Chapter 45: The Burned Throne
The smoke hadn't cleared from the Ashfall Empire's ruins when Elian stepped through the charred remains of the gate. His boots crushed soot-covered bones, the symbols of the old monarchy still faintly visible on the broken stones. The once-mighty banners of flame and ash were now nothing more than singed memories fluttering in the wind.
Behind him, Vyrebrand's spectral form hovered in silence, the corrupted echo of flame watching without eyes. A thousand souls screamed from within him—victims, soldiers, kings. All bound to the fire Elian had unleashed, and could no longer control.
"Elian." Kael's voice emerged from the shadows of the ruined courtyard. His armor was cracked, scorched, and bloodied. But his eyes burned brighter than any inferno. "You've come back to finish what you started?"
"No," Elian answered, voice rough. "I came to bury it."
They stared at each other—brothers in battle once, now divided by endless scars. Kael pointed his blade toward the center of the ruins where the throne once stood.
"That fire inside you," he growled, "it's not something you can bury."
Elian's hand closed around the hilt of his weapon—Dagger of Dusk—the relic blade infused with the last spark of King Maeron's dying oath. It pulsed with a chilling energy, a twilight between flame and void. Not a weapon of kings, but of endings.
Kael charged.
Their blades clashed under the ruined sky, sparks lighting the gloom. Every strike was layered with history: battles fought side by side, betrayals unanswered, and the weight of fallen kingdoms. Vyrebrand hissed in the background, the phantom flame within Elian trembling with hunger.
Elian's blade slashed through Kael's pauldron, but Kael countered with a blow to Elian's ribs. Blood sprayed, both red and glowing ember.
"I tried to save you," Elian spat, staggering.
Kael raised his sword again. "You destroyed everything we built."
Vyrebrand surged behind Elian, ready to consume. But Elian turned—not to use it, but to sever it.
With a roar, he drove the Dagger of Dusk into the earth, anchoring it through Vyrebrand's shadow. The spectral flame screamed, unraveling in a whirlwind of ash and whispers. The dagger pulsed, devouring the fire from its master and feeding it back into the bones of the land.
Kael fell to one knee, stunned. "You...killed it?"
"No," Elian whispered. "I gave it back."
As the last ember faded from the ash-choked air, the ruins grew quiet for the first time in years.
But the silence was not peace.
It was a warning.
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Chapter 46: Beneath the Blood Sky
Night fell faster than it should have. Overhead, the stars blinked in strange patterns, like a language the earth had long forgotten. Elian sat alone on the cold throne dais—now nothing but blackened stone and scorched steel.
In his hands, the Dagger of Dusk no longer glowed. It was inert, cold. Yet he could feel it pulsing, not with fire, but with memory.
"You know this isn't over," said a voice from the shadows.
Elian didn't turn. "I was wondering when you'd crawl out, Specter."
From behind a pillar, the masked assassin known only as the Specter emerged—cloaked in dark silk, carrying no weapons, yet deadlier than anyone in the kingdom's past. She bowed low.
"The Nine Barrows have stirred. The Wardens of Hollowreach are moving. Your act of mercy… opened every sealed door."
Elian rose, weary but resolute. "Good. Let them come."
Specter circled him slowly. "You burned an empire, buried a flame god, and killed your last brother. Do you really want to carry more war?"
Elian turned to her, face half-lit by the blood-red moon now rising.
"I don't carry war," he said. "I end it."
Specter smiled behind her mask. "Then you'll need to reclaim the dagger."
Elian looked down. The blade was gone.
His heart froze.
Beneath the throne dais, a thin, blood-red crack had formed. The dagger had vanished into it—dragged not by a thief, but by something ancient. Something beneath.
"Where does it lead?" Elian asked.
Specter touched the crack with her bare hand and flinched.
"Below the world," she whispered. "To the Vault of Forgotten Fire. The place no king has returned from."
Elian's eyes narrowed. "Then it's time someone did."
He stepped forward. The ground gave way.
He fell.
Into darkness.
Into fire.
Into the next chapter of the war no one remembered starting.
But everyone would remember ending.