The banners of Azrana were lowered at dawn.
Kael stood atop the palace balcony, watching as the city stirred under the new sun. Soldiers patrolled the streets no longer as conquerors, but as guardians. Children peered from behind doors with eyes wide, unsure whether to cheer or hide.
Liora joined him, her arm in a sling, blood still drying on her leathers.
"They're waiting for a king," she said.
Kael didn't move. "I'm not one."
"Doesn't matter," Bael said from behind. "You won, Kael. You took the capital. You ended the Emperor. That makes you something."
Kael turned, eyes hard. "I didn't fight to sit on a throne. I fought to destroy it."
---
The inner palace was a graveyard of opulence. Broken statues, shattered stained glass, gold ornaments stained with blood. The war had ripped the soul from this place, but some part of it had always been rotten.
They found Kaldrin's private chamber later that morning—more vault than room.
Scrolls lined the walls, sealed in glass. Ancient books, relics, and in the center: a circular pedestal marked with the emblem of the First Flame.
Narek, the former imperial scribe who had joined Kael's ranks, knelt beside it.
"This… this is a map," he said, voice low. "Not of the empire. Of what's beneath it."
Kael raised an eyebrow. "Beneath?"
Narek nodded. "There's a vault deep below Azrana. Older than the city. Older than Kaldrin's bloodline."
"And what's inside?"
Narek hesitated. "The rest of the First Flame. The true core of it."
---
A descent began.
Down forgotten stairs, past crypts and catacombs, into the bones of the empire.
They passed murals older than any Kael had seen—images of a fire falling from the sky, of cities built around it, of kings driven mad by its power.
"It was never a myth," Liora whispered.
No. It was worse.
At the lowest point, they found the Vault of Embers.
A sealed chamber of stone, guarded by carvings of fire and sand. In the center, a brazier that hadn't burned in centuries.
Until Kael approached.
The mark on his chest flared, and the brazier ignited in a pillar of light.
From within the flame rose a small orb—white-hot, humming with ancient energy.
Narek stared, awestruck. "That's it. The Heart of the Flame."
Kael didn't move.
He could feel it calling to him. Not with words—but with promise. Power. Purpose. Dominion over life and death. A god's gift.
He reached out—then stopped.
"I've seen what it does," he said quietly. "What it turns men into."
And he stepped back.
---
He ordered the vault sealed.
Not destroyed. Not claimed. Hidden. Buried beneath layers of rock and time.
Some power wasn't meant to be wielded. Not by kings. Not by rebels. Not by him.
Liora was the first to speak. "You could've ruled the world."
Kael shook his head. "I'd rather fix it."
---
Weeks passed.
Azrana slowly began to heal. The fires were put out. Markets reopened. Soldiers laid down arms and picked up tools.
Kael refused the crown.
Instead, he established a council—formed from former enemies, allies, village heads, and scribes. A voice for every part of the empire.
He turned down palaces. He chose a simple home in the city's western quarter. No titles. No throne.
But the people still called him the Flamebearer.
---
One night, Bael found him watching the stars.
"You ever going to rest?" Bael asked.
Kael smiled faintly. "Someday. Maybe."
"You did what no one could, Kael. You broke the Empire."
"No," Kael said softly. "I gave it a chance to begin again."
---
Far below the city, in the sealed vault, the Heart of the Flame pulsed faintly.
Waiting.
Watching.
And above it all, a new dawn broke over the desert.