The capital shimmered like a crown of glass under the weight of its secrets. Beneath its brilliant skyline, rot bloomed in silence.Kael raced through shadowed alleys with the stolen ledger tucked beneath his cloak. Behind him, black-cloaked enforcers from the Internal Stability Commission stalked the streets—not as protectors, but hunters.In the Senate chamber, Chancellor Veyra Dargan addressed the ruling elite.“Our forces have intercepted what we believe to be a cross-border insurgency. As acting Chancellor during the king's extended absence, I call for Emergency Powers—to protect Konzia from collapse.”Most senators nodded, cowed or complicit.But not all.A lone figure stood.General Maelis Thorne.“If you declare martial law, you’ll turn Konzia into a tomb,” she warned. “We do not stand for tyranny, even under the shadow of war.”Veyra smiled thinly. “Then may history judge your hesitation… harsh

As he crouched behind a boulder, he caught a glint of movement at the valley’s entrance—Riftspawn, ethereal scouts formed of codified echo-energy. They hovered, warning of the intruders.Brown’s heart pounded. “They’ve got echo-shields. I’ll need to disrupt their resonance.” He pressed a glyph-etched gauntlet against the rock face; it hummed, then unleashed a pulse that rippled outward like a pebble dropped in water.The Riftspawn convulsed, their forms sputtering. With them blinded, the Knights surged down the slope, spells and plasma bolts crackling in the dim light. Brown followed, sword raised, moving like storm-tide through the surprised camp.Wood splintered under heavy boots. Kael’s rifle barked, cutting down a mercenary who tried to rally his comrades. One Knight—Ser Ayden—caught a glancing blow but returned it with a precise parry, his flametongue blade roaring to life.Brown cut a path to the fire, where the raider leader stood, pistol raised. The man’s face was half-masked

The storm above Wyrmglass thickened into an unnatural vortex—black clouds veined with crimson energy, spinning in silence. Not thunder, not lightning… but pulses, as if something beyond the sky had begun to breathe.Brown moved with relentless focus through the battlefield, blade in hand, eyes locked on the tower that pierced the heavens.Behind him, Kael and Reyva fought back to back, leading Flamebound soldiers through ambushes laid by Thorne’s followers—mercenaries, warlocks, and Rift-twisted hybrids. Every skirmish brought them closer to the spire's base, and every death added weight to Brown’s already burdened soul.The closer they drew, the more he felt it.Valric.Not just memories. Not echoes.A presence.“Kael,” Brown said between breaths, ducking a cursed bolt of shadow, “if Valric’s spirit is inside that tower—if any part of him still exists—can you reach him?”Kael hesitated. “If I’m close enough to the source... and if he wants to be reached.”Brown looked up at the tower

A scout approached, panting.“They’ve landed.”Vesk didn’t blink. “Who?”The scout swallowed. “The Warborn. The Riftchild. The Flamebound ghost.”Vesk turned to his legions.“Seal the southern ravines. Raise the wards. The Emperor demands a hunt.”And without turning his head, he whispered to a raven perched on his shoulder.“Tell Varek: the blood he asked for... has come to offer itself.”Emperor Varek stood beneath the palace, in a chamber older than the empire itself. Surrounding him were seven glass sarcophagi, each pulsing with violet light.He was no longer in ceremonial armor. He wore robes of dusksteel and veined silk—stitched with the veins of a slain Wyrm-God. And across his chest, a pendant made from the tooth of a Riftbeast—Brown’s first kill.“They are here,” he said, voice echoing through stone.The woman beside him—face hidden behind a silver mask—nodded. “And the prophecies converge.”“Then it’s time,” Varek said, placing his palm upon the center sarcophagus.It opened

Deep beneath the Konzian High PalaceThe chamber trembled as the crystallized fluid began to crack. Threads of black energy coiled around the clone’s limbs, pulsing in time with Varek’s heartbeat.The masked woman stepped forward, hesitant. “He’s not like Ashborn. This one… he isn’t drawn from memory.”Varek’s eyes gleamed. “No. He is forged from rage. From prophecy. From every death Brown left behind in our soil.”With a hiss of ancient steam, the sarcophagus fully opened.The clone’s eyes shot open—solid black, rimmed with molten crimson. He took his first breath not with a gasp, but with a growl.Varek extended a hand. “Welcome, Sovereign of Cinders. Your brother marches on our gates. You will meet him in flame.”The clone’s voice was hoarse, yet steady. “He abandoned Konzia.”“No,” Varek corrected. “He survived Konzia. You were made to reclaim it.”---Meanwhile — Borderlands of Fort VaraxisBrown stood atop the broken ridge, wind cutting through the shredded edges of his cloak. B