The aftermath of war never brought silence—only a heavier kind of noise. The Ashborn Cathedral, though victorious, stood scarred. The scent of blood and fire lingered in the air like smoke that refused to lift.
Azael sat alone at the edge of the outer parapet, the Crimson Seal dagger resting in his lap, dull now, but still warm. His body ached. His spirit more so. The Phoenix's power had left a mark—on him, on the world.
The sun hadn't risen yet. And even if it did, he wasn't sure he'd notice.
Behind him, footsteps approached. Selene.
"You've been up all night."
He didn't turn. "So have the ghosts."
She sat beside him, close but careful. "The Phoenix changed you. I can feel it in your aura."
"Did it?" he murmured. "Or did it just show me what I already was?"
Selene didn't answer.
In the distance, the sky shimmered—and something tore through the veil of morning.
A raven. But not natural. Its feathers shimmered with bloodrunes. It circled once, then descended toward the war chamber.
Selene stood. "The Watchers."
The Watchers were ancient. Not a faction, but a council of immortals—neither enemies nor allies. They observed. Judged. Intervened only when the balance tipped too far.
And they had sent a message.
Azael, Selene, and Maerith stood in the council chamber as the raven's form twisted into shadow, then into words—spoken not aloud, but into the minds of all present.
"To Azael Virex, the bloodbound anomaly. You have disrupted the Balance. The Phoenix rises where it should remain buried. The Seal, once lost, now breathes in your hand. You are summoned."
The vision ended.
Maerith's face darkened. "They fear you."
"They should," Azael said. "But I'll answer them. I need to know what I am."
Selene touched his arm. "Then I'm coming with you."
The journey to the Watchers' domain took them beyond the Ashborn lands—through ghost forests, across rivers of light, and into the Vale of Echoes, a hollowed land where no wind blew and no time passed.
At the heart stood the Ecliptic Spire, a tower formed of memory and shadow.
They entered in silence.
Inside, twelve figures sat on thrones suspended in mid-air, veiled in robes of starlight. Their faces were hidden, their voices one.
"Azael Virex. You are the spark that should not exist."
He stepped forward. "Then tell me why I do."
The Watchers' voices murmured like a storm across dimensions.
"Because your mother broke the Pact. She wed into a bloodline forbidden. She carried prophecy in her womb. She carried you."
Azael's heart pounded.
"You are the heir of dual flame: the Bloodbound Throne and the Shadowed Flame. Together, they birth the Phoenix's Will."
Selene whispered, "Shadowed Flame… that's a myth."
"No longer."
The Watchers turned their gaze inward. To Azael.
"You must choose, Forgotten Heir. Remain and suppress the fire—become our servant of balance. Or embrace what you are, and unleash a new era. But know this: both choices demand a sacrifice."
Azael stared back. "Then what if I choose neither?"
The chamber trembled.
"Then the world burns."
When they left the Spire, Azael was quiet. Selene watched him.
"What will you do?"
Azael finally looked up. "Forge a third path. Not theirs. Not the Ashborn's. Mine."
Selene nodded slowly. "Then we start with the truth. All of it. About your mother. About the real war. About what's coming."
In the shadows behind them, a figure watched.
A girl with a half-burned face. Crimson eyes. And a blade made of whispers.
She smiled.
"They have no idea what's waking."
Stay tuned...