The Vault awaited.
Kael stood before its massive gate—twin monoliths of scorched obsidian veined with crimson light, embedded into the blackened cliffs of the Emberdeep. The very air rippled with heat and whispers, like a thousand forgotten tongues brushing against his skin.
Behind him, his companions stood silent.
Lyra's hand rested on her twin daggers, her stance poised, eyes narrowed with distrust. Isryn's cloak danced in the scorching wind as she traced wards in the air, muttering old protection glyphs. Darric held his war-axe low but ready. Kaelen, ever composed, watched the gate with unreadable eyes.
"I feel it," Kael muttered, stepping forward. "It's waiting for me."
The gate pulsed. The Crimson Mark on his hand responded, glowing faintly. And then—with a groan like the world cracking—the gates began to open.
The Vault's interior was dark, vast… and alive.
The floor was glassy black stone, scorched and smooth. Flame drifted lazily in the air, forming shapes—battlefields, thrones, Sovereigns screaming as their own power consumed them. The chamber felt timeless. At its center rose a spire of molten crystal, pulsing with dark fire.
Kael approached it slowly.
And then—movement.
Figures burst from the vault's walls. Armored shadows, half-melted, eyes blazing with emberlight. Veil-twisted warriors, once Sovereign guardians, now corrupted echoes of their former selves.
Kael didn't hesitate.
He drew his blade—the black-edged greatsword forged in Crimson Spark—and whispered the command:
"Ignite."
The blade flared to life, burning with his aura. The first of the corrupted knights charged.
Kael ducked low and swept the blade in a flaming arc.
"Blazing Rift!"
The arc of fire split the knight in two, molten armor hissing as it dissolved into ash. Three more came. Lyra danced into their flanks with daggers like flickering shadows, Isryn unleashed a chain of frostfire that froze two solid, and Darric shattered them with a roar.
Kael clashed blades with another knight, their strength evenly matched for a moment—until Kael's aura exploded.
"Crimson Devourer!"
His blade turned into a streak of molten red, cutting through three enemies at once. Their dying howls were muffled by the Vault's humming pulse.
But then, the spire at the center split open.
A figure emerged.
It was not entirely human. Nor entirely Veilspawn.
Tall, cloaked in living fire and shadow, wearing fragments of ancient Sovereign regalia—this being looked upon Kael… and smiled.
"You've come," it said, voice like smoke over a dying battlefield. "Crimson-born. Echo of the cycle."
Kael pointed his sword. "Who are you?"
The being stepped forward. "I am the Flamewrought Heir. Born of the Vault. Born from you."
Kael stiffened.
"You're… me?"
"Not yet," it whispered. "But I am what you will become—should you open the third seal. Should you claim true Sovereignty."
The Vault trembled.
Crimson energy surged around Kael, drawn to the confrontation. Lyra shouted his name, but he couldn't move—his blade was glowing violently. His heart beat like a war drum.
And within him… something ancient stirred.
The Flamewrought Heir raised its own version of Kael's sword, identical in form but darker, twisted, humming with Sovereign resonance.
"You must decide," it said. "Will you wield fire to save… or to reign?"
Then it charged.
And Kael met it with a roar of power and steel.