Light. Blinding, cleansing, all-consuming.
Kael felt his body unravel, not in pain but in revelation. The Forsaken Flame was no longer just a force inside him—it had become part of his soul. It showed him moments from its ancient past: civilizations that flourished under its warmth, kingdoms that perished in its wrath, and the truth of its origin—neither good nor evil, but a force shaped by its wielder's heart.
Then the visions faded.
Kael landed hard on his knees, gasping.
The chamber had changed.
Gone was the cold tension, the Sovereign's oppressive aura. Instead, the Forgeheart pulsed with golden fire, steady and strong. The guardians had fallen still, their molten glow extinguished. The rebels stared, eyes wide with awe.
Lysaria was the first to speak. "Kael… your eyes."
He looked up. The flames within him now shimmered gold and silver, no longer corrupted red. The Forsaken Flame had been reborn—and so had he.
The Sovereign, still standing, staggered back a step. His once-proud stance was shaken.
"What have you done?" he hissed. "The flame… It obeys you."
Kael rose to his feet, calm yet burning with purpose. "No. It listens. And for once, it listens to something more than hunger."
The Sovereign roared, unleashing a wave of dark fire. Kael raised his hand—and the flames bent away, curling around him harmlessly.
"You can't stop me," the Sovereign snarled. "I was chosen first."
Kael stepped forward, each footfall resonating with the power of the Forgeheart. "And you betrayed what it stood for."
With a sweeping motion, Kael called forth a circle of flame—not to destroy, but to bind. Threads of fire wrapped around the Sovereign, tightening with every word.
"You used the Flame to conquer. I'll use it to protect."
The Sovereign screamed as the golden fire pierced his shadow, cutting through the corruption clinging to his soul. For a moment, Kael saw the man beneath the darkness—tired, lost, once noble. Then the light overwhelmed him, and the Sovereign collapsed to his knees, silent.
The flames faded.
Elara limped to Kael's side, a hand on his arm. "Is it over?"
Kael looked at the Forgeheart, now beating with a gentle rhythm. "Not yet. But the worst of it is."
Lysaria approached, cautious. "You've changed. The Flame's chosen you as more than a vessel."
Kael nodded slowly. "It made me its keeper."
The chamber shuddered again—only this time, it wasn't fear but renewal. Runes along the walls lit up with soft light. The guardians knelt, as if in respect. The Forgeheart began to lower into the anvil, sealing itself once more.
"It's going dormant again," Lysaria said. "Until it's needed."
Kael turned to his friends, their faces lined with soot, blood, and hope. "We've done what we came here to do. The Sovereign's reign is broken. But there are still wounds to heal outside these walls."
Elara smiled faintly. "You sound like a king."
"I'm not," Kael replied. "Just a man with fire in his hands and a promise to keep."
They walked from the sanctum together, leaving behind the Forgeheart's glow and stepping into a new world—one shaped not by fear, but by the flame of hope.
As they emerged into the dawn beyond the mountain, the sky was streaked with gold and crimson. A new chapter for their realm had begun.
But deep below, in a chamber none of them noticed, a sliver of shadow curled like smoke—and whispered of return.