The Ashen Spire pierced the heavens like a blackened fang, wrapped in smoke and molten sky. Thunder cracked above it, though no storm brewed — only the weight of prophecy unraveling.
Kael stood at its base, Ashreaver sheathed at his back, his companions gathered at his flanks. The Crucible's trial had changed him. The Crimson Spark burned brighter now — not just in his blade, but in the way he walked. Calmer. More centered. More dangerous.
Isryn's voice cut through the rising wind. "Once we enter, nothing may be hidden."
Darric grunted. "Then we'd best walk in proud."
Lyra eyed Kael. "The Oracle won't just see you. She'll judge every path you might walk. Are you ready for that?"
Kael looked up at the spire.
"I don't have a choice."
Inside the Ashen Spire
They passed through halls carved from obsidian and etched with flames that moved like living script. The deeper they walked, the heavier the air became — as though time itself was watching.
At the heart of the temple sat the Oracle. Draped in red and gold, her skin cracked like cooled lava, her hair a river of smoke flowing endlessly behind her. Her eyes held no pupils — only flame.
She smiled when Kael entered.
"So," she said, voice echoing like distant fire, "the cursed flame walks on two legs."
Kael held her gaze. "You summoned me."
"No," the Oracle said. "Your blood did. Your curse… answers. Sit."
Kael stepped forward. As he did, his companions vanished — not physically, but from the room's presence. Only he and the Oracle remained, suspended in a chamber that drifted above time.
The Oracle raised her hand.
Visions surged.
— Kael, his body aflame, carving through Veilspawn in an endless war.
— Kael, a tyrant king, seated on a blackened throne, Lyra kneeling in chains.
— Kael, bleeding in the snow, a broken sword in hand, Isryn's face fading in his final breath.
— Kael, screaming as the Mark consumed him, splitting his soul.
— Kael, standing against a god, his body divine and wreathed in flame.
"All these paths are yours," the Oracle whispered. "All are true."
Kael gritted his teeth. "I won't become a tyrant."
"You may not have the luxury of choosing," she said, leaning forward. "The flame does not ask. It claims. And your Mark is Sovereign-born."
She placed her hand to his chest.
"Let the Second Flame awaken."
Pain exploded through Kael's ribs.
The Mark flared. The room ignited. Visions tore through him like claws.
Flame Overdrive: Crimson Ascendance
His aura erupted. Not lightning. Not fire. But something in between. His limbs blazed with flowing script. His blade shimmered with liquid red energy.
Ashreaver appeared in his hand without a gesture. He could feel it now — responding to intent.
He collapsed to one knee, chest heaving.
The Oracle stepped back, satisfied. "The Sovereigns feared this power. It nearly destroyed them once."
Kael rose.
"Then maybe I'll be the first to use it right."
Outside the spire, Lyra and Darric saw it first — a wave of fire erupting from the top. It curled like wings across the sky, painting the clouds in red light.
Isryn closed her eyes. "He survived."
Lyra grinned. "Not just survived."
Darric smirked. "That bastard just got stronger again."
Far below — in the Deep Cinders
A figure cloaked in ash and bone knelt before a withered throne. Behind it, Veilspawn shrieked and howled in cages of charred steel.
"The flame bearer lives," it rasped.
Another voice echoed from the darkness.
"Then we'll burn the world before he lights the sky."