The seal split open with a sound like shattering bone and boiling blood. Ancient heat poured from the depths—a suffocating, sentient presence that clawed at the minds of all who stood near it.
Kael stepped forward.
The others hesitated, but he turned just enough to whisper, "Stay here."
"Kael—" Lyra started.
"I have to do this alone."
He descended into the vault.
The walls were blackstone veined with emberglass, glowing with runes that moved like serpents. With each step, memories not his own tugged at his thoughts. Wars. Thrones. A blade of light cleaving realms. And a name… always just out of reach.
The chamber opened.
At its heart floated a relic—a gauntlet of flame-forged metal, its joints carved with Sovereign markings. It pulsed with a dull heartbeat, as if alive.
Kael reached out.
"Crimson Sovereign," a voice echoed, deep and many-layered. "You return again."
"Who are you?" Kael asked, even as the gauntlet hovered into his hand.
The moment his fingers touched it, fire engulfed the room.
Flashes.
He saw the First Sovereign—face shrouded in a crown of fire—ruling with eyes that saw fate itself. Kael saw a thousand lifetimes born of his blood. Some became heroes. Some became tyrants. All bore the same mark.
Then he saw… himself.
Seated upon a throne made of ash and bone. Alone. Immortal. Feared.
"No," Kael muttered, pulling away.
The future cannot be denied, the voice whispered.
Kael gritted his teeth. "Then I'll carve a new one."
He returned to the surface with the gauntlet now clasped to his arm. Its fire responded to his will, flowing into his blade with ease. His aura had changed—stronger, more precise. His presence made even the Oracle lower her gaze.
"What did you see?" Isryn asked quietly.
"Nothing set in stone," Kael replied.
The Oracle stepped forward. "The Vault has opened for you. You bear the flame and the right. The Ashen Marches owe you their allegiance now."
A Fireborn Warlord knelt. Then another. Soon, all the flamebound warriors bowed before him.
"You are no longer merely Kael of Rivenhart," the Oracle said.
"You are Kael… Sovereign of Ash."
Later that night, they gathered at the edge of the Ashen cliffs. The sky burned orange, the stars faint behind veils of smoke. Kael stood apart from the others, staring into the flames.
Lyra approached.
"You're different," she said, arms crossed. "Again."
Kael didn't deny it. "The power's growing faster than I can understand it."
"And you're scared."
He glanced at her. "Shouldn't I be?"
She stepped closer. "I'm more afraid of who you'll trust than what you'll become."
Kael exhaled. "Then stay close."
They didn't speak after that. Just stood, side by side, while the fire danced.
But Kael's thoughts burned.
The name the vault had whispered still echoed in his bones.
Not Kael.
Not even Sovereign.
Something older.
Something the world forgot… but the Veil remembered.
And it was calling him north.
To Cindermoor.