The Ember Core had changed me.
I could feel it humming inside my chest—more than warmth, more than fire. It was alive, a steady rhythm thrumming through every bone, every breath. I wasn't just carrying a relic.
I'd become its vessel.
Kaela walked beside me in silence as we ascended the stairs from the catacombs. The walls of Ral'Tir trembled softly with each step we took—as if the city itself was aware of our presence now.
And perhaps it was.
Because as we emerged into the throne room, something had changed.
The once-broken windows were sealed by glowing amber light. The ash-covered floor had cleared. Torches, long dead, flickered back to life with golden flame.
Kaela whispered, "It's… breathing."
I nodded slowly. "The city's waking up."
---
The Memory Hall
Drawn by something unseen, I followed the pulse inside my chest to the hall beyond the throne room. Wide, vaulted ceilings loomed above. Draconic statues lined the path—each carved with names lost to time.
But they weren't statues now.
They moved.
Eyes glowing faintly. Heads turning as we passed.
Whispers trailed behind us. Not voices—echoes.
"He bears the Ember Core."
"The pact is not broken."
"Ashborn… has returned."
Kaela stopped in her tracks. "Darian… look."
A wall that once bore carvings of war and conquest now shimmered. The surface turned to mist and then—images.
A memory.
We saw the First Ashborn, towering with wings of obsidian, forging the Ember Core at the heart of the volcano. Saw the dragons that served the pact—fierce, radiant, noble.
Then came Tyrak.
His betrayal.
His fall.
And finally… an egg. Small. Abandoned. Carried into darkness by a cloaked figure.
Me.
---
The Throne Responds
Back in the main hall, I approached the throne again. The dragonbone seat was warm—not from the fire, but from memory. As I sat, a symbol burst into flame beneath my feet.
Kaela gasped. "That's… your name."
Letters formed from fire.
Darian Ashborne. Last of the Ember Line.
The city acknowledged me.
But the moment was brief.
Because the ground above shook.
A deep, unnatural rumble.
Kaela drew her blade. "What was that?"
I stood. "Not Tyrak. Something else."
Another tremor followed. Then a howl. Distant, but filled with rage.
A roar.
But not dragon.
This was different.
---
A New Threat
We raced to the highest tower. Ral'Tir's airways had begun to shift, towers unfolding like the ribs of a waking beast. The sky outside had darkened with unnatural clouds, and below, across the ash plain…
A force was approaching.
Hundreds—no, thousands—of figures marching in perfect sync.
Clad in dark, crimson armor, with black banners bearing the symbol of a burning hand.
Kaela narrowed her eyes. "The Crimson Dominion."
I turned sharply. "What?"
"They were once dragon hunters," she explained grimly. "Now they serve something worse. A false god they call The Emberless King. They want the Core."
I looked down at my hand, which still pulsed faintly with golden fire.
"They know I have it."
"They do now," she said.
A massive horn sounded from the enemy lines. The ground cracked. A chariot of bone and steel, pulled by monstrous hounds, emerged from the dust. Upon it stood a figure in a tattered cloak, face hidden behind a helm of obsidian glass.
He raised one hand.
Ral'Tir trembled.
And from the depths of the plain, giant siege beasts rose—half-living, half-machine—roaring as they crawled forward.
Kaela muttered, "We're not ready for this."
"No," I said, eyes glowing with new fire. "But maybe the city is."
---
City of Flame, City of War
As if answering me, the runes around the city walls lit up.
Massive dragon heads mounted at the towers opened their mouths—and fire began to boil within.
The city wasn't just a relic.
It was a weapon.
The Ember Core pulsed harder. I felt its desire—not just to defend, but to awaken all that remained.
I stepped toward the balcony and shouted:
"Ral'Tir! If you can hear me… then fight!"
And the city responded.
The flame cannons ignited.
The towers shifted, re-aligning to ancient defensive positions.
The statues of dragon warriors below began to stir—bones wrapped in ghostly fire, rising to meet the invaders.
Kaela's eyes widened. "You're commanding it."
I turned to her, flames licking around my shoulders.
"Not commanding," I said. "Answering the call."
---
The Emberless Herald
Before we could give the order to strike, the obsidian-helmed figure raised his hand—and time seemed to stall.
A pulse of dark fire swept across the plain, silencing the roar of beasts, the wind, the flame.
He spoke.
His voice carried through the air, untouched by magic or distance.
"Ashborn. I see you."
"Give up the Core… and I will grant you a swift end."
"Refuse… and watch your city burn a second time."
I stepped forward, staring down at him with every ounce of fire now in me.
Then I raised my hand—and the sky itself caught flame.
The skies above Ral'Tir ignited.
