The sky above the Ashborn Cathedral burned crimson. Smoke spiraled into the heavens like a beacon of war. The Accord had arrived—with no mercy, no diplomacy. Just fire and steel.
Inside the ruined sanctuary, Maerith stood at the center of a war council. Flames danced around her, whispering reports from dying warriors.
"They breached the west wing," said Krael, her second-in-command. "They're using soulbinders. They've brought hunters."
Maerith's jaw tightened. "Ready the heartguard. Burn the east bridge. If they want our blood, they'll choke on it."
The flame to her left pulsed—and Selene's voice rang through. "Maerith. We have the Seal. But we were compromised. Venn was a spy."
Maerith's eyes flared. "And Azael?"
"Awakened."
Maerith's fire curled into a snarl. "Then the time has come."
The glider screeched through the night sky. Azael leaned over the edge, eyes locked on the battlefield below. The cathedral's walls blazed, Ashborn warriors clashing with armored Accord troops wielding silver runes and cursed fire.
Selene stood beside him, blood staining her blade. "We land on the south tower. From there, we find Maerith, regroup, and push them out."
Azael clenched the Crimson Seal dagger. It pulsed with a dangerous heat—like it wanted war.
"Let's end this."
The glider swooped low. Azael jumped first, landing hard atop the spire. Shadows surged toward him. Accord assassins—pale, inhuman, bound by oath magic.
He moved like fire incarnate.
Blade in one hand, blood magic in the other. He ripped through the assassins, severing their oaths with the Seal and watching their bodies collapse, lifeless.
Selene landed beside him, slicing through the last one. "You're not the same boy I met in the library."
"No," Azael said. "That boy's dead."
Inside the cathedral, Maerith met them at the war altar.
"The Seal is real," she said, eyes wide. "I can feel it from here."
Azael nodded. "We use it. End this."
"No," Maerith replied. "We unleash it. The Seal can summon the Ashborn Phoenix—our true power. But it will cost blood."
Azael stepped forward. "Mine."
Selene caught his arm. "You don't even know what it will do to you."
"I don't care," he whispered. "If I can break their power, stop them from hurting anyone else—I'll pay the price."
Maerith led them to the Flameheart Cradle, the deepest chamber beneath the cathedral. As the battle raged above, they formed a circle of blood and ash. Azael stepped into the center.
He raised the Crimson Seal.
"By the oath of the Virex bloodline, I summon the fire that was forsaken. Let the Phoenix rise again."
The dagger ignited.
A scream echoed—not from Azael, but from the very stones of the cathedral.
Flames erupted in a cyclone. A spectral phoenix rose, wings wide, made of molten fury and ancient vengeance. Its cry shattered glass. Accord soldiers above screamed as the fire consumed their spellcasters, shattered their summons, melted their armor.
Azael collapsed to his knees, blood streaming from his nose. The Seal dimmed.
The phoenix circled once, then dove—straight into the battlefield.
Within minutes, the tide turned. Accord forces broke ranks. Some burned. Others fled. The Ashborn struck back, brutal and united.
Victory rang through the flames.
But not without cost.
Selene helped Azael to his feet. "You summoned something older than war itself."
"It obeyed me," he said. "Why?"
Maerith approached, a flicker of something dangerous in her gaze. "Because you're not just the heir, Azael. You're the key. To the Seal. To the Phoenix. To the entire bloodbound legacy."
He stared at her. "You knew."
"I suspected," she admitted. "But now there's no denying it. The old rulers feared you. But some of us... we hoped."
Selene tensed. "What are you planning, Maerith?"
Maerith smiled faintly. "Revolution."
Azael turned away, staring into the flames.
The war wasn't over. It had just begun.
Stay tuned...