“You would have us bargain with a ghost, or worse—a monster,” the Emberfang chief growled, his voice scraping like a dagger on a grindstone. His words emanated through the council chamber. “The Wolf King was buried for a reason, Kaelen. We will not dig up our past simply because we fear our future.”

  The words slammed against Kaelen with such power it felt as though the chief forced them down his throat, yet he forced his expression to remain neutral, a mask of calm he rarely felt. The firepit in the center of the room cast low, restless shadows across the stone walls, making the assembled elders seem like ancient, flickering idols. Their robes—Sunvein gold, Emberfang crimson, Emberwarden brown—formed an imposing wall of tradition, age, and unyielding authority. Fools, Kaelen thought, the heat coiling tight in his chest. Trapped in their fear, too blind to see the cliff edge they were all marching towards. They didn’t understand. They couldn't.

  Kaelen drew a slow breath, consciously pushing down the fire that threatened to burn through his control, to scorch the very air between them. “You think we have a future?” His voice came out steadier than he felt, cutting through the heavy silence. “The southern front collapses. We lose ground every day. The Ashkaran cannot hold much longer, and when they fall—” He didn’t need to finish. The image of demons pouring across the sands, consuming their lands, was stark enough. “—the demons will march straight into our lands. If we do nothing, clinging to brittle histories, there won’t be any Ignari left to debate them.”

  Murmurs rippled through the gathered elders, a rustle of expensive cloth and uneasy shifting, Kaelen ignored them. His gaze fixed on the one figure who hadn’t spoken, the one whose silence held more weight than all the others’ pronouncements combined – the high elder of his own Emberfang tribe. A man carved from desert rock and ancient law. Kaelen clenched his fists, feeling the familiar lick of fire embue his knuckles before smothering it to submission.

  Say something.

  Anything.

  At last, the Emberfang elder stirred, adjusting the heavy rings on his weathered fingers with agonizing slowness. He looked up, his gaze deliberate, ancient, meeting Kaelen’s across the flickering firelight. “And yet,” the elder said, his voice dry as desert wind, “you expect us to wake the dead.”

  Kaelen straightened, refusing to be cowed. “Not the dead. A King.”

  Laughter. Soft at first, a dry chuckle from a Sunvein scholar, then louder, echoing unpleasantly in the stone chamber.

  “A king?” One of the Sunvein elders shook his head, disbelief etched onto his face. “A warlord, Kaelen. Bound by ancient magic, imprisoned for his savagery. You think a creature buried for centuries will simply wake and heed your call?”

  “Not heed my call,” Kaelen corrected, keeping his tone level despite the fire churning within. “Heed reason. Heed the threat that faces us all.”

  More laughter, louder this time, rippling through the council like a slow wave gathering force before crashing down. It grated against Kaelen’s nerves, stoking the embers of his frustration.

  “You are a fool, boy,” came another voice, sharp and brittle like sun-baked sand. An Emberwarden elder, a woman whose eyes held the weary emptiness of someone who had buried too many sons to entertain desperate hope. “The Wolf King fought against us. He was an enemy, a blight upon the land, not an ally.”

  “That was centuries ago!” Kaelen’s voice sharpened, the fire finally leaking into his tone. “And the legends are conflicted! Some say he fought with us against a greater darkness before the betrayal! He protected his people—just like we’re trying to do now! We are dying. The Wolf King could save us!”

  “Or doom us faster,” the Sunvein elder countered smoothly, his voice laced with condescension.

  Kaelen turned to face them fully, jaw tight, the heat rising. “If you have another plan,” he challenged, his gaze sweeping across the council, “if you have any other hope to offer than slow extinction, now is the time to speak it.”

  Silence.

  Thick, heavy, and damning.

  They had nothing.

  That truly enraged him—not their rejection, but their utter lack of an alternative. They would rather march stoically into oblivion, clinging to their fractured histories and paralyzing fear, than risk the unknown, risk the one chance that might save them all.

