"The blood remembers. The blood records.
And in every drop, a name waits to be spoken in fire."
— The Crimson Doctrine, banned scrolls of the Southreach Archives
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I.
The ashes of Dawnmere had not yet cooled, and already the world whispered. Whispers turned to rumors. Rumors to prophecy.
The boy with no sigil had survived the blade.
No — he had devoured it.
From the shattered church of the Hollow Flame, only dust remained. The divine inquisitors — warriors feared across seven kingdoms — had not been slain.
They had been unmade.
Reginal J. Ashveil had not only awakened his power. He had rewritten the laws of Sigilcraft.
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II.
They rode at dusk — Reginal at the front, his armor still pulsing faintly like a second heart. It clung to him like shadow, living and flexing with each movement, but somehow regal — a crown without gold, forged from wrath and will.
Milo followed, half-feral, half-man. His eyes darted between treelines and moonbeams like a beast sniffing for fate. His gauntlets, inherited from the wild wolf-spirit of the Bleakfang tribe, shimmered faintly with silver runes that only glowed under starlight.
Kammy, as ever, walked between worlds — her bare feet never quite touching the earth. Her scarf fluttered despite no wind. She hummed old songs her mother once sang — lullabies laced with hexes, war chants braided with sorrow.
> "Where are we going?" she asked one evening, as they crossed a ruined bridge older than time.
Reginal stared ahead.
> "To the place where I was meant to burn."
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III.
They arrived at Gravemount, an ancient ruin buried in mist and thorns, said to be the mouth of the first war. Here, the Sigilborn of old — warriors from the Age Before Crowns — once bathed in molten essence and carved the laws of magic into stone.
But Gravemount was not dead.
It breathed.
The wind carried whispers, the trees leaned in to listen. At the heart of the ruin stood a colossal fang buried in blackened soil — not ivory, not bone… but obsidian.
Reginal knelt. Blood dripped from his palm.
He offered it.
The fang responded.
It pulsed once. Then again.
And then… it sang.
The earth split beneath them, revealing an ancient chamber — lined with murals painted in dried blood and crushed soulcrystal. Symbols danced across the walls — stories of The Devourer King, a warlord from the Age of Wrath who wore no crown, yet ruled over kings. A being said to absorb the power of the gods themselves… before being betrayed and entombed in silence.
His last prophecy was etched into the wall, in a tongue that scorched Kammy's eyes to look upon.
Milo read it aloud in a growl.
> "Three shall rise from ash and fang.
One shall bind the fallen flame.
One shall dance between dusk and day.
One shall break the moon in rage.
Together, they will awaken the Old War."
Kammy turned to Reginal, whispering:
> "You're not the Devourer's heir…"
Reginal rose, eyes blazing.
> "I am his return."
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IV.
Thus, the Fangborn Pact was sealed — a vow not of oaths, but of war-blood.
Each of them carved their mark into the Obsidian Fang.
Milo's mark howled in silent winds — the beast unleashed.
Kammy's shimmered like a silver cut through shadow — elegance edged with doom.
Reginal's mark burned through the stone — the sigil of the Crimson Fang now etched into the bones of the world.
From that moment forward, they were no longer fugitives.
They were no longer nameless.
They were the founders of a House that did not ask for land — it took it.
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V.
But the world, as ever, would not remain still.
Far in the East, in the floating city of Aerodahl, the Council of Brands convened. Robes rustled like the skins of flayed angels, voices echoed like knives in glass.
> "The Nullborn lives."
> "Impossible."
> "Worse. He grows."
> "We must send the Wardens. We must summon the Fang-Eater."
> "The Fang-Eater is locked beneath the Ninth Seal!"
> "Then break it."
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VI.
Back at Gravemount, Milo paced beneath the black stars.
> "They'll come for us."
> "Let them," Reginal replied, tightening the straps of his living armor.
Kammy grinned, blades dancing between her fingers.
> "Good. I've been dying to carve a song they can't unhear."
From that moment forward, they no longer hid.
They sharpened.
They trained.
They began building a fortress of ash and bone on the ruins of Gravemount — not a castle, but a warborn sanctum known only to those who survived long enough to whisper of it:
The House of Embersong.
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VII.
Thus dawned the First Ember War.
And Reginal J. Ashveil — Fangborn, Devourer Reborn, Crimson Sovereign — walked not into legend.
He dragged it behind him in chains.
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[End of Chapter II]
Chapter III – "The Breaking of Aerodahl" coming next…