As my outstretched hand blazed with golden fire, the ancient city responded—runes along the towers flared to life, warding glyphs pulsed with warmth, and the flames from the dragon-forged cannons grew more intense. But the enemy didn't falter.
They marched forward, unwavering.
Crimson Dominion banners danced in the growing wind, and at the center of the army, the obsidian-helmed figure—the Emberless Herald—lifted a staff made of bone and shadowed steel.
Kaela stepped beside me on the balcony, wind whipping her hair back, eyes narrowed with defiance.
"They're going to test the gates," she murmured. "Hard."
I nodded, the Core within my chest pulsing faster, syncing with the rhythm of the city's defenses. "Then let them. We'll show them what an Ashborn city does to trespassers."
---
The First Wave
The first wave struck like a thunderclap.
The Crimson Dominion's siege beasts roared and charged forward, dragging monstrous battering rams behind them. Their armored forms shimmered with anti-magic plating, and spells cast by Kaela's mages fizzled harmlessly on impact.
But they weren't ready for what Ral'Tir had become.
With a thought, I activated the Ember Cannons—ancient draconic heads mounted into the battlements. They inhaled together, drawing flame from the core, and then—
BOOM!
Molten fire exploded from their mouths, consuming the siege beasts in a river of golden fury. Dominion soldiers screamed, caught in the inferno. One beast fell, then another—but one continued forward, burning, unrelenting.
I cursed under my breath. "That thing doesn't die."
Kaela jumped down from the balcony, her sword glowing with runes, and landed with a crash between the gates and the charging monster.
She drew the blade back.
"Draconis Fang—Ignite!"
Her sword erupted into pure flame, and with a spin, she carved through the creature's front leg. It staggered, roaring, and collapsed—just short of the city's ancient gates.
The rest of the front line paused.
Their fear was palpable.
---
Inside the Mind of Fire
Even as the battle raged, the Ember Core pulled at my thoughts. It was more than a power source—it was a consciousness. An entity of memory, of flame, of legacy.
And now, it spoke clearly.
> "The Ashborn flame must never fall again."
I breathed in.
"I won't let it."
> "Then unlock me."
Symbols formed before my eyes, ancient and shifting. Glyphs only the true Ashborn could understand. A part of me hesitated—once unlocked, the Core would begin to burn faster. Stronger. But it would also shorten the time I had to master it.
Still, we didn't have time.
I whispered the ancient words passed down in the dragon tongue.
> "Vorthal Rax Aembera."
"Unleash the Heart of Flame."
The Core answered.
Fire burst from my chest, not outward—but inward, reshaping me.
My arms were covered in scale-like flame. My voice deepened with a rumble. Wings of ember-light shimmered behind my shoulders—spectral, flickering, but powerful.
I'd become something new.
Not dragon.
Not man.
Ashborn Ascendant.
---
The Herald's Counter
From the enemy's lines, the Herald finally moved.
He raised his staff—and the ash around him twisted into a massive serpentine form: a dragon of shadow and bone.
"No," I whispered. "That's… not real."
But Kaela, back at my side and panting, shook her head.
"It's a corpse."
He'd resurrected a fallen dragon from the Ashborn War.
"Name?" I asked.
Her voice dropped.
"Vaelrix the Betrayer. One of ours—he died protecting the Ember Core... his body must have been stolen."
As the skeletal dragon launched itself into the sky, the towers around Ral'Tir groaned in protest. The runes dimmed slightly.
"They're trying to disable the city's magic!"
---
Clash in the Skies
I launched into the air, wings of fire lifting me above the battlefield. Dominion archers turned their aim to me, but their bolts turned to ash mid-flight.
Vaelrix roared, black flame pouring from his broken jaws.
I barely dodged it.
We met midair in a clash of bone and fire, talons slashing, wings beating hurricanes into the sky. His strength was immense, but soulless. He was a puppet. And I—
I was alive.
"Forgive me, Vaelrix," I whispered, wrapping both arms in ember fire. "Let me put you to rest."
I dove through his chest, Core burning. The magic inside me surged and exploded—
CRACK!
The skeletal dragon shattered into burning fragments, its echoing cry fading as it crumbled toward the earth below.
The Dominion line paused, shocked.
Now was the time.
---
Rally of the Ashborn
I returned to the walls, flames wreathing my body, voice amplified by the Core.
"People of Ral'Tir!" I shouted. "The Dominion seeks to rewrite our history with ash and ruin. But we are flame. We endure. We rise!"
The ground beneath the city shifted again, and statues throughout the fortress stirred.
Dozens of Ashborn Warden Constructs, ancient guardians of flame and steel, began to move—eyes glowing, swords rising.
Kaela raised her own blade high.
"For the Ashborn!"
The city roared back.
And with fire and fury, we surged forward—Ral'Tir's full might now awake for war.