The wind roared across the mountain pass as Kael and the dragon soared through the sky. Beneath them, the world unfolded like a torn map—scarred valleys, darkened forests, rivers that had turned to ash. Wherever Aerin had gone, the land bore his mark.
For days, Kael trained under the dragon's watch. Serathion, as the guardian called himself, taught him not just how to wield the flame—but how to feel it. Fire was not rage. It was memory, truth, will. It could destroy, yes—but only to protect. To light the path forward.
Kael learned to call it with breath. To summon it with heart.
But the longer they trained, the closer the shadows crept.
News reached them through old spirits who still whispered through the winds: the capital of Velmara had fallen. Its white towers blackened, its gates shattered. And at the center of the ruin stood Aerin.
He had claimed the Burning Crown.
Kael stood on the edge of the cliffs that night, the wind cold against his skin. The crown was once a symbol of peace—worn only by the Flamebearers' leader when the Veil was strong. Now, cracked and twisted, it was a beacon for everything dark that had awakened.
"He was my brother," Kael said quietly to Serathion.
"He still is," the dragon replied. "But that doesn't mean he will return."
Kael lowered his head. "Then I'll have to stop him."
"You'll have to choose," the dragon corrected. "Between saving him—or saving the world."
The next morning, Kael and Serathion flew toward the fallen city. The air thickened as they neared, dark clouds swirling unnaturally above Velmara. Fires burned even where there was nothing left to consume. The very sky seemed afraid.
Kael dismounted beyond the outer wall—what little remained of it. Ash clung to every stone. The streets were silent. Statues crumbled. Every step echoed like a drumbeat leading to something inevitable.
At the heart of the city, atop the broken throne, Aerin waited.
He wore the crown like it had grown from his skull—molten and jagged. His eyes blazed, but not with fire. With ruin.
"So you came," he said.
"I had to," Kael replied. "You were once the best of us."
Aerin stood slowly, his cloak trailing like smoke. "I still am. The old ways were weak. We begged for balance while the world burned. I chose to burn first."
Kael's mark flared, but he didn't raise his blade. "You chose fear."
Aerin laughed—low, bitter. "I chose freedom."
And then the city shuddered.
The Veil split above them, just slightly. Enough for one scream to slip through.
Kael took a step forward. "Then this ends here."
The brothers stood, the flame between them flickering.
But only one would walk away with the fire unbroken.