The wind howled across the desert as Kael's army crested the final ridge before the plains of Azrana. The city shimmered in the distance, golden domes catching the sun, but its beauty was an illusion. Beneath those walls, death waited.
Kael stood beside Bael, overlooking the dunes below. "We strike at dawn," he said. "Tonight, we prepare."
Bael gave a short nod. "And the prisoner?"
"Narek will guide us," Kael replied. "He knows the paths beneath the city."
That night, as the army made camp, Kael summoned Narek to his tent. The former scribe entered with a bowed head but a determined gaze.
"You're sure these catacombs exist?" Kael asked.
"They were sealed after the last war," Narek said. "But they're still there. I used to copy the maps myself—Azrana sits atop more than stone. There's a labyrinth below. And at its heart… the relic."
Kael studied him. "And you're not lying to stay alive?"
"If I were, you'd know by now."
Kael didn't answer. Instead, he stepped out of the tent and looked toward Azrana. Flames from torches lit the distant walls. His army was outnumbered—but if they moved through the catacombs, they could strike from within.
The plan was madness. But so was every moment of this war.
---
Before dawn, Kael gathered a small company—fighters he trusted: Bael, Liora, a handful of scouts, and Narek. They would go first. The rest of the army would wait until the signal came from within.
The entrance to the catacombs lay half-buried beneath a collapsed stone altar a mile east of the city. With quiet hands and held breath, they uncovered the ancient stairway.
The air that rose from below was cold, stale, and filled with the scent of dust and old blood.
Torchlight flickered along stone walls as they descended. The passage was narrow, winding deeper beneath the desert. Every step echoed.
For hours, they walked.
And then the ground changed.
Stone gave way to carved symbols, glowing faintly with blue light. The air grew warmer, heavier.
"Magic," Liora whispered, fingertips brushing the walls. "Old and deep."
Kael's jaw tightened. "We're close."
---
They came to a chamber—a massive circular hall, pillars etched with runes rising into darkness. In the center, a dais of black stone stood, and upon it… a sarcophagus.
It was sealed, but the lid had cracked.
"What is this place?" Bael muttered.
Narek swallowed hard. "A tomb. The first bearer of the Flame. It was never meant to be opened."
But something had disturbed it.
From the shadows came a low growl.
Figures emerged—no longer men, but twisted by time and power. Guardians of the relic. Eyes like embers. Skin pale as ash.
Weapons sang as Kael's group formed a circle.
"Hold the line!" he shouted.
The battle was chaos.
Steel clanged against claw and bone. Magic seared through the air. Kael fought like a man possessed, each swing of his blade fueled by years of pain and purpose.
But they were overwhelmed.
Just as the tide seemed to turn, the sarcophagus shattered completely—and from within rose a light.
The relic.
A flame without heat, burning bright and steady.
Kael turned toward it.
And something inside him answered.
---
The guardians faltered.
Kael stepped forward, hand outstretched.
"Don't!" Narek warned. "It'll consume you!"
But Kael didn't stop. The flame pulsed, then leapt into him—not burning, but fusing, as though it had been waiting for him.
Power surged through his veins.
He saw not just the chamber, but the war, the land, the faces of the fallen. He saw the Emperor in Azrana, clawing at the same fate.
And he saw the truth.
This relic wasn't a weapon.
It was a key.
---
Kael collapsed, gasping, the flame now a flickering mark across his chest. The guardians vanished, their duty fulfilled.
Bael rushed to his side. "You alive?"
Kael nodded slowly. "More than ever."
He stood, strength returning.
"We end this now," he said. "We strike from within, open the gates, and finish this war."
The others followed without hesitation.
Above them, Azrana waited.
And the sands stirred for what was coming.