The winds that blew across the Godscar carried no warmth, only echoes of burning cities and the bones of fallen empires. The earth trembled beneath Kaela's boots as she stood at the edge of the massive chasm, staring into the abyss. The monolith at the center pulsed like a dark heart, each beat sending shockwaves of shadow through the sky.
All around her, the army gathered—scattered remnants of the Flameguard, broken mages of the Ivory Tower, rebels from the southern coasts, and even the storm-worn warriors of the Frostfang tribes. They had no banners, no common tongue, no promise of survival.
Only fire.
Behind Kaela stood Tess, wrapped in a cloak stitched with wards and flame-sigil embroidery. The child's face was still pale, but her eyes glowed faintly, betraying the dormant power inside her. Each time she looked at the monolith, the mark on her palm brightened, pulsing in time with the enemy's heart.
"Are you ready?" Kaela asked her softly.
Tess did not answer. She only stepped forward and placed her hand on Kaela's.
Maltherin and Faelan approached, each wearing the armor of their order: the former robed in silver flame-thread, the latter plated in crimson steel. Eryndor arrived last, his blade gleaming with newly inscribed runes.
"The hour has come," Maltherin said grimly. "We breach the Godscar and end the curse at its heart."
"Then we fight not just to win," Kaela said, voice steady, "but to remember who we are."
A horn sounded—a low, mournful call that swept across the war camp like a funeral dirge. Torches were lit, blades were drawn, and the earth cracked as the army surged forward.
Across the battlefield, Malveth's forces rose like waves. Creatures of molten bone and embered flesh. Wraiths stitched from smoke and silence. Great beasts with eyes of fire and claws that could cleave stone.
But it was the sky that betrayed them first.
From the clouds above, shadowed dragons descended—long-extinct nightmares returned by Malveth's godlike power. Their roars split the heavens.
Kaela lifted the Ember Crown.
"Now!" she screamed.
And the flame answered.
As the armies clashed, Kaela led the vanguard across a bridge of charred stone that spiraled toward the central monolith. Each step brought them closer to the heart of darkness—and to Malveth himself, now transformed into a god of ash.
The path was guarded by elemental sentinels—golems forged of lava and wind, their bodies too hot to approach. But Kaela raised her blade, and fire danced along its length.
"Ember Crown, remember me."
A wall of golden flame erupted from her, searing the air. The sentinels burst apart, reduced to glass and cinder.
Faelan and Eryndor surged behind her, cutting down revenants with practiced fury. Every strike they made lit the darkness.
Above them, Maltherin and the Skyflame Mages circled on wind-dragons, weaving spells of light and thunder. With each arc of fire they cast, the sky screamed.
But it was Tess who made the difference.
Reaching the base of the monolith, she stepped forward alone.
"I hear you," she whispered to the Godscar. "I see what you were."
Her eyes flared, and from her outstretched hands, a wave of cleansing fire surged forward—ancient, pure, and wrathful.
The shadow chains binding the monolith began to crack.
A scream unlike any mortal sound burst from the center of the scar. The monolith shattered, and from its remains rose Malveth—no longer a man, but a being of raw divine flame.
He stood ten stories tall, cloaked in fire-black wings, eyes burning like suns.
"FOOLS," he roared, voice echoing through the land. "I AM THE LAST FLAME. I AM THE END."
Kaela faced him, her cloak in tatters, the Ember Crown burning brighter than it ever had.
"You are the past," she said. "You are a story of failure."
He raised a hand—and a river of shadow-fire raced toward her. Kaela met it with her sword and Crown, the two magics colliding in a shockwave that flattened mountains.
Maltherin hurled chains of lightning to bind Malveth's limbs. Faelan and the warriors hurled spears and steel, striking his knees, his wings, his exposed heart. But the god would not fall.
Not yet.
As Kaela battled Malveth in the heart of the scar, Tess stood at the rim, untouched by fire or fear. Her hair now burned like a torch, and her voice was not her own.
"The world has forgotten the warmth of the first fire," she said. "It must remember."
She stepped into the air—and floated.
From her hands, she drew the flame of memory. She called upon the pain of burned cities, the joy of shared hearths, the first candle ever lit in a cave long forgotten.
And she offered them up.
The flame answered.
A ring of fire surrounded Malveth, and from within it, his power faltered. His wings withered. His scream turned to confusion.
Kaela saw her chance.
She rushed forward, blade blazing with the Ember Crown's fire.
"By the flame that remembers—burn."
She plunged her sword into his chest.
Malveth howled as his form exploded in a cyclone of embers. The dark god was being unmade.
The shockwave from Malveth's death sent a pulse across the world.
The skies cleared. The twisted beasts crumbled. Rivers flowed red, then clean. Magic, for the first time in centuries, stopped screaming.
Tess fell unconscious, but her mark no longer glowed with warning. Only with warmth.
Kaela knelt beside her, exhausted, her body trembling with the cost of wielding the Crown at its full potential. Faelan caught her before she collapsed.
"It's over," he said softly.
But Kaela, even in her haze, knew better.
"No. Not over. But changed."
The remaining days were spent burying the dead and unmaking the monolith's ruins. The armies disbanded, but not in defeat. They returned as storytellers, as rebuilders.
Tess slept for three days. When she woke, she no longer glowed. But when she touched fire, it bent toward her, as if greeting an old friend.
Kaela stood at the rim of the Godscar, now filled with slow-growing grass and warm winds.
Maltherin approached. "And what now, Queen of Flame?"
Kaela looked out across the land.
"Now we teach the world to remember what fire was for. Not just war. But warmth. Creation. Hope."