The echoes of battle still lingered in the sanctuary. Burn marks scarred the obsidian walls. Cracks ran through the runes. But the heart of the sanctum still pulsed—stronger than before.
Azael stood at the edge of the outer terrace, high above the sleeping city. Crimson clouds rolled across the skyline. Storms brewed—not of nature, but of blood and destiny.
Selene joined him, a faint bruise darkening her cheek.
"They'll regroup," she said. "The Accord won't let this insult go unanswered."
"Let them come."
She didn't smile. "That arrogance will get you killed."
Azael turned to face her. "Then teach me more. If I'm supposed to survive this war, I need more than a sword and anger."
She studied him for a moment, then nodded. "We leave tonight. There's someone you need to meet."
---
The sky above the Outlands was darker than night. No stars. No moon. Just a void that devoured light.
They traveled in silence, riding an obsidian-armored hovercraft through the dead zones. These were territories lost to the supernatural wars—now lawless, overgrown, and cursed.
Azael watched the twisted trees blur past. "Where are we going?"
"To the Ashborn."
"Another group trying to kill me?"
"No. They fight for freedom. Even if it means burning everything."
He raised an eyebrow. "Sounds familiar."
She didn't elaborate.
Hours later, the ruins of a cathedral appeared. Vines strangled its steeples. Firelight flickered through shattered stained glass. Figures moved in the shadows.
"We're here," Selene said, leaping from the craft.
Azael followed, hand on his blade.
As they approached the entrance, a line of cloaked figures emerged, armed and silent. At their center stood a woman—tall, obsidian-skinned, hair braided with embers, eyes like molten gold.
She smiled. "So the heir awakens."
"Who are you?" Azael asked.
"I am Maerith, Flamebearer of the Ashborn. And I knew your mother."
The world stopped.
"You what?"
"She came to us once, long ago. Seeking to defy the blood oath. She believed in a world where the heir could be free."
Azael swallowed. "She died protecting me."
"She died because she dared challenge the old order," Maerith said. "But her fire lives in you."
She stepped closer, placing a hand on his chest.
"The blood in your veins can shatter empires. But only if you choose who you are—not who they want you to be."
Azael looked at her, eyes searching. "And what do the Ashborn want?"
"To burn the chains. To free the bloodbound. And to see the world reborn."
Selene stood behind him, arms crossed.
"They're radicals," she said. "They burn everything—innocents included."
Maerith didn't deny it.
"Change demands sacrifice," she said. "The Accord, the Courts, the Watchers—they all want control. We want freedom. That makes us dangerous."
"And me?" Azael asked.
Maerith smiled wider. "You are the match. The firestarter. You can either light the way—or burn it all down."
---
That night, Azael walked alone among the ruins. Memories flickered—his mother's voice, the fire, the blood. Every path led him deeper into chaos.
Selene found him seated by a dying bonfire.
"Did you know about her?" he asked.
"Your mother? I knew of her. But not the whole truth."
"She tried to protect me. From all of this."
Selene sat beside him. "And she failed. But you didn't die. You lived. That's enough to defy fate."
He looked at her. "Are you with me?"
"I'm here, aren't I?"
He nodded.
Flames sparked in his hand—small, controlled. Blood-red.
"I'm tired of reacting," he said. "I want to take the fight to them."
"Then you'll need allies. And power. Maerith can offer one. I can teach the other."
He smiled for the first time.
"Then let's start a rebellion."
Stay tuned..