The Cindervault doors rumbled open once more, heat cascading outward like a tidal wave. Kael emerged from the depths, steam rising from his armor, crimson light still flickering faintly across his veins. His aura had changed—refined, sharpened, and burning with quiet intensity.
The Oracle of Ash, her flame-hollowed eyes watching intently, bowed her head.
"He walks not as a trialed soul," she intoned, "but as one recognized by the Flame itself. The Vault has branded him."
Kael said nothing, only met her gaze as Ashreaver hummed faintly at his back. Behind him, the mountain stirred—as though something ancient had been awoken beneath its crust.
Darric stepped forward, his armor scorched from training with Fireborn warbands. "You alright?" he asked, but it was more than concern—it was awe.
Kael gave a slight nod, then turned to the others. Lyra, quiet as ever, observed him with a mixture of relief and hesitation. Isryn stood with her staff across her back, shadows tugging faintly at her robes, lips twitching in restrained curiosity.
"I saw… something down there," Kael finally said. "A version of me that chose rage. That gave in."
"Did you win?" Lyra asked softly.
Kael's eyes burned crimson for a moment. "I became something it couldn't match."
The Oracle stepped forward, lifting a ceremonial dagger carved from obsidian.
"You must swear the Ember Oath if you intend to leave with what the Vault has gifted," she said.
Kael extended his palm without hesitation. The blade drew no blood—but instead carved glowing runes into his skin. They faded as soon as they appeared.
"I swear," Kael said, his voice echoing unnaturally across the mountainside, "to wield flame as shield and sword, to burn only what must perish, and to become more than what fate demands."
The Oracle smiled faintly. "Then rise, Kael Rivenhart, and walk with ash in your shadow."
Suddenly, the ground shook.
Screams echoed from the lower mountain paths. One of the Fireborn warriors burst through the temple gates, blood staining his arms.
"They're coming! Veilspawn—tens of them! And something… something huge!"
Kael didn't hesitate. "Darric, hold the inner pass. Isryn—barrier on the outer walls. Lyra, with me."
They rushed to the overlook.
From the scorched horizon, black shapes emerged—misshapen beasts cloaked in smoke and claw, crawling, skittering, galloping. And behind them…
A giant. A molten monstrosity—part flesh, part obsidian, with lava seeping from its joints. Its face was masked in bone, and in its chest was embedded a shard of a broken Veilgate.
Kael's grip tightened.
"They want the Vault's fire," Isryn whispered.
"No," Kael muttered. "They want me."
He stepped forward.
Flames licked along Ashreaver's edge as Kael raised it high, aura burning bright as the midday sun.
"Ashreaver Form: Emberfang Cyclone."
He launched into the air, spinning through the first wave of Veilspawn. His blade cut through them in arcs of burning light, slicing cleanly, vaporizing corruption on contact. Lyra loosed volley after volley of enchanted arrows, while Isryn muttered words that bent the winds themselves into protective barriers.
The battle raged.
Kael met the obsidian titan head-on, their blows sending shockwaves through the mountain. He was faster now—cleaner. Every motion a dance of precision and destruction.
He ducked beneath a molten fist, slashed across the titan's knee.
"Infernal Rend!" he roared, cleaving upwards—his blade erupting in crimson lightning as it tore through the creature's chest.
The shard embedded in its heart cracked—and from it spilled dark energy. The titan collapsed, and the remaining Veilspawn screeched in agony before erupting into black fire.
The mountain quieted again.
Only Kael remained standing among the dead, eyes burning, ash coating his shoulders like a cloak.
He turned to the Oracle. "The fire within the Vault isn't enough," he said. "There's something else coming. And I need more."
She nodded solemnly. "Then you must seek the Forge Below the World. And claim what sleeps in the Hollow Furnace."