The battlefield roared around them—embers, screams, and steel colliding in a storm that turned the Ashen Marches into a furnace.
Kael and Pyra were the eye of it.
Her emberblade crashed against Ashrend again and again, each strike sparking molten arcs through the air. She moved like wildfire, relentless, her strength enough to drive most men into the dirt. But Kael wasn't most men.
The Crimson Mark flared beneath his armor, flooding his veins with searing energy. His blade sang with red lightning, each swing carving burning trails through the haze.
"You burn bright," Pyra spat, sparks spraying as their blades locked. "But uncontrolled flame devours everything—even its bearer."
Kael's eyes narrowed, his voice low and steady.
"Then I'll master it."
With a surge of power, he broke the lock, spinning Ashrend in a blistering arc. The blow carved through three Fireborn who had charged behind her, red lightning consuming their bodies in a single flash.
Darric's roar split the chaos. Shield raised, he slammed a warlord off his feet, spearheading Lyra's volley as her arrows cut flaming paths through the clansmen. Isryn whispered words in a tongue no mortal should know—every time her staff struck the earth, shadows spilled outward, swallowing enemy lines in confusion.
But Kael was past noticing.
The Mark wasn't just burning anymore—it was awakening. He felt it clawing at his soul, demanding more, demanding release. Ashrend thrummed in his grip like a living thing, hungry for blood.
Pyra struck again, a wide swing of molten force meant to cleave him in two. Kael caught it, sparks exploding, then twisted, forcing her back a step.
The crimson aura around him erupted.
It wasn't just fire. It was fire fused with his soul—lightning laced with flame, heat drawn into every motion. His eyes burned brighter than the Marches themselves.
Crimson Spark.
The world slowed.
Kael vanished and reappeared in a streak of red lightning, Ashrend's edge carving across Pyra's chestplate in a blazing arc. She staggered, molten sparks flying, her armor cracking from the impact.
The battlefield froze. Even the Fireborn faltered, watching.
Kael stood alone, wreathed in crimson energy, Ashrend glowing like a star in his hands.
Pyra fell to one knee, blood steaming against her glowing armor. She stared up at him, breathing ragged, then laughed—soft, bitter.
"The Oracle was right," she whispered. "The Spark lives. And it will either save… or consume."
Before Kael could answer, a tremor shook the ground. All eyes turned toward the horizon, where the Ashen Oracle's temple flared with burning light.
The clans dropped their weapons, kneeling in unison. Pyra lowered her head, crimson blood dripping to the ash.
"Go," she said, voice hoarse but steady. "The Oracle waits for you. And so does your fate."
Kael exhaled slowly, crimson lightning still crawling over his skin. He tightened his grip on Ashrend, then turned to his companions.
"Then we'll face it together."