Rogan's troops surged in from the right, cleaving through the city guard. Mira and her assassins descended from the rooftops, taking control of key towers. The temple in the city center stood untouched. Kael made for it directly.
Inside the marble hall, he stepped before the altar and placed the crystal heart upon it. His followers chanted behind him. Faith flooded into him like a rising tide. His body burned, not with pain, but with ascension.
He opened his eyes.
Tier 5, fully realized.
And still, it was not enough.
He turned to Mira. "Rebuild this city. Raise my banners from every tower. Let the world know who holds the mountains now."
She bowed.
Ironridge had fallen.
And the continent had begun to tremble.