Steel clashed against steel, though neither weapon was truly of this world.
Kael's blade—tempered in Crimson Spark, infused with his awakening soul—met the Flamewrought Heir's twisted mirror of it in a blinding collision. Sparks flew, red and black, painting streaks of destruction across the Vault's molten floor.
Each impact sent shockwaves through the chamber.
Kael spun low, aiming for the Heir's legs, but the doppelgänger leapt, twisting midair in unnatural grace. It landed behind Kael and struck—but Kael pivoted just in time, parrying with a burst of aura.
"Crimson Veilguard!" he called.
A wall of burning glyphs formed around him, absorbing the Heir's next strike. The heat bent the air. The Vault itself trembled, reacting to their fight.
"You cannot win," the Flamewrought Heir said, voice calm, almost sorrowful. "I am everything you fear becoming."
"Then I'll burn that fear down," Kael growled.
He pushed forward. Their swords clashed again.
Behind them, the companions scattered as the Vault cracked open further. Giant rune-pillars collapsed. Out of the walls spilled more half-born monstrosities—twisted Veilguard specters. Darric and Lyra rushed to intercept them.
"Keep them off Kael!" Isryn shouted, already conjuring a barrier of silver flame.
Kaelen stood unmoving, watching Kael's every motion with deep concentration—like a teacher observing a test only his student could survive.
Kael dodged another slash. The Heir fought with a terrifying elegance—every movement mirrored Kael's own techniques, refined and enhanced.
"You hold back," the Heir whispered mid-duel. "You fight to protect. But Sovereigns were never protectors. We were the flame that cleansed."
Kael struck again, harder this time. His blade sang.
"Crimson Rend!"
The blow carved a molten gash across the Heir's shoulder, searing fabric and shadowflesh alike. For the first time, it recoiled.
"You bleed," Kael said coldly.
"So do you," the Heir hissed—and slammed its blade down.
Kael caught the strike—but the floor beneath him gave way.
He fell.
Down into the second chamber of the Vault—a forge of soul and memory.
He hit the ground hard, sword still in hand, breath ragged.
And standing across the forge was the Heir once again—unchanged. Unwounded. As if it had followed him in a dream of fire.
"You must understand," it said. "This is the crucible. You cannot destroy me… without destroying yourself."
Kael slowly stood.
"I know."
His aura began to surge, no longer just flame—but flame with will. He thought of his companions. Of his oath. Of Rivenhart. Of Kaelen's teachings, and the blood he swore to never spill in vain.
He raised his blade—and it answered him.
A pulse of red lightning danced down the edge.
"Sovereign Spark."
The Vault lit up with his fury.
He charged. The Heir roared. And their blades met once more—not just steel now, but ideals.
One to rule.
One to resist.
The forge cracked.
Reality twisted.
And somewhere, deep in the flames, Kael began to change.