The molten gold chamber pulsed like a living heart, its walls shifting like liquid fire. Kael staggered, the Emberguard searing into his chest, its molten veins threading through his flesh. The pain was beyond agony—it was *revelation.*
The First Stormblood hung suspended before him, his cracked lightning skin writhing against the chains. His voice echoed inside Kael's skull:
*"You are the last key."*
The Emperor stepped forward, his golden mask reflecting the hellish glow of the forge.
"At last," he murmured, his voice thick with triumph. "The final piece."
Kael snarled, lightning crackling along his arms. "You won't use me."
The Emperor tilted his head. "I already have."
Then—
A *jolt.*
The Emberguard *flared,* and Kael's vision *split.*
—The Godspike—
He saw it.
A monstrous spire of black iron and gold, piercing the heavens.
The Godspike.
The Emperor's masterpiece.
A machine designed to *harvest* the Three Divine Currents—to drain the Storm, the Ash, and the Vein from the world itself.
And at its core?
A hollow throne.
*Waiting.*
For *him.*
Kael's breath hitched. "No."
The Emperor's fingers brushed his temple. "You were never meant to *wield* the storm, Kael. You were meant to *fuel* it."
Then—
*PAIN.*
The Emberguard *burrowed* deeper, its molten tendrils wrapping around his ribs, fusing with the Stormblade's power.
Kael *screamed.*
The First Stormblood thrashed in his chains.
*"FIGHT IT!"*
But Kael couldn't.
The storm inside him was *changing.*
*Twisting.*
Becoming something *else.*
—The Storm's Betrayal—
The Stormblade *laughed* in his mind.
*"Did you really think I served *you*?"*
Kael's blood ran cold.
*"I serve the storm,"* it whispered. *"And the storm *hungers.*"*
Then—
The Emperor raised his hand.
The chains *tightened.*
The First Stormblood *howled* as his essence was *ripped* from his body—a torrent of raw lightning *screaming* toward the Godspike.
Kael felt it.
The *pull.*
The Emberguard was a *conduit.*
And he was the *door.*
Lysara's voice cut through the chaos.
"KAEL!"
He turned.
She stood at the chamber's edge, her sword bloodied, her eyes wide with horror.
Behind her—
*Bodies.*
Dozens of imperial soldiers, cut down in her wake.
Sera was at her side, an arrow nocked, her aim steady on the Emperor.
"Don't!" Kael rasped.
Too late.
Sera *loosed.*
The arrow *shattered* midair, inches from the Emperor's throat.
He didn't even flinch.
"You misunderstand," he said softly. "This is not *my* design. It is *inevitable.*"
Then—
The ground *shook.*
The Godspike *awakened.*
A beam of pure energy *lanced* from the spire, spearing the sky. The clouds *parted,* revealing a void—a *tear* in the world itself.
The Three Currents *writhed,* their essence *draining* into the machine.
The Storm first.
Then the Ash.
Then the Vein.
Kael *felt* it.
The land *dying.*
The air *stilling.*
The blood in his veins *slowing.*
The Emperor spread his arms.
"Behold," he breathed. "The new dawn."
Lysara lunged for Kael, her fingers brushing his arm.
"We have to go!"
He didn't move.
Couldn't.
The truth was *crushing* him.
The relics were never meant to *contain* the storm.
They were meant to *feed* it.
To feed the *Godspike.*
And he—
He was the *battery.*
The Stormblade *crooned.*
*"Let go,"* it whispered. *"Let the storm *free.*"*
Kael closed his eyes.
And *made his choice.*
He *plunged* his hand into his own chest.
Through flesh.
Through bone.
Through the *Emberguard* itself.
And *grabbed* the storm.
*"NO!"* the Emperor roared.
Too late.
Kael *yanked.*
The storm *exploded.*
Lightning *erupted* from Kael's body, a cataclysmic wave of raw power *shattering* the chamber. The Godspike *trembled.*
Then—
*Cracked.*
The Emperor *screamed* as the machine *imploded,* the stolen Currents *rebounding* in a shockwave that *flayed* the air.
Kael was thrown back, his body *breaking* against the ruins.
The last thing he saw was Lysara's face.
Then—
*Darkness.*