The Fireborn Warlords stood like monuments of wrath, their ember-forged armor crackling with ancient flame. Each one was a titan in his own right—one wielded a cleaver shaped like a crescent moon, another bore chains that hissed with molten light, and the last towered with a hammer that trembled the very ground with each breath.
Kael stepped into the arena of scorched stone, his cloak already smoldering from the heat radiating off them. His hand tightened around his blade's hilt. The Crimson Spark flared at his core—angry, eager.
"I'll handle the first," he muttered. "Flank the others if they break formation."
"You're not doing this alone," Darric said firmly, raising his shield. "You said we fight together."
Kael didn't respond—but he didn't say no, either.
The Oracle raised her hand—and dropped it.
The battle began.
The Warlord with the crescent cleaver lunged first, his body moving faster than something that size should. The air shimmered with heat in his wake.
Kael met him head-on, steel shrieking against molten edge.
"Crimson Reave!"
A shockwave of red force exploded outward, staggering the giant momentarily. Kael pivoted low, dragging his blade in a crescent arc and cleaving through one leg at the knee.
But the warlord didn't fall—it laughed. Fire poured from its mouth as it swung its cleaver again, this time overhead.
Kael dove aside. The blade hit the stone floor, shattering it into a crater.
Darric slammed into the second warlord's side, his shield flashing with a warding glyph Kaelen had etched before their departure. The chain-wielder snarled and struck—but Isryn's curse seized the air, freezing the fire in its tracks just long enough for Lyra's arrow to drive into its helm.
"Right eye!" she shouted.
Kael caught the call, spun, and launched himself upward.
"Infernal Fang: Second Form – Ember Divide!"
A twin-slash blazed across the cleaver-wielder's chest. This time, Kael did sever it—torso from legs, the pieces erupting into ash and flame.
But the victory was brief. The third warlord—the hammer-bearer—charged. Faster than all the rest. A living meteor.
Kael barely got his sword up when—
BOOM.
The strike launched him backward into a wall of stone, cratering it.
"Kael!" Lyra cried out, loosing another arrow. The hammer-bearer swatted it mid-air, unbothered.
Kael coughed blood, vision blurry. But as the warlord came for him again, he gritted his teeth and reached inward—not just to the Crimson Spark, but to everything.
The storm within. The rage of Rivenhart. The pain of loss. The mark's inheritance.
The flame answered.
His blade ignited fully, now less metal and more living fire. Veins of black lightning surged through it.
"Crimson Ascendance."
The transformation wasn't just aura—it changed him. Horns of flame arced over his head. His cloak became smoke. His presence forced even the Oracle to step back.
The hammer came down again.
Kael caught it—caught it—and drove his sword straight through the warlord's helm, splitting the fire-giant down the center.
Silence.
Only ash and flame remained.
The Oracle descended from her perch, her blindfold burned away by unseen winds. Her eyes were fire itself, ancient and endless.
"You bear the weight well," she said, voice quiet now.
Kael stood tall, the glow fading slowly from his blade. "Was that your test?"
"That was only to see if your body could carry the flame." She stepped closer, placing a burning hand over his heart. "The true trial… will be when your soul begins to burn."
Kael did not flinch.
She smiled, for the first time. "You are ready to know your name."
The earth quaked.
From beneath the stone, a sealed vault began to crack open—gold runes glowing, whispering in tongues long dead.
Kael heard it—felt it.
A name not given, but remembered.
And it chilled him.