  Kaelen’s breath seared his throat. He forced himself to stand still, but his fingers twitched, aching to unleash the blaze of outrage he holds against their complacency.

  "This meeting is over," the eldest Sunvein scholar declared at last, his voice carrying the weight of finality. "The Wolf King remains buried. And so will this reckless, dangerous idea."

  The decision was made. The wall of tradition stood unbroken.

  But Kaelen already made his decision, long before he stepped into this chamber. He wouldn't let them condemn his people through inaction.

  He didn’t storm out. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. Instead, he turned, his back straight, and strode from the council chamber without a backward glance. He walked through the cool stone corridors of the Sunvein temple, past alcoves lined with ancient scrolls whispering of forgotten lore, past quiet scholars hunched over texts, oblivious to the storm brewing within him and the war looming beyond their walls.

  The fire inside him didn’t cool when the crisp night air hit his face. If anything, it burned hotter, fueled by righteous anger and grim determination.

  He stood at the temple’s edge, a lone figure against the vast darkness, looking out at the desert stretching towards the shadowed horizon. The wind tasted like dry ash and old regrets.

  Fools. They were all fools.

  He heard footsteps approach behind him, light and familiar.

  A voice, laced with its usual sarcasm but edged with an undeniable knowing, cut through the night. “Well, from the sound of it, I’m guessing it was a smashing success.”

  He didn’t have to turn. Seyva.

  “And I’m guessing from the looks of it,” she continued, moving to stand beside him, pulling her scholar’s cloak tighter against the chill, “you still believe you’re right.”

  “Do you expect me to sit here and wait idly by until the Ignari have fallen and our lands are scavenged next?” Kaelen shot back, turning to face her, the firelight from the temple entrance catching the defiant spark in his eyes.

  “No,” Seyva conceded, her expression serious now. “But Kaelen, what do you truly expect? Do you think you can just march into the Eldergloom—a place legends warn against, where even seasoned patrols vanish—stumble upon ruins scholars have sought for decades, find this buried king, and magically break ancient sealing rituals with nothing but your charm?”

  Kaelen allowed a sharp grin, a flash of his usual bravado returning. “Well, I was going to try burning it away, but your plan sounds much more entertaining.”

  Seyva sighed, rubbing her temples. Ink stained her fingers, evidence of late-night research, likely into things she wasn’t supposed to be reading. “Unbelievable. Fine. Let’s say, by some miracle, you do find him and manage to wake him. What then? What if he’s just dust? What if he remembers the betrayal—the real one or the one history fed him—and holds a grudge? What if he makes this war even more impossible? And even if he agrees to help… will one ancient king, however powerful, truly be enough against… whatever Malkorax is unleashing?”

  “All I know,” Kaelen said, his voice hardening again, the grin fading, “is that if we continue down the path the elders have chosen for us, we’re all dead anyway. This is a chance. Maybe the only one.”

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  Seyva stood with her arms crossed, frowning as she considered his words, her gaze drifting back towards the silent temple where the elders slept, oblivious or uncaring. Finally, she let out another long sigh. “Why do we always end up in these situations?”

  Kaelen’s grin returned, wider this time. “Because someone has to.” He nudged her shoulder. “Besides, I heard my trip would become much easier if I had someone along with the knowledge required to transcribe ancient sealing spells. And from the looks of it,” he eyed her ink-stained fingers, “it would probably save you from another scolding from your masters. At least for now.”

  Seyva rolled her eyes but didn't pull away. The faintest hint of a smile touched her lips.

  The training grounds of the Sunvein warriors were quieter at night. Most had retired, seeking rest before the dawn patrols, but a few dedicated figures still moved through combat forms in the flickering torchlight, sand and fire swirling around them in controlled, deadly motions.

  Kaelen spotted Asarek immediately. The Emberwarden warrior practiced alone in a far corner, sweat gleaming on his bare torso, his powerful movements fluid and precise as he worked through a complex defensive sequence, sand shifting and hardening around him like extensions of his own limbs. He looked up as Kaelen approached, his expression typically unreadable, though Kaelen thought he saw a flicker of knowing in his eyes.

