The moon hung high above the fortress, a pale lantern casting silver light upon the sleeping camp. Yet inside Rondan's mind, there was no rest—only fire.
He stood alone on the balcony of the war chambers, staring at the horizon. The battle earlier had revealed more than blood and steel: the enemy's commander bore the same rune he had seen weeks ago, etched in crimson across his arm. That cursed mark kept appearing, circling him like a predator in the dark.
The sound of soft footsteps broke the silence.
"Still awake?" Leina's voice drifted, calm yet sharp as ever. She stepped into the moonlight, her silver eyes catching the glow.
Rondan didn't turn immediately. His hand gripped the cold stone rail.
"They keep showing up," he muttered. "That mark. Always the same, no matter who we face. It's not coincidence anymore."
Leina moved closer, her cloak brushing lightly against the floor.
"It was never coincidence," she said. "You've seen only fragments, but the truth goes deeper. These battles aren't just wars of kingdoms—they're rituals. Every clash, every death, feeds into something older than the empires that claim the land."
Rondan turned sharply, his crimson eyes burning.
"Then speak clearly. What are they trying to awaken?"
For the first time, hesitation flickered across her face. She lowered her gaze, as if weighing the danger of the truth itself.
"They call it the Forgotten Flame. A fire that once burned beneath the world, chained by gods because it could devour both heaven and earth. The runes you've seen… they are keys. And the tournament, the wars—it all leads to breaking those chains."
The weight of her words settled heavily between them. Rondan's hand clenched into a fist.
"And what am I in this? A pawn? Or something worse?"
Leina's eyes lifted to his, steady and unwavering.
"Not a pawn. A catalyst. Your presence draws the pieces together, whether you wish it or not. That is why they marked your path before you were even born."
Before Rondan could answer, a horn blared across the fortress, shattering the fragile quiet. Flames erupted at the far end of the camp, and shouts of alarm echoed in the night.
Leina stepped back, her dagger flashing into her hand.
"They've come sooner than expected."
Rondan drew his blade, the crimson gleam in his eyes now a storm.
"Then let them come. If the Forgotten Flame truly waits… I'll face it on my own terms."
And with that, he leapt from the balcony, the roar of battle already rising to meet him.