Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Push into Ashren

Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Push into Ashren

The sky above the valley was painted a molten red as the sun dipped low over the horizon. Kael and Lira rode in silence, the map to the Forest of Life clutched in Kael's gloved hand. The land here had begun to shift—scorched soil, broken siege equipment, and ruined banners littered the trails. This wasn't just a borderland.

It was a battlefield.

From the top of the next ridge, Kael saw the truth.

A battalion of armored soldiers, their cloaks blazing with crimson sigils, marched through the war-torn lands once known as the Kingdom of Andrew—now absorbed into Ashren's empire, ruled by the man Andrei, whose ambition had scorched the world more than any flame.

And at the head of the army—stood a man of legends.

Hair like white fire. Robes reinforced with magical runes. A long, jagged staff on his back, humming with elemental fury. His armor shimmered with wards of power, and his gaze cut like lightning.

Alex. The Explosive Mage.

Ruler of the Kingdom of Dravon.

And the man who had turned the tide of war with his magic and his iron will.

Kael's eyes narrowed.

He and Lira descended the ridge, intercepting the mage-general before the clash began.

Alex raised a hand, halting his troops, his expression unreadable as Kael approached. His soldiers shifted uneasily, recognizing Kael's crest—the mark of Andrew's bloodline.

"So… the ghost boy speaks," Alex said, his voice cold, laced with power. "What is it you want?"

Kael stood firm, cloak fluttering behind him.

"I ask why. Why do you keep pushing forward? Ashren's attack failed. Why not stop here? Make a treaty. Spare your people. Spare theirs. All this bloodshed—for what? To answer a tyrant's madness with your own?"

Alex chuckled, though there was no humor in it.

"You speak of peace like a dreamer. You carry Andrew's name, but not his wisdom."

He took a step forward, and the air around him crackled.

"You think I do this for power? I do this because I must. Because Andrei—the coward who leads Ashren now—has lost himself. He burns everything he touches. He desecrates Andrew's legacy. I knew your father. I fought for him. But if he were here…"

Alex's voice turned into a snarl, eyes glowing.

"I wonder if even he could stop what Andrei has become."

Kael stepped forward, anger flaring in his chest.

"So you'd burn everything to stop another fire? You're no better than Andrei if you continue this path. Peace doesn't start when your enemy falls—it starts when someone has the strength to stop."

Alex's eyes narrowed.

"You dare lecture me, child? I was a High General under Andrew's banner. I've bled across more fields than you've seen sunsets. And now you, a boy barely grown into his name, call me to stand down?"

Magic flared behind him.

His troops stiffened.

"You forget your place. You are a minion to a legacy you do not yet understand."

Lira stepped forward, hand on her dagger, but Kael raised his hand.

The silence between them was sharp—like a blade unsheathed between brothers of a fallen house.

Alex turned, his cloak flaring behind him as he returned to the front of his army.

"Get out of my way, Kael. Or I'll show you what I've become… not for glory, but for vengeance."

And the march resumed.

The valley trembled under the weight of war once again.