Chains rattled in the dim silence. Darian sat still, wrists bound by violet runes, his gaze fixed on the cracked ceiling above. The warehouse was quiet except for the occasional creak of old beams and the soft hiss of wind slipping through shattered windows. Opposite him, the creature loomed in the shadows, pacing like a beast caged too long.
"You know why you're here," the creature said, more to itself than to Darian. "You're the key to him. He'll come for you."
Darian didn't answer. His mind raced, not with fear, but with focus.
Outside, the storm deepened.
---
Ashveil's strike force arrived in silence, their presence marked by floating sigils and silver-capped staffs brimming with latent energy. The commander's sharp eyes surveyed the crumbling building ahead.
"We hold formation and engage on my signal," he ordered.
Caelum stood just behind him, fists clenched, heart pounding. He could feel Darian—close, alive.
"We wait," the commander said. "We move with strategy, not emotion."
But Caelum had already turned.
Before the words finished leaving the commander's lips, Caelum slipped into the shadows and vanished.
---
Inside the warehouse, Darian sat upright as the doors creaked open. The demon paused mid-pace, eyes narrowing.
Caelum stepped through.
"Let him go," Caelum said.
The creature laughed. "You've come at last. The fire I sensed. The echo of Might. It's you."
"I'm the one you want."
The demon lunged.
They clashed in a roar of heat and steel. Caelum's flames exploded across the stone floor, casting wild shadows. The creature danced through the fire, claws slicing through glyphs. Caelum struck again and again—lightning whips, spinning sigils, blasts of compressed mana—but the demon tore through them with terrifying ease.
"You wield fire like a child plays with blades," it taunted.
Caelum unleashed a blazing pillar that cracked stone, yet the creature surged through the light and slammed into him. He rolled, gasping, warding with a rushed sigil.
"I thought you were the Bearer," the demon growled. "But you're only a flicker."
Caelum roared and charged, eyes burning. The demon caught him mid-swing, one hand clamping around his throat, lifting him effortlessly.
"No wonder the seal cracked so little. Your flame is pathetic."
Caelum struggled, fire flickering uselessly in his fingers.
The world dimmed.
---
Darian's heart slammed against his ribs. He saw Caelum—his brother—dangling, choking.
Something broke.
A pressure within him released.
Golden wisps coiled briefly around his arms, his chest—soft, silent tendrils of energy that pulsed once… then faded.
But the strength remained.
With a shout, Darian ripped free from the runes. The chains snapped like brittle twigs.
He moved.
With speed born not of magic, but of something deeper.
He drove his fist into the demon's chest.
The impact echoed.
The creature was flung backward, crashing through the wall, stone and dust raining around it.
Caelum fell. Darian caught him before he hit the ground.
"I've got you," he whispered.
Caelum blinked, barely conscious. His gaze fixed on the foot planted between him and the creature—a foot surrounded by faint, golden wisps.
Then everything faded.
---
Far away, in a high council chamber carved from crystal and obsidian, Queen Maerion stood at a table encircled by other rulers.
"They confirmed it," she said. "The creature shed its flesh in battle. It speaks. It thinks. And it seeks."
King Orvain leaned forward. "And Might?"
"Might," Maerion said slowly, "was what the demons feared most. It wasn't just power. It was defiance shaped into strength. A force they couldn't corrupt, couldn't steal. It destroyed them because it didn't come from mana. It came from will."
A hush settled over the council.
"Then we watch closely," Orvain murmured. "Because if Might has returned… so have our enemies."
---
Back in the ruined warehouse, the demon pulled itself from the rubble.
Its body cracked and scorched, it stared at Darian now—not with amusement.
But recognition.
"You…?" it breathed.
Darian stood slowly, golden threads still fading from his frame. His breath was steady. His stance firm.
The demon's lips curled.
"Of course," it whispered. "That's why your brother hurt me. Not because of skill. But because you were near. Your presence fed his fire."
It laughed—not mocking, but hungry.
"Come now, Bearer of Might. Let us see what power lives in your bones."