The courtyard burned with chaos. Shadows clashed against firelight as enemy soldiers poured through the shattered gates, their armor etched with the same crimson rune. The mark glowed like molten veins, pulsing in rhythm with the cries of war.
Rondan landed among them, his blade carving a crimson arc through the first wave. Sparks flew, steel met steel, yet his mind burned hotter than the battlefield. The Forgotten Flame… chained beneath the world… and I am the catalyst? The thought gnawed at him even as he fought.
"Rondan!" a familiar voice cried.
Ashen burst from the barracks, staff glowing with blue light, weaving protective wards to hold back the surge of arrows. His young face was pale, yet his eyes—clear and sharp—never faltered.
Behind him, Kain's massive frame pushed through the smoke, cleaving through enemies like a beast unchained.
"They're not here for conquest," Kain growled, blood dripping from his blade. "They're here for you."
Rondan parried a strike, his crimson eyes narrowing. "Then they'll regret finding me."
Above them, Leina appeared on the battlements, her cloak torn by the wind. She raised her dagger high, its silver edge catching the moonlight. With a single motion, she traced a rune into the air. The symbol blazed, and for a heartbeat the battlefield froze—enemies and allies alike halted, caught in the spell's weight.
But the glow spread, seeping into the enemy soldiers' marks, and suddenly the air trembled. From beneath the fortress stones came a low rumble, like something ancient stirring.
Ashen's ward shattered. His voice broke with terror:
"They're not just soldiers… they're vessels!"
The rune-lit warriors screamed in unison, their bodies burning from the inside out. Flames erupted, twisting their shapes into something less than human—jagged silhouettes of ash and fire, their eyes hollow pits of molten red.
Leina's voice carried over the din, sharp and cold:
"They're breaking the first chain."
Rondan's heart thundered in his chest. The battlefield was no longer a war. It was the beginning of an awakening.
He lifted his blade, the roar of his spirit matching the storm around him.
"If this flame wants to rise," he growled, "then it will rise over my ashes, not the world's."
And with that, he charged into the inferno.