Ashveil Rising

The sky over the Vale of Shards still looked like it'd been set on fire. Kael and Lyra picked their way down the southern ridge, the broken spire behind them throwing some jagged, ugly shadow across the mess of melted stone and glass. Everything down there shimmered—heat waves, reflections, all of it looking like someone had taken a blowtorch to the world and then said, "Eh, close enough." Kael had the Skyfire Sigil wrapped up tight in a bunch of ruined linen, but honestly? The thing kept pulsing right through the layers, like it wanted to burn a hole right through him. Not just hot—alive. Worse: it knew he was there.

Neither of them said much. Lyra kept moving fast, eyes fixed somewhere past the horizon like she was chasing a ghost. She didn't mention what Kael had found up in the spire. He wasn't about to bring it up either, not with his mother's words weighing him down heavier than the Sigil.

They hit the edge of the Wastes just as the sun bled out across the rocks, purple and red smearing everywhere. Kael stopped, sucked in a lungful of dusty air, the wind whipping around their boots. The silence kept stretching. Real awkward.

"We go east," Lyra said finally, squinting at the cracked ground. "If the Skyfire Sigil's really kicking off, it's not just drawing attention. It's screaming. Everyone from here to the Iron March is gonna feel it—maybe farther."

Kael stared at the bundle. It glowed faintly, like it had a heartbeat of its own. "Guess we need backup."

Lyra nodded. "Ashveil."

He almost laughed. "Ashveil's a graveyard. Nothing left but soot and bones."

She just shrugged. "Still breathing, barely. Last place the Flame Circle fell. If there's anything left in the south that wants a fight, it's hiding there. Old bloodlines, forgotten adepts, all that. And hey, if we're lucky—"

She paused. That was new—Lyra, uncertain.

"—someone's waiting for you."

Kael tensed. "Who?"

She shook her head. "No clue. Just know she's been calling through the flame."

Night didn't waste time falling. The stars above looked dead, bright but unmoving, like they were stuck up there on purpose. They walked through dead land—burned steppes, old scars tearing up the ground. Kael felt it more the farther east they went: a weird tremor, tiny at first, but getting under his skin, deep in his bones. The Sigil's pulse sped up.

They weren't alone.

He pulled up as the trail dipped into a canyon—walls rearing up on both sides like some monster's mouth. Even the air felt heavy.

"Something's off," he muttered.

Lyra was already ready, blades out. "They're close."

Then the first arrow zipped through the dark—Kael spun his staff and caught it, heat flaring in his palm. The thing just crumbled to ash.

That's when all hell broke loose. Shadowbrand—at least two dozen—dropped in, armored up in dusksteel and black silk marked with runes that sucked up light. Their weapons looked wrong—cold, not hot, draining the air instead of burning it.

Kael didn't hesitate. "Vah'storin!" he yelled.

The Sigil erupted, a wall of fire snapping up around them. Everything warped in the heat. Lyra dove in, blades flashing, cutting down anyone dumb enough to get close.

Kael followed, staff moving faster than he could think. Every strike let loose little bursts of fire, stone cracking under his feet. He knocked one guy flying, ducked a blade, slammed his staff down and sent three more tumbling back in a wave of heat.

But the Shadowbrand weren't idiots.

One stepped up, gauntlet raised—runes Kael couldn't read. The thing pulsed, and a blast of pure void energy nailed him in the chest. Not fire—worse. Felt like his insides turned to ice. The fire inside him curled up and hid. He staggered, half-blind.

Lyra caught the next blast, dropped to one knee, blood leaking through her armor.

Kael lost it. The heat inside him exploded—pure rage. Flames ripped up his spine, bursting out in golden coils. His eyes went full sun-mode.

"No more hiding!"

He slammed the staff down. The canyon shook—rocks split and flames shot up, but not wild. Controlled. A massive serpent of molten glass and fire uncoiled from the ground, eyes glowing with some old, terrible wisdom. It swept through the Shadowbrand like a scythe—no hesitation, no mercy, just precision. The fight was on.

