The flames parted like curtains pulled back by ancient hands.
Kael rose from the molten floor, smoke coiling around him like the veil of some awakening god. His breath came in measured bursts, chest heaving, but his gaze had hardened—focused, unshaken. The mark across his chest burned with the intensity of a rising sun, pulsing in sync with his heart.
Across the chamber, the Flamewrought Heir staggered. Its mirror-blade—once an extension of Kael's own fears—now flickered with instability. Fractures ran along its edge like veins of black ice.
"You're changing…" it rasped.
"No," Kael said, raising his sword. "I've already changed."
He stepped forward—slow, deliberate, each footfall cracking the scorched floor beneath him. The red lightning along his blade's edge arced outward, lashing the ground and casting long, jagged shadows behind him.
The Heir lunged, shrieking—but Kael didn't dodge.
"Crimson Flash."
In an instant, Kael vanished—only to reappear behind the Heir in a burst of red light. A clean cut tore through the creature's torso, and it stumbled, disoriented. Its body trembled as if struggling to hold its shape.
"You wield the blade like a sovereign now," the Heir hissed, turning slowly, ichor dripping from its mouth. "But do you understand what that means? You'll lose more than your enemies."
"I've already lost enough."
Kael's voice was quiet—too quiet. But there was weight in it. And as he raised his blade once more, it was not power that surged from him—it was resolve.
Then— "Crimson Seal."
The mark on his chest burst outward in runes of glowing bloodlight, forming a sigil in the air behind him like a blazing halo. His sword lit up in tandem, no longer just a weapon, but a key. A seal. A legacy.
Kael charged. The Heir tried to defend—parried once, twice—then failed.
The blade cut through it, not just flesh but essence.
The Flamewrought Heir screamed—its body unraveling like ash in the wind, tendrils of power escaping as it reached toward Kael with a final, desperate hand.
"You will become me!"
Kael stood firm, eyes blazing. "Then I'll rewrite what I become."
With one final strike, he shattered the Heir completely—no scream, no explosion, just a rush of silence.
The forge quieted.
The red seal behind him faded into his body, and with it, a surge of understanding. The Crimson Spark was no longer just a reaction to pain—it was a weapon sharpened by purpose.
Above, the Vault cracked open. Darric, Lyra, and Isryn peered down through the rift.
"He did it," Lyra whispered.
Kaelen nodded in silent approval.
Kael turned toward them, his figure outlined in emberlight.
"I'm done running," he said. "The Sovereign's game ends now."
From deep below the Vault, a tremor echoed upward—a vast, rhythmic thrum like a heartbeat of something ancient… awakening.
Kael looked toward the sound, jaw set.
"Then let it wake. I'll be ready."