Throne of Ashes and Flame

The silence that followed the clash was louder than any scream.

Kaito stood amidst the wreckage of the council chamber, chest heaving, fists trembling. The black-armored warrior lay at his feet—unmoving, scorched by the mysterious surge of light that had burst from within him like a wrathful star. The golden-white energy had roared through his veins, wild and untamed, and now it flickered faintly at his fingertips before fading into the ether.

"What… was that?" Kaito whispered to himself, his voice barely audible.

Isolde was the first to rush to his side, her eyes wide with alarm—and something else. Awe. She reached for his arm, her voice urgent. "You should be dead. That blade—Kaito, I saw it. It was going to cleave you in two."

"I don't know what happened," Kaito murmured, shaking his head. "I didn't cast any spell. I didn't even have time to think. It just… happened."

Eryndor crouched beside the fallen enemy, inspecting the charred armor. "This man isn't ordinary. His aura—no, his presence—it was unnatural. He wasn't just a knight. He was infused with something… dark." His amber eyes flicked to Kaito. "And whatever force answered you, it wasn't ordinary magic."

Lady Irina had vanished during the chaos, slipping away like a shadow. Her betrayal was now confirmed, but the words she'd left behind haunted Kaito. You've lit the fuse…

He turned toward the massive window overlooking the capital. The city still glittered peacefully, unaware of the conspiracies unraveling in its heart. But Kaito now saw the threads beneath the illusion—dark tendrils weaving toward something far greater than rebellion or politics.

A storm was coming.

Later that night

Kaito stood alone in the private sanctum of the palace, gazing into a mirror. His reflection looked back at him with weary eyes. Beneath the surface of his skin, he could feel something... foreign. Not threatening, not painful—yet undeniably powerful. Like the heartbeat of a sleeping dragon deep within.

He remembered the moment the energy had burst forth—his senses had blurred, and for one heartbeat, it was as if the world had slowed down. Time bent. His awareness expanded. He had seen the strike before it landed, and something—some force—had answered his will to live.

Was it divine magic? Forbidden sorcery? Or something far older?

A knock broke the silence.

It was Isolde, still clad in her hunting leathers. "You should rest," she said, stepping inside. "Your body endured a surge no normal human could survive. Even the strongest mages would be in bed for days."

Kaito chuckled softly. "I've never been normal, have I?"

Isolde crossed her arms, her voice softening. "You saved everyone in that room. You faced down something no one else could."

"I didn't save them," Kaito muttered. "I was a second away from dying. And that power—whatever it was—what if it controls me next time? What if I lose control?"

She approached, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Then we'll figure it out together."

Kaito looked up at her, searching her expression. "You believe in me?"

"I believe in the man who faced betrayal, stared down death, and still chose to protect his people," she said. "And I believe that whatever is awakening inside you... it chose you for a reason."

Meanwhile, in the Shadowlands

A grand obsidian citadel loomed in the mist, surrounded by mountains that clawed at the sky. Inside, in a room filled with flickering green flame and arcane sigils, a cloaked figure knelt before a throne of thorns.

"The Echo has awakened," the figure said, his voice dry and ancient.

From the throne, a deep voice rumbled, impossibly old and venomous. "Good. The Ember King draws closer. Let the games begin."