Chapter 0029: Blood and Oaths – The First Fireguard Alliance
The sun rose over Valnora, casting its golden light over the high towers and battle-scarred walls. Within the royal hall, warriors, leaders, and emissaries from every corner of the realm stood in tense silence.
This was not a gathering of peace.
This was the forging of war.
And at the heart of it stood Raiden—scarred, fire-tempered, and unyielding.
The Assembly of the Chosen
Lyra stood beside him, flanked by Kaelen of the Northern Frostspire, draped in white wolf-fur, and General Virell of the Sandward Blades, his armor etched with sun-sigils. From the shattered isles came Captain Nyra, a pirate queen turned rebel, and from the shadows emerged Thorne, the exiled Void Mage, whose magic was once banned by every kingdom present.
Enemies. Rivals. Outcasts.
All gathered beneath one banner.
The Fireguard.
Raiden stepped forward, voice steady:
"I will not promise peace. Only war. War with purpose. With unity. With fire that protects, not consumes."
He drew his blade and sliced it across his palm, flames licking the wound without burning.
"I swear—on blood and fire—I will not kneel to gods nor monsters. Who stands with me?"
The Oaths Begin
One by one, the leaders stepped forward, repeating the vow. Some with pride, others with hesitation—but each bled into the flame. A ritual. An unbreakable bond.
When the last oath was made, a column of flame rose in the center of the chamber, harmless yet searing with power. It danced with their names and marks, sealing the alliance with ancient magic.
The Fireguard was no longer an idea.
It was an army.
Far Away… A New Threat Awakens
Deep beneath the molten chasms of the Obsidian Spine, Deyric stood before a gate—sealed for centuries by the gods themselves.
With Lyra's stolen blood, and the ashes of a thousand sacrifices, he whispered the final incantation.
The runes blazed red. The stone cracked.
And from the darkness beyond came a voice—not Volkran's—but something older.
"Who dares awaken me…?"
Deyric smiled.
"The one who will burn the gods to dust."
The God Below – The True Enemy Reveals Itself
The air beneath the Obsidian Spine was thick with ancient magic—old, wild, and furious. Deyric stood at the threshold of the shattered gate, the last of the sealing runes flickering into ash.
Beyond lay the Hollow Realm, a prison carved by forgotten gods. A place whispered of in forbidden tomes and erased from history.
But something within… still lived.
And now, it was awake.
The Awakening
Darkness bled from the breach—living, breathing. The temperature dropped, yet the shadows felt hot. A monstrous shape emerged, not walking, not floating, but pouring out like a tide of black flame and smoke.
Eyes—hundreds of them—opened across its shifting form.
"You are not Volkran."
"No," Deyric answered, kneeling. "I seek to free him… and I need you."
The creature studied him, its form twisting into a vaguely humanoid shape, its face a mask of cracked obsidian and molten veins.
"Volkran was a pawn. I was the hand that moved him."
Deyric's breath caught.
He wasn't freeing an ally.
He was awakening the one who had manipulated gods.
Name of the Forgotten
The entity stepped forward, voice echoing through bone and soul.
"They called me Zoryx. The First Flame.
The One Buried Beneath Creation."
With a swipe of its clawed hand, Zoryx reignited the dead cultists nearby, turning them into Ashborn Wraiths, glowing with cursed fire and eternal hatred.
"You want war?" Zoryx said. "I bring apocalypse."
Deyric smiled.
"Then let the sky burn."
Meanwhile… in Valnora
A sharp chill ran through Raiden as he stood on the Fireguard tower. He clutched the blade at his side—his connection to the flame flared with pain.
"Something's changed," Lyra whispered beside him.
Raiden's flame responded—not in warning, but in fear.
The fire had always been his weapon.
Now… it was whispering of something stronger.
Something wrong.
A Vision of the End
That night, Raiden dreamed.
He stood in a city of glass and ash. Flames wept from the sky. His Fireguard lay dead at his feet. Above him, floating over a throne of smoke—
Zoryx.
"You are fireborn," the god whispered. "But I am the fire."
Raiden woke, drenched in sweat, his sword pulsing wildly.
The war wasn't just about kingdoms anymore.
The gods were returning.
And they were not merciful.
