The Ashen Marches stretched before them—endless plains of blackened earth, rivers glowing faintly with ember-light, and the ruins of old clan fortresses jutting like broken teeth into the haze. Smoke drifted from smoldering fields where Veilspawn and Fireborn warbands clashed, their skirmishes staining the air with blood and ash.
Kael led from the front, Ashrend strapped across his back, his crimson eyes scanning the wastes. The Mark pulsed beneath his chestplate, warning him of something vast hidden beneath the scorched horizon.
Lyra walked close to his side, bow already strung. Her eyes swept the ridges. "Too quiet. The Fireborn don't leave their borders undefended."
Darric grunted, shield resting on his shoulder. "Quiet only means one thing. They're waiting to bleed us."
Kael nodded but didn't slow. "Then let them try."
A voice like honey laced with flame drifted from the rocks above.
"You cross sacred ground with foreign steel."
Figures emerged from the haze—cloaked warriors with emberbrands carved across their faces. At their head strode a woman clad in molten plate, her sword a slab of iron glowing red from within. Pyra. One of the Emberblade champions Kael had been warned about.
Behind her rose war banners of the Fireborn Clans, flickering in the heat like phantom wings.
"You're the Crimson Mark," Pyra said, her eyes narrowing. "The clans whispered of you. The Oracle has seen your flame. But flame uncontrolled destroys."
Kael stepped forward, cloak snapping in the hot winds. His voice carried, calm but sharp.
"And flame denied dies in silence."
Steel hissed free on both sides.
The Fireborn charged.
Darric's shield crashed against the first wave, sparks leaping as axes rang against its Sovereign-forged edge. Lyra loosed shafts with deadly rhythm, each arrow trailing smoke as it buried itself in throats and chests.
Kael moved like fire incarnate. Ashrend flared, red lightning cracking across its blade as he carved through warriors in sweeping arcs. His named strikes tore gaps in the enemy lines—Crimson Severance, Ashrend Requiem, each cut burning hotter than the air itself.
But Pyra didn't flinch. She came at him in a storm of glowing steel, her emberblade colliding with Ashrend in a blast of sparks that shook the ground.
"Show me if your flame is worthy to consume the world," she snarled.
Kael's Mark blazed, red aura crackling along his veins. For the first time, he felt it straining against him—not just power, but hunger.
He struck back, each blow heavier, faster, driven by something beyond his control. The battlefield blurred into chaos—embers, lightning, and screams merging into a single storm.
From the ridge above, Isryn whispered into the wind, her veil drawn low.
"The Marches will not forget this day. For here… the Spark will awaken."