The emberless king

The battlefield fell silent.

Ash floated through the air like snow, dancing between the dying embers of shattered siege beasts and broken men. Ral'Tir still stood—barely—but the weight of what was coming made even victory taste bitter.

I stood at the highest peak of the city, the Ember Tower, flames still coursing through my body like a second bloodstream. The battle had ended, but the war had only just begun.

Kaela approached, limping from a burn across her side. Blood stained her tunic, but her eyes burned with resolve.

"We bought time," she said grimly, "but not much."

From the far horizon, the sky cracked with black lightning.

A storm wasn't coming.

He was.

---

Whispers in the Core

As the remnants of the Ashborn prepared to reinforce the gates and tend to the wounded, I descended alone into the Heartchamber—deep within Ral'Tir, beneath even the city's roots.

The Ember Core pulsed like a living sun, suspended above the molten pit of forgotten magic.

I reached for it—again.

It answered with more than just power this time.

It gave me a vision.

> A black throne carved from dragonbone.

A man draped in a cloak made of ash and flame, but his eyes—empty. Cold. Not of this world.

And behind him, chained and broken, was me. Or rather, what I once was—Darian Flameheart, the man, not the beast.

A voice whispered:

"He remembers you. And he waits."

I gasped, pulling back as the Core flared violently.

"What was that?" I muttered.

But no answer came. Only a name etched itself into my mind.

Vaelus Emberless.

My killer. The betrayer of flame.

Now, King of the Dominion.

---

A Message from the Enemy

The skies cracked again.

This time, something tore through the barrier wards above Ral'Tir and crashed into the inner court. Soldiers scrambled, weapons raised, but what stood among the rubble was no assassin—it was a messenger golem, a twisted mix of ash-metal and obsidian glass.

It opened its chest. A projection of fire and shadow flickered into the air.

The figure of a man.

Tall. Robed. His skin looked cracked like burned porcelain, and fire glowed in the lines.

But his eyes… they were like voids. Bottomless.

"Darian," the image said, in a voice that curdled the air.

"You've awakened. Good. I've waited long for this day."

Kaela moved beside me, blade in hand, but I raised a claw.

"I know you," I growled.

"Of course you do," the Emberless King replied. "We were brothers once. Ashborn of the Flame. Do you not remember?"

Fragments returned.

Sparring under molten suns. Laughter beside forges. Blood spilled on ancient stone as he—

Stabbed me through the heart.

"You murdered me," I said, voice trembling.

"I freed you," he replied. "Freed you from the lies of the Core. From the fire that enslaved us."

"You destroyed our people!"

"No. I evolved them. The dragons burned the world to rule it. I will burn it clean to rebuild it."

The image leaned forward.

"You are not the last dragon, Darian. You are the last seed. Join me, and we will set the new world ablaze—together."

Kaela stepped forward. "He'll never join you."

But the king ignored her.

"This is your only warning," he said, voice dropping to a deathly calm. "In three days, I march. I will claim the Core you stole. And when I do… your soul will return to me."

The projection vanished.

The messenger golem collapsed into ash.

Silence.

Then Kaela muttered, "We need a plan."

---

The Seeds of Flame

That night, I stood above the city again, the stars cold and distant overhead.

I finally understood what the Ember Core had been doing since my hatching. It wasn't just giving me power.

It was preparing me.

Because I wasn't just reborn.

I was engineered.

The Core had fused my soul with draconic magic, ancient Ashborn essence, and something darker—something that gave me strength, but also hunger. Rage. Fire that didn't burn—it devoured.

I'd resisted it so far.

But if Vaelus had the power to kill dragons and corrupt souls… I would need more than just fire.

I would need to become what I was always meant to be.

Ashborn Ascendant.

Heir to Flame.

Breaker of the Dominion.

---

The Council Gathers

By morning, Kaela had assembled the Ashborn remnants—mages, warriors, engineers, even old bloodline descendants who thought their legacy long dead.

We met in the ruined Flamehall.

"I won't lie to you," I said, standing at the head of the shattered table. "Ral'Tir will fall if we do nothing. We cannot face the Emberless King in a siege."

One of the old tacticians—Master Thorne—grunted. "So what do we do? Beg for help?"

"No," I said.

"We take the war to him."

The room tensed.

"I know where he's hiding," I continued. "The Black Pyre. The old Ashborn Forge. He's twisted it into his fortress."

A murmur passed.

"You mean to strike first?" Kaela asked.

I nodded. "Before he finishes his army. Before he reaches us. We infiltrate. Destroy the soul furnaces. Disrupt his power."

"And if you're wrong?" she asked.

I looked down at my clawed hands, then back at the room.

"Then we die standing in fire instead of kneeling in ash."

---

The Path Ahead

We began preparations.

The Core opened vaults long sealed—gifting armor forged for gods, weapons imbued with flame spirits, and scrolls written in dragon-tongue.

Kaela led the training.

I trained alone—pushing my evolution, forcing my body to grow stronger, faster. The next stage was coming. I could feel it beneath my scales.

My wings were getting stronger.

My thoughts clearer.

And in my dreams…

Vaelus waited.