Chapter 11: Firebound Oaths
The vault trembled as Kaelrith unfurled his skeletal wings—ethereal, tattered, burning with black flame. Jean braced herself, her aura flaring in defiance. Whitney snarled at her side, silver fur bristling as divine light arced between his fangs.
"You were Luther once," Jean said. "You served the Light."
Kaelrith's laugh echoed like cracking ice. "I served truth. Until your goddess turned her gaze from us, and your Clan buried me for what I learned."
Ryan whispered, "He's bound to something. That flame… it's not aura. It's divine."
Freya flinched as one of the vault's chains whipped across the floor, searching for a soul to bind. "He made a pact. A god darker than Celeste."
"Not a god," Kaelrith said, hearing them. "A flame. The first fire—the one that was never meant to warm mankind."
He raised a hand. A circle of black fire roared around them, cutting them off from the stairs above.
"No one leaves," he said.
Jean stepped forward, her blade humming. "You made an oath to the Clan once. You'll honor it now."
Kaelrith looked at her—eyes glowing, hollow. "Then prove you're worth it."
He extended his palm.
A duel sigil lit the chamber.
Ryan gasped. "That's—"
"An ancient rite," Jean said grimly. "One that binds fate."
Kaelrith smiled. "If you win, I fall. If I win, you burn."
Jean stepped inside.
And so the duel began.
---
What followed was fury and grace.
Kaelrith's strikes were filled with spectral fire, each one searing the stone, unraveling light. Jean dodged, parried, countered—her aura forming wings of radiant gold as she matched him step for step.
The fire bit into her shoulder—Whitney leapt in and slammed Kaelrith back.
"You fight well, Emissary," Kaelrith growled. "But it will never be enough. Antares is only the herald. What slumbers beneath him is the true war."
Jean roared and unleashed a flash of light—Celeste's Judgment—blinding and divine.
Kaelrith screamed as it pierced his heart.
But he did not fall.
Not yet.
"I see now," he said softly. "You… are her last hope."
He dropped to one knee.
The black flame began to recede.
And with a final breath, he spoke:
"The gods lie. But even liars fear the dark."
---
The vault quieted.
The last flame died.
Jean stood still, sword lowered, breathing hard. Her aura flickered, nearly spent.
Ryan stepped beside her. "You didn't just defeat him. You inherited his burden."
She nodded. "Something older than dragons is waking. And Celeste… she's not telling me everything."
Freya knelt by the sarcophagus. "Look."
Where Kaelrith had fallen, a glyph burned—faint, circular, etched in divine language.
Jean touched it.
Visions crashed into her mind—a dark throne, a chained star, and a golden spear cast into the abyss.
Whitney howled.
Jean's eyes snapped open. "We need to find the other Emissaries."
Ryan nodded slowly. "The war we feared… may only be the beginning."
---
Above them, at the far edge of the Iron Empire, a girl with burning crimson hair stood at a black altar.
Flames danced around her wrists.
Her eyes glowed with the divine fury of a slumbering god.
"Soon," she whispered.
"The Emissary of Flame shall rise."