Rise of Zoryx – Fire Against the Divine
The morning sky over Valnora was painted in unnatural hues—red, black, and bruised violet. Birds had stopped singing. Winds carried the scent of scorched stone. Something ancient had broken free... and even the flame spirits whispered in fear.
Raiden stood before the assembled Fireguard. Faces young and old. Some battle-worn, others still green. But every soul carried fire in their veins.
"We trained for war," Raiden said. "But now we fight for the world itself."
The Ashborn Descend
The alarm bells sounded just past noon.
From the eastern ridge came a creeping wave of Ashborn Wraiths—warped human forms, blackened by cursed fire, their limbs crackling with embered bones. They moved in jerks, like puppets with threads made of smoke.
At their lead was a figure clad in molten armor—Veylan, Zoryx's first chosen. Once a noble general of the Ember Throne, now a hollow vessel, filled with divine rage.
He raised a blackened banner.
"Zoryx rises. Kneel, or be erased."
Raiden's eyes narrowed.
"Then we stand."
The Battle Ignites
Lyra led the first charge, her twin blades ablaze, carving through the Ashborn like a wildfire cutting through deadwood. Kaelen of Frostspire conjured a blizzard to slow their advance, ice against ash.
Raiden leapt into the heart of the fight, his blade meeting Veylan's in a clash of titans. Sparks flew. Fire met corrupted fire.
"You're just a shadow," Raiden spat.
"I am the flame that resists."
Veylan grinned, a mouth full of embers.
"You burn beautifully, mortal."
A Costly Victory
With brutal determination and tactical brilliance, the Fireguard held their ground. Thorne summoned void-chains to bind the wraiths. Nyra rained skyfire from her ship anchored in the clouds.
By dusk, the Ashborn retreated—but not without leaving scars.
Seventy-seven dead. Twelve missing. One of Raiden's oldest companions—Sir Gravin—lay silent, his armor cracked, sword still in hand.
And in the aftermath, the survivors gathered in silence.
They had won... barely.
And Zoryx hadn't even come himself.
The Fireguard's Reckoning
That night, Raiden stood alone at the watchtower.
Lyra joined him, blood still on her hands.
"We'll lose more," she whispered.
"We already have," Raiden replied.
But his eyes were harder now. Brighter.
Like coals refusing to die.
"Then we burn brighter. Until even gods blink first."
Chapter 98: The Pact of Shadows – When Enemies Become Allies
The halls of Valnora echoed with grief and resolve. While the Fireguard mended wounds and buried their fallen, Raiden convened a secret council beneath the castle—in the Shadow Vault, a forgotten chamber that once held traitors and monsters.
But tonight, it would hold something more dangerous:
A choice.
A Name from the Past
Lyra stood guard as a hooded figure was brought into the chamber, shackled and silent. The shadows coiled around him like they belonged to him.
Thorne looked up, smirking.
"You look terrible, Raiden."
"You betrayed three kingdoms," Raiden growled.
"And you're about to ask me to do it again," Thorne replied calmly.
A scroll was unrolled. On it, the Sigil of the Night Court—a faction of mages long believed extinct after they were banished for their use of void magic.
"You were their Prince," Lyra said.
"And they're the only ones who've ever fought a god and lived," Thorne replied. "Barely."
The Pact
Raiden hesitated, then unsheathed his dagger and placed it on the table.
"I'm not asking you to be loyal," he said. "I'm asking you to help me stop Zoryx."
Thorne's smile faded.
"You're going to need more than fire to kill a god, Raiden. You'll need the dark. You'll need secrets, lies… and people who've already died once."
"Then give me your shadows," Raiden said. "I'll trade them my fire."
The two clasped arms.
And the pact was made.
Meanwhile… Beyond the Ashlands
Zoryx stood atop a burning cliff, his form now more solid, monstrous and vast. His Ashborn army knelt in droves.
He looked into the night sky and spoke a single command.
"Send the Reaper."
From behind him emerged a tall, thin figure, face hidden beneath an obsidian mask.
The Reaper of Flame.
Zoryx's executioner.
A creature that once hunted demigods… for sport.
Back in Valnora
Raiden's blood inked the final rune of the pact. The sigils on the chamber walls pulsed.
From the shadows stepped the first of Thorne's people: rogues, assassins, cursed mages—all forgotten, all deadly.
The Night Court had returned.
And with them, the Fireguard gained a weapon no god expected:
Darkness.
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(To be Continue...)