Velmire Burns, But Aedric Rises
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Sometimes, a war doesn't begin with a battle—it begins with a choice to burn.
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Flames licked the skies of Velmire before the first sword was drawn.
The archers of the Sibilant Order had not waited for parley or provocation. A rain of fire-tipped arrows fell from the northern hills, searing across rooftops and turning homes into husks.
Screams rose from the streets. Children ran. Mothers wept. The once-peaceful village of Velmire had become a crucible.
Aedric Valtoris stood unmoved at the heart of it.
> "They're not just targeting me," he growled. "They're making an example."
Lyara cut down a flaming banner beside him. "Then let's give them a better one."
She tossed him a blade—not his usual cursed edge, but a tempered longsword from the local guard. Its weight was humble, honest.
> "You'll need to look like the hero now, even if you aren't."
Aedric gave a dry smirk. "I don't play hero."
> "Too bad. These people are already dying for you."
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The Hills Above Velmire
Caelen's eyes burned with conflict as he watched the chaos unfold.
He hadn't ordered the fire arrows. That had come from the Black Marshal—one of the Sibilant fanatics embedded in the Order's ranks.
> "You wanted obedience," the Marshal hissed, "but war needs fear."
> "War needs purpose," Caelen replied coldly, his jaw tightening. "Not butchery."
Below, the flames danced.
And amid the chaos, Aedric moved—not like a man fleeing, but like a storm answering its call.
Caelen's heart clenched.
> "I'm sorry, brother," he whispered.
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Within the City
Aedric moved through fire like he belonged to it.
Wherever he stepped, flame seemed to recoil. His very presence distorted the heat.
People stared. Some dropped to their knees. Others whispered names from ancient stories.
> "The Flame-Touched..."
"The Last Sovereign..."
"The One Who Bears the Names..."
But Aedric ignored them all.
He tore through rubble, lifting beams, carrying children in both arms, throwing up shields of raw mana to protect fleeing civilians.
The glyphs on his arms glowed—not violently, but warmly, like runes etched in compassion.
> "You're saving them," Lyara shouted, slashing down a cultist who had breached the south gate. "But for what? They'll still hate you!"
> "Maybe," Aedric replied, hoisting an old man onto his back. "But if I don't... then I am the monster they say I am."
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City Square – The Clash Begins
The vanguard of the Sibilant Order surged into the main square—black-cloaked zealots with soul-twisting blades. Behind them came Caelen, eyes shadowed beneath his hood.
Aedric placed the old man down gently.
And then rose.
The city burned. The wind howled.
And in that silence between the screams and the swords...
He called upon Tharynox.
The Name flared within his chest. Not like before—not chaotic, not hungry. This time, Aedric guided it.
From his hands erupted tendrils of molten light, wrapping around his blade. Symbols etched from the First Language floated around him, orbiting like fireflies.
> "Aedric!" Caelen's voice rang out. "Stand down! I don't want to fight you!"
> "Then don't," Aedric growled. "But if you cross that square with those fanatics—I'll bury this name in you so deep, your ancestors will feel it."
Caelen's blade trembled in his hand.
The wind stopped.
So did time.
And then—the charge.
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The Duel of Brothers
Steel met steel.
Light met shadow.
Aedric fought like a man possessed—but not by wrath. By purpose. His blade moved with elegant fury, every strike laced with glyphic pulses.
Caelen met him with sorrow. Each block was restraint. Each counter, a plea.
> "Why are you defending them?" he gasped, deflecting a downward arc. "They don't know you!"
> "But they will," Aedric hissed. "And I'd rather die showing them who I am than live becoming what they fear."
Their swords locked.
Aedric's eyes burned gold.
Caelen's—silver.
Two fates. Two truths. Two Names.
The earth cracked beneath them. Flame swirled into a vortex of divinity and will.
Then—
Aedric flung Caelen back with a shockwave of light.
But he didn't strike the final blow.
> "Go," Aedric said softly. "Tell your gods I'm not done yet."
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Hours Later – The Ashes
Velmire stood—scarred, but standing.
Dozens dead. Hundreds saved.
And at the center of it all, Aedric Valtoris sat on the steps of the broken temple, staring at his hands.
The people gathered in silence.
Then one child stepped forward.
And placed a wreath of scorched flowers on his lap.
> "Thank you, Namebearer," she whispered.
Aedric closed his eyes.
For the first time... it didn't feel like a curse.
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