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Chapter SIXTY – Vessel of the Architects
The silence after the blast was unbearable. The crater’s edges still smoked, molten rock pulsing with heat like the veins of some wounded beast.Rashford stood at the center, his sword alive with both flame and voidn an unholy union that should not exist. Every eye was on him, Not with reverence, but with unease.The Flame That Consumed the VoidRashford’s chest heaved as the last wisps of the Trialborn’s voidfire were devoured by his own blaze. His arms trembled, his mind fractured between terror and awe. He could feel the alien echo coursing through his veins cold and sharp, threading itself into his flame.The Architects whispered inside him now, no longer faint. We have waited so long You were born for this,You are ours. Rashford forced the voices down, jaw clenched so hard blood seeped from his gums. “I am no one’s weapon,” he growled.Division Among the RebelsThe traitor who had tried to kill him rose shakily, face twisted in triumph. “Do you see it now? He’s tainted! That fla
Chapter Fifty-Nine – The Whisper of the Architects
The battlefield was fire and shadow. Rashford stood at its center, sword blazing, blood dripping into the scorched earth. The Trialborn circled like predators, void and flame shaping their colossal forms.And above, the rift widened. From within came that voice again an ancient whisper carried on the wind of eternity. You are not alone, Rashford Oakwood. But those who stand beside you may not all stand with you. The words pierced deeper than any blade.Doubt in the FireRashford’s grip faltered for a heartbeat. His eyes swept across the rebels charging behind him Mira, Elwin, even hardened veterans who had once doubted him. All of them had risen because of his flame.But now? Now suspicion gnawed at his chest. Which one? Who among them will betray me? He could not afford distraction. Yet the whisper echoed, feeding doubt with every breath.The Trialborn struck. Rashford barely raised his sword in time, sparks raining as blade met voidsteel. He roared, forcing his doubts down, but the
Chapter Fifty-Eight – The Rift in the Sky
The rift gaped wide above the battlefield, a wound in the fabric of reality. Its edges bled light and shadow in equal measure, and from its depths, an eye opened. Not a mortal eye not even one belonging to gods the people whispered of but a vast, endless iris of silver flame.Every soul froze, Rebels, Wraithspawn, Even Varion. The voice that followed was neither male nor female, but both. Neither kind nor cruel, but inevitable. “Child of flame we see you.”The Battlefield Holds Its BreathRashford staggered beneath the oppressive weight of the gaze. The Third Flame burned in his chest, but under that eye, even his fire felt small like a candle trembling before a storm. “Who… who are you?” Rashford’s voice cracked, though the blazing aura still poured from him.The rift pulsed. “We are the Architects. Keepers of the First Fire. Witnesses to every world that has burned.”The rebels whispered in terror. “Architects? Are they… gods?”“No worse, My grandmother told talesbeings older than
Chapter Fifty-Seven – Blade of a Hundred Souls
The collision shook the heavens. When Rashford’s blazing blade of unity clashed with the Wraith Ascendant’s void-wreathed claws, the shockwave split the clouds overhead.Golden flame and black fire spiraled upward, tearing through the night, painting the battlefield in chaos and brilliance. The courtyard shattered beneath them. Stone ripped apart as fissures spread outward, toppling walls and hurling rebels from their feet.But neither Rashford nor Varion yielded. They pressed forward, sparks of clashing power raining like a storm of stars.A Battle of SoulsEvery strike Varion unleashed was backed by the abyss claws that could shred steel, voidfire that consumed light itself. His wings struck like scythes, each beat splitting the air into blades of shadow.Rashford answered not with raw might, but with something deeper. Every swing of his colossal golden blade echoed with voices not his own the courage of the rebels, the memory of his fallen, and the hope of those who still fought.W
Chapter Fifty-Six – The General’s Fall
The backlash struck Varion like a thunderclap. The black flames he commanded recoiled with ravenous hunger, tearing across his armor, lashing his flesh. His body convulsed under the recoil, and for the first time in his reign of terror, his balance faltered.The people erupted. Cheers shook the night sky, echoing like a storm of victory. “Oakwood! Oakwood! Oakwood!”The Breaking of a TyrantRashford stood in the center of his shield, every bone screaming, every muscle burning, but his golden flame still held. His chest heaved as he gazed across the ruined palace grounds.Varion staggered, black fire hissing from his wounds. His once-pristine armor was warped and cracked, his helm half-melted, revealing his pale twisted face beneath.“You…” Varion spat blood, his eyes wild with disbelief. “A wretch like you dares”The words choked off into a ragged gasp as his knees buckled. He fell forward, one hand pressed to the ground, voidfire dripping from his palm like poison.The Crowd SurgesT
Chapter Fifty-Five – The People’s Flame
The streets of Ardent Crown were unrecognizable. Smoke rose from burning watchtowers, shattered gates lay in ruin, and the very air carried the roar of a city reborn in blood and defiance. The rebellion was no longer a whisper it was a storm.A City UprisingMerchants once crushed under taxes now stood shoulder-to-shoulder with beggars. Servants who had bowed their heads for lifetimes now carried spears stolen from fallen soldiers.The empire’s banners were torn down, set ablaze, and trampled underfoot as chants filled the air.“Down with the General!”“For freedom!”“For Oakwood!”Every voice struck like a hammer on the walls of tyranny.Figures Among the CrowdAt the edge of the palace gates, a young blacksmith named Taron swung a hammer not at iron but at chains, breaking locks to free prisoners dragged out for execution.Beside him, Mira, a healer who once treated noblemen’s wounds in secret, now tore strips of cloth to bind rebels’ injuries. Her hands glowed faintly with the spar
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