Ash rained like snow.
The Sovereign's scream echoed across the sky, fracturing clouds and cracking mountaintops. The world trembled—not from fear, but from the sheer weight of divine rage. Kael's wings strained against the updraft, his body aglow with ancestral flame.
Below him, Elaria danced between death and fire.
Lysava stood at the center of it all, her body a furnace, her eyes a mirror of chaos. The once-sensual enchantress had become a vessel of unmaking, and behind her, the godlike form of the Sovereign descended like judgment.
Kael bared his fangs.
"No more gods," he snarled, diving into the storm.
They collided midair.
Kael and Lysava, fire to fire.
The force of their clash carved a crater into the world. Trees vaporized. Rivers boiled. Cities miles away trembled.
Lysava struck with claws made of molten light.
Kael blocked with wing and talon, blood splattering the sky.
"You could have ruled," she hissed. "You could have been eternal."
"I chose her," Kael growled.
Below, Elaria whispered a spell.
The ground beneath Lysava cracked. Vines of obsidian surged upward, wrapping around the possessed priestess's ankles.
Kael took the opening.
His claws sank deep into her chest.
And for a heartbeat—just one—Lysava looked human again.
"I didn't want to be alone," she whispered.
Then she screamed.
A pulse of magic knocked Kael from the sky.
He crashed into the ruins below, wings shattered.
Elaria ran to him, breath ragged.
"Kael—"
He looked at her through bloodied eyes. "She's not in control anymore."
They both turned.
The Sovereign loomed.
Lysava had become its mouth.
And the world was listening.
"The age of flame ends," it declared, voice like thunder over glass. "Begin the ash age."
The skies blackened further.
But then came a different sound.
Wings.
Dozens.
Hundreds.
Dragons.
From every corner of the realm.
The kin had heard Kael's cry. They had seen the sky burn. They had returned.
Their roars answered the Sovereign.
Kael stood, broken wing dragging. "This is not your world."
He turned to Elaria. "Ready?"
She nodded. "Let's burn history."
They charged.
Kael on foot, Elaria beside him, sword glowing with runes of the first language.
The dragons joined them.
Lysava screamed, fire flaring from her mouth.
But Kael caught it with his hands, reshaping it.
He turned destruction into song.
Elaria leapt.
Her blade pierced the Sovereign's arm.
It bled stars.
And the god howled.
Reality bent.
Time unraveled.
Elaria found herself in memories that weren't hers.
Kael as a child, alone in a cell.
Lysava before corruption, crying in snow.
The Sovereign's first breath—cold, clinical, cruel.
She fought to keep herself anchored.
Then Kael's voice pierced the illusion:
"Come back to me."
She gripped her blade tighter and screamed.
Light exploded from her.
The illusions shattered.
Lysava fell to her knees.
The Sovereign's form faltered.
Kael approached slowly.
"This isn't strength. This is desperation."
Lysava looked up, tears steaming down her cheeks.
"Then give me a reason not to fall."
Elaria touched her shoulder.
"Let go."
The priestess shuddered.
And the Sovereign screamed.
It began to collapse.
The god was unraveling.
The world rejected it.
Kael turned to the dragons. "Channel me. Now."
They obeyed.
Fire poured into him. Old fire. First fire.
Elaria shielded them both as Kael burned.
He rose.
Glowed.
And with a single, blazing roar—
He consumed the Sovereign.
The skies cleared.
The storms ended.
And silence fell.
Lysava's body slumped.
Alive. Mortal.
She looked at Kael. "You spared me."
He nodded. "So you could live differently."
She laughed bitterly. "I don't know how."
Elaria helped her to her feet. "Then start by watching."
Lysava nodded slowly.
Then vanished into the crowd.
Later, Kael and Elaria stood atop the highest peak of the Emberlands.
Below, the world began to rebuild.
Dragons flew freely.
People gathered in unity.
A new banner rose—one of flame and blade entwined.
Kael turned to Elaria. "We've stopped the god."
She smiled. "Now we stop ourselves."
He raised an eyebrow. "From what?"
She kissed him.
Hard. Sweet. Claiming.
"From becoming gods."
They undressed beneath the moonlight.
Not rushed.
Not frantic.
But sacred.
Kael's hands reverent. Elaria's mouth a promise.
They made love like survivors.
Like believers in tomorrow.
Their breaths mingled.
Bodies slick with sweat and starlight.
He whispered her name like a spell.
She answered with his like a vow.
When they finished, they held each other.
And knew that the war had not ended.
But their love had survived.
The world had changed.
And so had they.
Flame-born.
Battle-scarred.
Unbreakable.