  “So,” Asarek said, his voice calm, letting the sand settle around his feet. “The council told you no?”

  Kaelen smirked. “I didn’t ask for their permission.”

  Asarek let out a short, barking laugh. “Figured as much. So, why are you here? Come to admire my superior technique?”

  “The people won’t follow words alone,” Kaelen said, getting straight to the point. “They follow strength. If you come, they might listen. Might understand.”

  Asarek considered this, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “If it’s just strength you desire, Kaelen, you don’t need me. Your fire burns hotter than any ten warriors combined.”

  “Maybe not,” Kaelen conceded. “But I have no time for mistakes on this. I need someone who won’t let me be wrong. Someone I can trust to watch my back.”

  Asarek studied him for a long moment, his gaze steady. Then, without warning, he struck.

  Kaelen reacted purely on instinct, fire flaring as he twisted, barely blocking Asarek’s palm strike before it slammed into his ribs, knocking the breath from him. He stumbled back a step, swearing, dropping immediately into a fighting stance, fire crackling defensively at his fingertips.

  The moment Kaelen looked up, Asarek had already smashed his hands into the ground. Sand erupted, particles hovering, charged with the Emberwarden’s magic. Through his peripherals, Kaelen sensed the sand to his left shifting, coalescing, rushing towards him like a wave. He launched himself backward with a burst of fire from his feet, landing just outside the crater where he’d stood a moment before. He didn’t hesitate, sending a serpent of living flame lashing out towards Asarek.

  Asarek met it head-on. In one swift, fluid motion, he gathered the floating sand before him, shaping it into a dense, shimmering shield. The fire serpent struck, the impact transforming the sand instantly into gleaming obsidian glass that reflected the torchlight. Shards exploded outward.

  Kaelen let out a sigh, tasting ash, black smoke curling from his lips. Asarek, already fatigued from his earlier training, was breathing heavily, his lips dry.

  Kaelen swirled his hands, gathering his power, creating another vortex of fire that shot towards Asarek like a comet. The Emberwarden held his ground, encircling himself in a swirling dome of sand. The vortex hit, the impact deafening, sending shards of superheated glass shattering across the training grounds. Asarek braced within the dome, emerging as the fire dissipated, already charging forward.

  Kaelen went to jump back, but his left foot suddenly sank, trapped as the ground beneath him turned to quicksand. Without hesitation, he unleashed a roaring wall of fire to block Asarek’s path, buying himself precious seconds as he frantically tried to scoop the clinging sand away from his ankle. Before he could catch his breath, the dune beside him seemed to swell, rising, flowing towards him like a living thing intent on burying him. In desperation, Kaelen detonated a blast of fire beneath his trapped foot, the force sending him tumbling violently through the air.

  He stabilized mid-air with another controlled burst, eyes scanning wildly. All he spotted was a column of sand, thick as a tree trunk, rising fast to meet him. Kaelen, hands starting to burn from the exertion, jetted sideways again, dodging the column and aiming to land safely.

  As he touched down, the ground beneath him exploded upwards. Asarek leaped from the eruption, his heavy war hammer whistling through the air, stopping mere inches from Kaelen’s head. Kaelen froze, his own fingers hovering just before Asarek’s chest, a sphere of compressed fire ready to detonate.

  Silence descended, broken only by their ragged breathing and the crackle of residual magic.

  Kaelen coughed out a puff of smoke, lowering his hand slowly. “You really had to create a mess of their training grounds, didn’t you?”

  Asarek lowered his hammer, a grin finally splitting his dust-streaked face. “Says the trigger-happy inferno.” He offered Kaelen a hand up. “I’ll come. But if you get yourself killed, I’ll make sure your tombstone says ‘Idiot Who Thought He Was Invincible’.”

