The city of Azrana rose in the distance, a fractured jewel upon the horizon. Its spires cut through the dawn haze like jagged blades, silhouetted in the blood-red light of the rising sun. The desert wind carried with it the faint toll of bells, though no temple marked the sound. It was as if the city itself groaned in anticipation.
Kael stood atop a dune, the sand shifting beneath his boots, staring at the walls he'd once only heard about in legends. Massive. Impregnable. Built not just to defend, but to intimidate. Their sandstone surfaces shimmered with enchantments from a bygone era—whispers of the old Empire still clinging to its bones.
"Looks smaller than I imagined," Bael muttered beside him, squinting through the spyglass.
"That's because you're only seeing the top of the beast," Kael replied. "The real city lies beneath."
Liora stepped forward, her scarf drawn tightly against the wind. "If what Narek said is true, the Emperor has already begun excavating the ruins. We may not have much time."
Kael nodded slowly. "Then we strike before he's ready."
---
They camped three leagues outside the city walls, behind a ridge of sand-carved rocks. Scouts returned under cover of night, bearing maps hastily sketched on scraps of cloth, blood still drying on the edges. Every outpost, patrol path, and watchtower position was logged. They knew where the gaps were. More importantly, they knew the Emperor believed them days away.
"He thinks we're licking our wounds in Damarak," Bael said with a smirk, tapping the map. "Time to give him a surprise."
The plan was brutal in its simplicity. Strike before dawn. Split the force into three units. Bael would lead a frontal assault to draw the guards. Liora would circle the eastern flank through an old aqueduct route. Kael would take the remaining force straight into the city's underbelly, through the forgotten catacombs Narek had described.
If they could reach the excavation site first—if they could destroy whatever relic the Emperor sought—the battle might be won before it began.
Might.
But Kael had seen too many victories turn to ash.
---
The tunnels reeked of old blood and rotting stone. Kael held his torch low, illuminating the cracked murals along the walls. Warriors etched in gold leaf. Serpents with eyes like fire. A crown of flame, held aloft by a faceless figure.
The First Flame.
He recognized the symbol now, embedded in the relief like a warning.
"This is it," Narek whispered, trailing his fingers across the mural. "This was the heart of the empire. The old empire. Long before Azrana."
Kael's grip tightened on his sword. "Then we destroy it."
They pushed deeper into the ruins. The air grew colder, heavy with power. At the base of the lowest chamber, beneath the great domed crypt, they found the relic.
It wasn't a weapon.
It was a flame—suspended in a sphere of crystal, floating in the air, untouched by time.
It pulsed like a heartbeat.
Kael stepped forward, feeling its pull. His vision blurred. He saw battles yet to come. Empires burning. His own hands soaked in blood—his, and others. The flame showed him not victory, but consequence.
"We shouldn't touch it," Liora warned. "We came to destroy it."
But the Emperor had already arrived.
---
The chamber doors exploded inward with a wave of heat and sound. Soldiers poured in, and behind them, cloaked in robes of obsidian and gold, the Emperor himself.
"Kael," he said, his voice echoing unnaturally. "You're too late."
Kael raised his blade. "Then let's see if prophecy bleeds."
---
The fight that followed was chaos—magic against steel, flame against shadow. Kael reached the flame first, only to find the Emperor already bound to it, drawing from its power like a man possessed.
Liora unleashed a barrage of energy, her tattoos glowing with ancient runes. Bael's unit stormed through the upper levels, driving the Imperial guard into disarray. But the Emperor would not fall.
Until Kael stepped into the flame.
It seared through his body, burning everything he was, everything he feared.
And remade him.
With a scream that shook the stone, Kael struck. The Emperor faltered, then fell—his body consumed by the very power he sought to control.
The chamber collapsed around them, the flame vanishing into ash.
---
When the dust settled, Kael stood alone in the ruins.
He emerged into the daylight, scarred and broken—but alive.
Azrana had fallen.
But so had the age of conquest.
---
Kael didn't return to rule. He vanished into the sands, a ghost, a myth. Some say he still wanders, watching, waiting.
For the next flame to rise.