The gates of Azrana loomed on the horizon like teeth jutting from the sand—massive, blackened by centuries of sun and war, etched with symbols no one in Kael's camp could read anymore. Behind them, the city slept in uneasy silence, unaware that an army born from vengeance and hope was pressing in, relentless as the desert wind.
Kael stood atop a dune, his cloak whipping behind him. He said nothing for a long time, eyes fixed on the citadel at the city's heart. The spires there glimmered faintly, catching the sun's final rays before it sank behind the dunes.
Bael joined him, his face drawn and tired. "We make camp?"
Kael nodded. "One last night."
He didn't say what they both knew—that some wouldn't see the next.
---
The camp buzzed with quiet preparation. No songs. No laughter. Just the clink of whetstones against blades, armor being fastened, and whispers of names that might not be spoken again. Fires burned low. No one wanted to draw attention.
Liora moved among the soldiers like a shadow, checking wounds, giving orders. When she reached Kael, she didn't speak. She just handed him a water skin and sat beside him.
"You think the Emperor really found something under Azrana?" she asked finally, voice low.
Kael nodded slowly. "Narek didn't strike me as a liar."
"And if he has the relic? The First Flame?"
Kael looked at the stars. "Then we either stop him… or we all burn."
She said nothing after that. There was nothing left to say.
---
Before dawn, Kael called a final war council. They met in the sand, lit by the pale fire of torches. Maps were unrolled, strategies spoken with urgency, but no one's heart was truly in it. Everyone knew this battle would be different. Not just steel against steel—but something older. Deeper.
"There's an entrance beneath the old aqueducts," Narek explained, kneeling beside the map. "Leads under the city. The Emperor's used it before—to move troops without drawing attention."
"You're sure it's unguarded?" Bael asked.
"I'm sure it's forgotten," Narek said. "And he believes we're too far behind to matter."
Kael nodded. "Then that's how we enter. We strike from within."
He met every pair of eyes around the circle. "This is what we've bled for. Not revenge. Not conquest. But to stop what's coming."
His voice cut through the dark like a blade.
"We win tonight… or we're ash on the wind."
---
By mid-morning, they moved.
The main force veered east, drawing the Emperor's gaze with banners raised high and dust clouds rising behind them. Kael's strike force—barely sixty men, including Bael, Liora, and Narek—took the hidden path.
The aqueduct ruins lay broken and buried, half-swallowed by the desert. But beneath one shattered arch, a narrow tunnel yawned open, half-choked with sand.
"Charming," Bael muttered.
Kael entered first.
---
The tunnel was old. Ancient. Carved long before Azrana had walls. The air was thick and dry, and the walls were lined with murals—faded by time, but still pulsing with strange life. Figures danced in firelight. Symbols glowed faintly in the dark.
Kael didn't look too long. The deeper they went, the colder the air became.
Liora touched the wall as they passed. "I feel it," she whispered.
"Magic?" Bael asked, uneasy.
"No. Fear."
---
They surfaced beneath the city's bones—deep in the Undermarket, a forgotten place even the desperate avoided. Dust thick as snow clung to everything. The passage from there to the palace was short, but narrow. They moved like ghosts, sticking to shadows.
Azrana was eerily quiet.
Then the screaming began.
Far above, the Emperor's forces had engaged the decoy army. Battle had begun.
Kael's grip tightened on his blade.
"No turning back now."
---
They reached the palace gates in less than an hour.
The palace rose like a black tower at Azrana's core, surrounded by silver columns and sandstone walls laced with obsidian veins. At the front, guards in crimson cloaks stood at attention.
Kael didn't hesitate.
They struck hard and fast. Silent arrows first—two guards down. The rest never had the chance to shout. By the time blood touched the marble steps, the doors were breached.
Inside, the halls were vast and cold. Statues lined the walls—heroes of the empire, emperors long dead. Kael's boots echoed like drums as they moved.
Then came the sound of chanting.
Low. Rhythmic. Not human.
Kael and Narek exchanged glances.
"He's starting," Narek whispered. "The ritual."
Kael broke into a run.
---
The throne room was empty. But a passage had been opened at its base—stairs winding down, lit by flickering green flame.
They descended in silence.
The deeper they went, the louder the chanting grew.
And then they reached it.
A cavern, vast and hollow, opened beneath the palace. At its center, a pedestal of black stone rose from the floor. Upon it burned a small, flickering flame—blue, white, and gold all at once.
Before it, robed figures knelt. And at their center… the Emperor.
He turned slowly as Kael entered, his face half-shadowed, half-luminous from the flame's strange light.
"Ah," he said. "The rebel."
Kael didn't answer.
The Emperor extended his hand toward the flame. "You don't understand what this is. What it can do. The First Flame isn't a weapon—it's a key."
"I'm not here to understand," Kael growled. "I'm here to end this."
"You can't," the Emperor said softly. "Because it chose me."
Then the flame surged.
---
The ground cracked. Heat rolled out in waves. The robed figures fell back, screaming, their skin blistering. Kael shielded his eyes as the light grew unbearable.
And then the Emperor changed.
His body lifted into the air. His skin cracked like old parchment. Fire filled his veins, visible beneath his flesh. He opened his mouth—and the voice that came wasn't human.
"You are too late."
Kael raised his sword. "We'll see."
---
The battle that followed would never be spoken of the same way twice.
Kael fought not just the Emperor—but the very flame itself. Every strike sparked embers. Every wound he gave healed in seconds. But Kael pressed on, relentless.
Liora called upon ancient words, channeling energy through the runes she carried. Bael shielded her, cutting down the remaining cultists.
Narek, trembling, crept behind the altar. "There's a seal," he shouted. "If I break it—"
"Do it!" Kael roared.
With a cry, Narek drove his blade into the seal. Light exploded from the pedestal. The flame howled—as if alive.
The Emperor screamed.
And then… silence.
---
When Kael opened his eyes, the flame was gone.
So was the Emperor.
The cavern was collapsing.
They ran, barely escaping as stone rained from above. Behind them, the First Flame's chamber vanished beneath the rubble.
Sealed once more.
---
They emerged into daylight.
Azrana had fallen silent. The battle above had ended. The Emperor's army, confused and leaderless, had surrendered. The people came into the streets, uncertain, blinking at the sun.
And Kael stood before them, bloodied, burned—but alive.
The empire, as it had been, was gone.
But something new had begun.