The echo of the crowd’s roar had barely faded when the sky above the Coliseum began to change color.Blaze raised his head weakly, panting, the cheers of thousands still ringing in his ears. His body trembled; smoke rose from his scorched gauntlets. He had won — but even as the announcer screamed his name, something inside him whispered that the victory felt hollow.“Blaze! Blaze! Blaze!”The chant rolled through the stands like thunder.He forced a smile, staggering upright. “Guess… I did it,” he muttered, looking at the crater where Zeldra lay unconscious, medics rushing toward him. His opponent had fought like a beast, and Blaze could still feel the thunder god’s energy crackling faintly through the air.But before the medics could reach either of them, a faint tremor rippled through the ground. At first, everyone thought it was aftershock from the final blast. Then came another—stronger.The colosseum lights flickered. The sky dimmed unnaturally.Then, the horns blew.Three long,

Chapter 14The fires of Lundar burned well into the night.From the highest tower of the guild’s keep, Blaze could see the city shattered out before him like a wounded beast. Smoke enveloping the whole town, twisting columns, blotting out the stars. Whole districts lay in ruin—streets split apart, towers reduced to skeletons of stone and steel, banners of crimson and gold buried under soot. The once-bustling avenues of merchants and festival-goers were now littered with debris and scattered, smoldering embers.Below, healers and militia worked frantically to stabilize the wounded. The moan of the injured rose into the night air, mingling with the distant rumble of retreating airships. The Ebon Sovereignty had not occupied the city fully—they had struck like a spear, quick and brutal, then withdrawn into the skies, leaving behind their dead and a message; We have returned.Blaze leaned against the stone railing, every muscle in his body screaming. The bandages wrapped across his torso

The first light of morning crawled reluctantly over Lundar, its pale rays struggling to pierce the haze that clung to the city after the night’s violence. A cold breeze swept through the battered courtyards, carrying with it the mingled scents of scorched stone, burnt oil, and blood. In the council chamber at the heart of the keep, servants moved in near-silence, scrubbing the dark stains from the floor where assassins had fallen only hours before.The walls still bore the evidence of the attack. Splintered beams. Blackened scorch marks where aura had clashed with poisoned steel. One of the windows had been shattered completely, leaving a gaping wound through which the dawn air crept, chilling the already tense room.Blaze stood near the far end of the chamber, half in shadow. His gauntlets, cleaned hastily, still bore faint scorch lines. His left shoulder ached where an assassin’s blade had grazed him; the pain was sharp, but familiar. He wasn’t thinking about the wound. He was think

The night bled slowly into a bruised grey dawn. Smoke hung low over Lundar like a mourning veil, muting the usual colors of morning into shades of ash and ember. The walls were scarred, the towers cracked, and the streets littered with broken stone and the bodies of both friend and foe. But the city still stood.Blaze had not slept. He stood on the northern battlements where the sigil had split the sky hours before, his gaze fixed on the forested horizon. The rift had sealed with the retreat of the Sovereignty forces, but the crimson scorch mark still lingered in the air like a phantom burn. Every instinct in his body told him this wasn’t over—not by a long shot.The horns of the Windborne sounded softly in the distance, a slow and mournful call. Below, healers moved among the rows of wounded laid out in the courtyard, their spells glowing faintly as they fought to keep pace with the toll. Soldiers limped through the streets, carrying rubble, fetching water, their faces pale but deter

The war outside the walls had quieted for the night, but inside Lundar, the real battle was just beginning.The council chamber was dimly lit, candles burning low, their wax pooling like spilled blood across the engraved map of Limbo. Blaze stood at the head of the table, armor still scorched from the valley retreat, his gauntlets hanging loose at his sides. Grim leaned against the wall, shadowed and alert, while Valor sat rigidly, fingers drumming the table like distant war drums. Zeldra slouched in a chair near the corner, arm in a sling, but his eyes were sharp and restless.The anchor they had found beneath the guild still burned in Blaze’s mind. A siphon anchor placed inside their walls meant one thing: betrayal. And betrayal, in war, was a slower and deadlier blade than any swung on the field.Grim broke the silence first. “Whoever placed it knew where to hide. That chamber isn’t somewhere a stray invader could wander into.”Valor grunted. “We’ve run background checks on every i