The fires of the Ashen Marches dimmed behind them, giving way to jagged black hills and scorched ravines that bled heat. Even here, in the heart of desolation, life endured—if one could call the Fireborn Clans "life."
Kael and his companions emerged into the hollowed basin of Skarhold, an ancient volcanic arena etched into the stone by time and war. There, dozens of warriors awaited—bodies wrapped in scorched leather, eyes glowing like coals, every scar a story carved in flame.
At the center of them stood Korran, Chieftain of the Embermanes, a mountain of a man with a hammer as long as Kael was tall. His voice thundered the moment Kael stepped forward.
"The boy with the cursed blade dares cross the Ashmarch? I thought you a myth."
Kael did not waver. "I came to make a pact."
A ripple passed through the clan warriors—half amused, half hungry for blood.
Korran's grin was all teeth and smoke. "Pacts are earned with fire."
The Ember Pact was no contract, no scroll sealed in wax. It was an ancient rite—Trial by Conflagration.
Korran stepped aside, revealing a ring of obsidian where warriors fought bare-handed against summoned flame beasts—creatures born of pact-fire and spirit ash.
Kael stripped off his cloak and stepped inside.
Ashrend remained sheathed. This wasn't a battle of steel—it was a test of will and resolve.
From the flame, a creature emerged. A Blazehorn, its body a beast-shaped mass of coal and molten bone, horns glowing white-hot.
Kael narrowed his stance, every muscle tense.
It charged.
Kael dodged the first strike, using the creature's momentum to throw it off balance. His fists, wrapped in spectral flame from his Mark, slammed into its side—breaking the outer shell of ash.
The crowd roared.
But the beast did not fall. It rose, its body morphing—tail lashing out in molten arcs.
Kael gritted his teeth, leapt forward, and slammed his palm into its chest. His Mark blazed.
"Crimson Binding!"
A circle of red chains erupted, tethering the beast to the ground. He raised his fist, now glowing with red flame.
"Falling Star — Break."
He drove it down. The flame beast shattered like glass.
Silence fell.
Then came the roar of approval.
Korran approached, no longer mocking. He extended his forearm in respect.
"You bled fire. You broke it with your will. You've earned our flame, Kael Rivenhart."
Their arms locked.
"Then let the Ember Pact be forged," Korran declared. "The Fireborn Clans march with the Crimson Sovereign."
Lyra's expression softened for the first time in days. "You're building something," she said quietly. "Something that might actually stand against him."
Kael stared at the horizon, where the Black Spire of Malrik rose like a dagger through the sky.
"We have to. Or everything burns."