The Ashen Peaks loomed above them, jagged towers of stone that scraped the clouds. Fires burned across the ridges, and the wind carried the scent of smoke and blood.


Kael surveyed the horizon. “Not the welcoming committee I hoped for.”


Elijah tightened his grip on the shard. Its warmth radiated through his chest, pulsing in sync with the pendant. “Who are they?”


“Mercenaries,” Kael said. “And worse — desperate men looking for easy coin and even easier glory. And they’re not just after gold.” He glanced at the glowing shard. “They want that.”


The ground trembled as the first wave approached. Figures in dark armor, riding on blackened beasts, surged up the slopes. Arrows rained down, thudding into rock and earth.


Elijah raised his sword. Flames ran along the blade, reflecting off the shard like liquid fire. “We hold here,” he said.


Kael nodded, loading his crossbow. “Then let’s make them regret it.”


The first wave crashed against their position. Elijah swung the sword, sending arcs of fire that turned the front line of attackers into nothing but ash and smoke. Kael fired with deadly precision, picking off any who survived the initial blaze.


But there were too many. Shadowed figures slipped through the edges, moving like smoke around them. Elijah felt the fire within him pulse urgently — impatient, alive, demanding release.


“Control it,” he muttered to himself, recalling Seris’s words. “The fire obeys the heart that dares to be whole.”


He let the flames flow outward not in destruction, but in shaping the battlefield. Rocks shifted, molten veins rose along the cliffs, and the attackers found themselves trapped by fire walls they could not cross. The shard pulsed in response, as if recognizing its protector.


Suddenly, a giant figure broke through the front lines — a mercenary warlord wielding a massive spiked hammer. He swung at Elijah with crushing force. The sword met the hammer, sparks flying as molten energy hissed where metal struck metal.


“Elijah!” Kael shouted. “Move!”


Elijah channeled the fire through the blade, not to strike, but to redirect. The hammer deflected harmlessly into the rock wall, the fire curling around it like a river. With a focused push, Elijah sent a wave of heat forward, forcing the warlord and his guards back down the slope.


The battle raged for hours. Arrows, blades, and fire collided in a symphony of chaos. But with each swing, each careful manipulation of the flames, Elijah grew stronger — not just in magic, but in resolve.


When the last of the mercenaries fell, Kael slumped against a boulder, breathing heavily. “You… you actually did it,” he said. “You held the Ashen Peaks. And that fire… it’s not just flame. It’s command.”


Elijah looked at the shard, still glowing warmly in his hands. “I… I think I’m ready for more.”


From the shadows above, a faint roar echoed — not from any creature they could see, but from somewhere distant, deep in the mountains. The pendant around Elijah’s neck pulsed violently.


“The dragons are stirring,” he whispered.


Kael’s eyes narrowed. “Good. Because the Vale isn’t waiting for anyone.”


The wind howled through the Ashen Peaks, carrying with it smoke, ash, and the faintest scent of scales. Elijah felt it like a promise and a warning: the path ahead would be far deadlier, but he would not walk it alone.


Together, they descended from the peaks, the first shard secure, fire in their hands, and destiny blazing before them.