  Kaelen took his hand, pulling himself up. “Oh please,” he scoffed, brushing sand from his tunic. “When have any of my plans gone wrong?”

  Asarek raised an eyebrow. “Forgotten about the council meeting already?” He chuckled, the sound turning into more of a wheeze due to dehydration. “Anyway, when do we leave? And is there actually a plan this time, or are we just walking into a cursed forest and hoping for the best?”

  “Of course, there’s a plan,” Kaelen declared, though the details felt hazy even to him. “We infiltrate a mystical forest likely filled with man-eating beasts, find a long-lost kingdom possibly guarded by ancient magic, locate and break a spell on the legendary Wolf King, convince him not to kill us, and then figure out how to win an impossible war. Anything after that is not worth thinking about yet.”

  Asarek shook his head, though the grin remained. “I hope you appreciate how lucky you were to be blessed by the fire spirit, Kaelen.”

  “Yeah,” Kaelen shot back, clapping him on the shoulder. “He’s lucky he found someone like me to call home. We leave in an hour. Pack lightly. Meet us on the Eastern trail.”

  Seyva was the first to arrive at the rendezvous point, a rocky outcrop overlooking the sleeping village. Her usual collection of books was replaced by practical supplies – waterskins, dried rations, medical herbs, and carefully wrapped bundles of rune-etched parchment. She paced restlessly, checking the straps on her pack, her mind still wrestling with the sheer recklessness of Kaelen’s plan. It was madness. Utter, glorious madness.

  There was no turning back now. As she looked towards the village path, she saw two familiar figures walking towards her, their voices carrying on the night air, already bickering. An unexpected wave of calmness washed over her. Madness, perhaps, but she wouldn't be facing it alone.

  “Listen, I’m just saying if you really think about it, I could’ve set ablaze the entire training grounds and won instantly, but that’s not fun,” Kaelen was insisting.

  “Are you forgetting the part where I literally stopped a whole vortex of fire coming straight towards me?” Asarek retorted.

  Seyva stepped into their path, hands on her hips. “We’re about to break almost every rule across every tribe, sneak away from our homes, and go on a likely suicide mission into a cursed forest from which we probably won’t return, and if we do, we’ll have probably made the war worse for everyone, and this is what you two are discussing?”

  All three fell silent, the weight of her words settling between them.

  Then, after a moment, Kaelen started to laugh, a real, unrestrained sound. Asarek joined in, shaking his head. Even Seyva felt a reluctant smile tug at her lips.

  Kaelen broke the laughter first, his expression turning serious, though the fire still danced in his eyes. “Listen,” he said, looking from Seyva to Asarek. “I know what we’re doing is going to cost us dearly. It might cost us everything. But I firmly believe this is the best road to take, maybe the only road left. And,” his gaze softened almost imperceptibly, “I wouldn’t trust any other people in all the tribes to take this journey with me.”

  He looked longingly towards his allies, perhaps starting to truly grasp the situation they were plunging themselves into.

  Asarek and Seyva exchanged a glance, both slightly taken aback by the uncharacteristic sentimentality. Before they could respond, Kaelen clapped his hands together, his usual bravado snapping back into place.

  “Plus, there’s no way anyone else would be near dumb enough to be convinced to take on this mission! Last one to the edge of the wastes pays for lunch when we get back!”

  He took off running down the trail, leaving Seyva and Asarek standing there for a beat.

  “And he’s back,” Seyva sighed, adjusting her pack.

  “Wouldn’t have him any other way,” Asarek replied, a genuine grin finally reaching his eyes.

  They both started to chase after him.

  Kaelen glanced back once, taking a final look at the Sunvein temple silhouetted against the pre-dawn sky, a symbol of the home and the duty he was leaving behind. Before the weight of it could settle too heavily, he saw his friends catching up, their familiar forms chasing away the shadows. By the time the elders realized what they had done, it would be too late. They were committed.

  The path ahead led into darkness, towards legend and danger. And Kaelen wouldn't have it any other way.