Some kings die. Others become myths. And the rarest of all—bleed light when they return.
Three days after the Haldriven Siege, Kael sits in meditation atop the Obsidian Reach, a floating isle of broken temples suspended by ancient ley-lines.
His skin glows faintly now.
Each breath feels like he's inhaling centuries.
Beside him, Lia trains with Ihlon—swords clashing, sweat glistening, laughter buried beneath unspoken grief. They're trying to distract themselves, but Kael knows they all feel it:
A shifting in the deep fabric of existence.
Then, he hears it.
A whisper, not in sound—but in memory:
"Child of flame… wake the blood-bound thrones…"
Kael opens his eyes.
Before him is a vision: seven shattered thrones floating in an endless void. Each bleeds light, and from each descends a figure cloaked in divine armor, faceless yet kingly.
These are not gods.
They are the Eidolonic Kings—those who ruled before the gods themselves, and whose memories shaped reality.
They are returning.
And they are angry.
With aid from Arcanum Scrollkeepers, Kael travels to the ancient ruins of Vel'Astrad, once capital of the Eidolonic Empire.
There, buried beneath layers of forgotten time, lies the Hall of Sundered Crowns—a vault that holds the crystallized legacies of kings too dangerous to die and too proud to fade.
Kael enters.
Inside are:
A crown of flame still burning after ten thousand years.
A sword embedded in obsidian—its hilt carved from a dying star.
A set of gauntlets that hum when Kael draws near.
He hears their names spoken by ancient voices:
"Velkor the Storm-Heir… Saelith the Flameheart… Rhagar the Chainbreaker…"
These were the first world-kings, once worshipped, now erased by divine decree.
And they stir once more because Kael's flame remembers them.
They are watching.
And waiting.
Back in the sanctuary city of Elarin, Kael convenes a council: scholars, tacticians, seers, and even enemies who now fear Tharion more than they hate Kael.
Arguments erupt.
Some demand Kael hand over the shards before more cities fall.
Others want him to declare himself king, raise an army, and challenge Tharion directly.
Kael listens. But something deeper stirs within him: a vision not of war—but of resonance.
He understands now.
Tharion is trying to rip open the Gate of Grithar.
But Kael doesn't just need to stop him.
He needs to rewrite what it means to wield power at all.
To do that, he must wake the Eidolonic Kings fully.
Not just their memory.
But their will.
Kael performs a forbidden rite in the temple of Nerethon, Keeper of Final Names.
A blood offering, laced with fire and truth.
One by one, the seven thrones of the Eidolonic Kings flicker into existence before him in a dream-realm shaped by memory and godflame.
Each King speaks.
Each one offers him power… at a price.
Velkor demands war.
Saelith offers immortality if Kael erases love.
Rhagar asks for Kael's humanity in exchange for unity.
Kael kneels.
And instead of submitting, he speaks:
"I will not be your heir. I will not be your vessel. I am not your flame—I am its master."
For a moment, silence.
Then the thrones shatter.
The Kings bleed light.
Kael awakens, marked by seven sigils.
He did not inherit the Eidolonic Kings.
He conquered them.
As Kael leaves Vel'Astrad, a solar eclipse darkens the world.
It is unnatural.
It is the sign of Tharion opening the first of the Grithar Gates.
The sky screams as voidfire tears open the horizon.
Kael stands at the edge of the world, cloaked in flames that are no longer just divine—they are primordial.
Behind him stand the first of his army—mages, warriors, outcasts, even a dragonbound priestess.
They wait for his word.
Kael raises his blade.
And speaks one word:
"March."