Chapter Twenty-Seven: Ashes in the Veins
"The fire within burns brighter than any crown."
Smoke still curled from the blackened ground. The wind dragged the ash like ghosts across the valley floor.
Kael sat beside Riven, holding pressure to his side. The other man had passed out minutes ago—breathing, but pale. Too pale. Blood soaked through Kael's fingers.
"You're not dying," Kael whispered, as if speaking it could shape reality.
Their forces were scattered. Most had survived the initial clash, but barely. No sign of reinforcements. And no time. Kael could feel it in his bones—the calm before something worse. The world held its breath.
Then he heard the drums.
Heavy. Echoing. Dozens of them.
Kael stood slowly, the weight of Riven's body heavy in his arms. His flame had burned nearly everything—but not them.
The Emperor's royal guard crested the ridge. Lines upon lines of soldiers in black and gold, banners marked with the sun-wolf crest. And in their center—riding a shadow-steed clad in charred armor—was the Emperor himself.
Kael's father.
They didn't speak.
The Emperor didn't need to.
With a single raised hand, he signaled. And his soldiers moved.
Kael shouted—summoned flame instinctively—but the godflame sputtered. Not dead, but weakened. Drained. The previous battle had taken more than he realized.
He couldn't stop them.
He held Riven tightly, but two blades pressed to his back.
"Don't," a soldier warned, voice trembling even beneath his helmet. "Please, Prince Kael."
Kael snarled but didn't move. Riven's limp form was torn from his arms.
"No!" Kael roared.
But it was done.
Riven's head lolled to the side, eyes fluttering open for just a second—long enough to meet Kael's.
Then they were separated.
Back at the capital, the sentence was swift.
Treason. Conspiracy. Seduction of the royal heir.
Riven was stripped, bound in black chains that suppressed even his fire-touched aura. He was dragged through the courts as nobles jeered and whispered.
Kael was not allowed to see him. Not allowed to speak.
But the Emperor summoned Kael privately.
The throne room smelled like blood and old fire. The stained glass burned red from the setting sun. The Emperor sat on his iron throne, calm as ever.
"You love him," he said flatly. Not a question.
Kael didn't answer.
The Emperor's lips curled. "Then you'll end him."
Kael's stomach turned.
"You will prove your loyalty, Kael. You will end this rebellion. Burn him yourself. Or I will burn the entire city with him still chained inside it."
The day of execution arrived like a funeral before the death.
Riven was brought to the center of the courtyard, gaunt but unbroken. His eyes scanned the crowd, bloodied and defiant.
Then he saw Kael.
Wearing ceremonial black. Sword in hand. Standing where the executioner should.
Kael's hands trembled.
He stepped forward.
Riven gave the faintest smile. "So this is how it ends?"
Kael didn't answer.
The Emperor watched from above.
Crowds shouted for fire. For justice.
Kael raised the sword.
Silence.
Then—
He dropped it.
And knelt.
Before Riven. Before the crowd. Before the Emperor.
"I will not kill him," Kael said, voice raw. "I will not be your weapon anymore."
The Emperor stood.
And the world—burned.
Flames erupted around Kael's body—not from rage, not from pain, but from love. Pure and uncontrolled. The courtyard cracked beneath him. The palace shook.
The godflame flared to life with vengeance.
And the sky turned red.