Not all prisons have walls. Some are built from belief.
The Ashborne ride south under crimson skies, across fields of glass where once verdant lands were scorched in divine war. Before them rises Akris, the Empire of Chains—a shattered dominion stitched together by relics of old gods, where tyranny is religion and memory is forbidden.
Its capital, Blackspire, is a monument to cruelty: spires shaped like spears, walls of living obsidian, and screaming bells that toll not with sound—but with blood vibrations.
Every soul here is bound to a creed older than language.
And the creed is submission.
As Kael's forces pass the Blasted Border, they encounter refugees—hollow-eyed survivors branded with celestial sigils. They are the Children of Pain, remnants of Akris' long-dead slave caste, kept alive by divine narcotics and neural chains.
One child whispers to Kael:
"The god who ruled us still lives. He sleeps… beneath the Crimson Basilica."
Kael's godflame stirs.
He knows the name of that god.
Azrakhael the Bound Star, one of the original Seven Flamebearers—his former self's enemy, and… ally?
Kael doesn't remember which.
But the god remembers him.
In disguise, Kael and his inner circle infiltrate Blackspire.
They walk through districts shaped like runes, where time loops irregularly and air tastes of burnt incense and regret.
They witness:
Priests flaying history from books.
Worshippers offering their shadows to mirrors that bleed.
A statue of Kael, cracked and headless, labeled "The Flame Traitor."
Lia shudders.
"They remember you."
Kael: "No. They remember who they want me to be."
They reach the Crimson Basilica—a cathedral carved from godbone.
Beneath it lies a vault sealed by living iron and soul-locked chants.
Kael speaks his name backwards.
It opens.
They descend into the Vault of Silence, where gravity collapses inward and light flows like ink.
There lies Azrakhael—a being of colossal stature, chained in stasis.
He is not dead.
His mouth is sealed.
But Kael feels it.
Azrakhael is dreaming.
And in the dream, Kael is burning the world.
"You were my brother," the god thinks. "You broke the pact."
Suddenly, Kael is pulled into a vision.
Kael stands in an ancient realm, a memory-echo of the First War.
He sees:
Seven Flamebearers, including himself and Azrakhael, forging a pact to divide power among mortals.
But one—Kael's past self—defies it, hiding a fragment of the Prime Flame.
Azrakhael binds himself to guard the truth until it is needed again.
Kael betrayed him.
For a reason still hidden.
Back in the vault, Kael falls to his knees, whispering, "Forgive me…"
Azrakhael awakens—partially.
With a whisper of stellar flame, he burns Kael's arm, leaving a constellation-shaped scar.
"The others will awaken soon," Azrakhael says. "They will not forgive you as I have."
Then he sleeps again.
Kael ascends with fire in his breath and fury in his gaze.
He sees the Empire for what it is—a lie propped up by divine shame.
He declares before the Basilica:
"Your god is not your master. He is your prisoner."
The people of Akris revolt.
The Ashborne strike fast, crippling the theocratic army.
Kael does not kill the high priest.
He brands him with the same scar Azrakhael gave him.
"Remember who you truly worship."
The Basilica crumbles.
Chains break.
And the first true flame of rebellion in centuries lights the skies of Akris.
Kael doesn't stay.
He leaves Akris to its people.
But now he knows the truth:
He was once part of a Pact of Flame.
He broke it.
Why?
What did he see back then?
The memory still hides.
But one thing is clear:
Six gods remain.
And the next—Nerithea, the Dreaming Queen—has already awakened.
And she's hunting Kael… across dreams.