Kael just stood there smack in the middle of the carnage, barely breathing, while the big serpent he'd conjured chewed through their last enemy like it was nothing. Then—boom—final scream, everything fizzles out, and suddenly the monster's gone, just a swirl of dying embers hanging in the air. Dead quiet.

Lyra staggered up, holding her shoulder, wincing hard. "Well, that's new."

Kael just nodded, sucking in air like he'd run a marathon. "Didn't do it. The Sigil did. It's, uh, waking up or something."

They both glanced up, all twitchy.

There, on the canyon's rim, someone was just standing—full-on moonlight drama, gold and black cloak, staff that looked like it'd burn your fingerprints off. Her face was half-hidden, but you could just tell: this lady did not mess around.

Kael bristled, weapon up, trying to sound braver than he felt. "Who the hell are you?"

She flicked her hood back. Young, yeah, maybe his age, but her eyes? Those eyes? Ancient. Skin was bronze, like she'd spent a lifetime too close to a bonfire, and her hair was all done up with glowing cords. Necklaces clinked, runes everywhere.

"I'm Veyra. Ashveil Bound. House Rhen. Seer of Flame," she rattled off, all business.

Kael's heart did a little tap dance. "You… called me."

She just shrugged, like, duh. "I summoned you. But it was the fire that answered, not me."

Lyra slid her blades into their sheath, slow and careful. "You're one of the old blood?"

Veyra nodded, mouth set. "One of the last left breathing."

She walked over, eyes glued to Kael. No bowing, none of that hero-worship nonsense. Just… recognition. Like, hey, you get it too.

"You've got the Sigil," she said.

Kael peeled back the cloth, just a flash—enough light spilled out to make the night blink.

Veyra's face went serious. "Not much time. Come on. Ashveil's waiting."

So, they set off. The path twisted through canyons and half-collapsed ridges, the ground folding up like some kind of crumpled map. When they finally climbed the last ridge—Kael just… stopped. Stunned.

Ashveil wasn't dead.

It was hidden, alive—a whole city tucked inside the skeletons of monsters. Actual bones, some dragon-sized, some… who knows. People living in ribcages, towers balanced on vertebrae, a giant skull turned into a temple, flames in its hollow eyes. Not tragic, not broken. Just… stubborn. Like, yeah, we're still here.

Folks started filtering out as the group passed. Mythbloods, runaways, little kids with ember patterns on their arms. They watched, sure, but there was this tiny, stubborn hope in their stares. Not fear—just… maybe.

Inside the bone-temple, a bunch of them waited. Some knelt, most just stood. Veyra strode up to the front, voice ringing off the walls.

"The bearer of Vael'dar is here. The one in the old stories."

Murmurs went around. Kael stepped up, unwrapped the Sigil, and—just like that—the room changed. Flames leapt higher, the stone creaked. Felt like the air itself was holding its breath.

Veyra dropped to one knee—not for Kael, for the fire. "Stormbearer. Your path only goes one way now."

Kael scanned the crowd. Faces worn down by fighting, eyes tired but… trusting. Somehow.

"I'm not your chosen hero," he said, steady. "But I'll fight, whatever it takes."

Veyra stood up. "Then we move. Fast. The Empire felt the Sigil. They're coming."

Lyra's voice was flat, rough. "They already started."

Another fighter limped forward—older, armor banged up, leg in a splint. "We lost Emberwatch yesterday. Blackflame patrols crossed the river. They're poking at us."

Kael hopped down off the dais, teeth bared. "Then we poke back."

Later, he stood on Ashveil's bone-walls, Sigil quiet at his side. The horizon shimmered, fire flickering—not sunrise. Something uglier.

Lyra joined him, quiet for a bit. Then: "You did good tonight."

He didn't answer right away. Just stared out at the darkness. "Kept seeing my mother's face in theirs. Not enemies—these people. Who she could've been. Who I could've been."

Lyra shrugged, soft. "She chose. Now it's your turn."

Kael's hand found the Sigil, warmth pulsing under his palm. He looked east, where the light burned too bright, too wrong.

Right above the ridge, a second sun was rising.

Not light. Not heat.

A warning.

War had finally caught up.