The world roared around Ashen as they reached the crumbling gates of Black Hollow Fortress. Rain lashed from the black skies, soaking the blood and mud that caked his boots. Behind him, the survivors stumbled forward — wounded, exhausted, but alive.
Barely.
Ashen turned, flames wreathing his fists, and took a headcount.
Riven was shouting orders to the scouts.
Lyra leaned against a wall, pale but determined.
Kael lingered in the shadows, silent, watching everything with eyes like knives.
Ashen tightened his jaw. No time for doubts now.
The fortress loomed before them, a relic of an older, bloodier age. Thick stone walls, cracked but still sturdy, rose into the night. Ivy and moss had reclaimed much of it, but the towers still stood tall — proud even in ruin.
A perfect place to make a stand.
Ashen moved fast. "Seal the gates!" he bellowed. "Archers, get to the walls! Fighters, form ranks!"
They surged to obey, adrenaline fueling their broken bodies.
The distant horn sounded again, closer now.
Ashen raced up the cracked steps to the battlements. From there, he could see it all — a tide of darkness rolling toward them across the hills. Torches burned in the hands of the enemy like a swarm of fireflies, stretching out as far as he could see.
Hundreds of them.
Maybe thousands.
And at their head, cloaked in black armor that seemed to drink the light itself, rode a figure Ashen recognized immediately — the Seared One.
But that wasn't possible.
Ashen killed him.
Didn't he?
Lyra joined him at the wall, crutch forgotten, her short sword strapped to her side.
"You seeing what I'm seeing?" she asked grimly.
Ashen's fists clenched until his knuckles whitened. "Yeah. I see it."
The Seared One raised a black sword, and the army behind him roared — a sound that shook the very stones beneath their feet.
Ashen turned to the defenders, fire igniting in his veins.
"LISTEN UP!" he shouted. "This is our line! This is where we make our stand! They want to break us — they want to snuff out everything we've fought for!"
His aura flared — an inferno of golden light — casting shadows that danced wildly across the stone.
"But they don't know what we are!"
The warriors roared back, slamming weapons against shields.
Ashen raised his arms, fire spiraling from his hands into the stormy sky.
"We are the flame that refuses to die!
We are the spark that will burn this darkness away!
WE ARE THE LAST LIGHT!"
The cheer that rose up shook the heavens.
Ashen smiled grimly, then turned back to the horde.
They were coming.
And he would meet them head-on.
The first impact was a thunderclap.
Arrows blackened the sky, raining death. Ashen thrust his hands forward, a shield of searing flame blasting the missiles aside. Archers along the walls returned fire, felling dozens of the enemy, but it wasn't enough to stop the tide.
Battering rams smashed against the gates.
Grappling hooks snagged the walls.
Ashen raced from tower to tower, fighting wherever the enemy breached. His flames cut through the darkness, a whirlwind of light and death.
At one breach, he found Lyra fighting two brutes twice her size, her one arm moving with brutal efficiency. Ashen threw a wall of fire between her and the attackers, then surged forward, fists blazing.
He struck one in the chest — bones cracked — and the second he grabbed by the throat, lifting him off the ground before incinerating him in a column of golden fire.
Lyra gave him a breathless grin. "Showoff."
Ashen smirked. "You love it."
Together, they fell back to the inner courtyard, where the fighting was thickest.
Kael appeared from the shadows, blades flashing, cutting down enemies with ruthless precision.
For a moment, Ashen wondered — whose side was Kael really on?
But there was no time for doubt.
Only survival.
The gates buckled.
The Seared One advanced, his black sword pulsing with corrupt mana.
Ashen felt the pull — the dark whisper — but shook it off with a snarl.
He wasn't that boy anymore.
He was something else now.
The final gate fell with an earsplitting crash.
The Seared One stepped through, flanked by monstrous creatures twisted by dark magic.
Ashen met him in the center of the courtyard.
The rain hissed against the flames coating Ashen's body.
The Seared One lowered his sword slightly, studying Ashen with something almost like amusement.
"You survived longer than expected," the creature rasped. "But this ends now."
Ashen planted his feet, fire crackling from his eyes.
"No," he said, his voice a blade of certainty. "This is where you end."
Without another word, Ashen launched forward, the ground shattering under his feet.
Their clash was cataclysmic — fire against shadow, light against void.
Ashen struck with all the fury of a dying star, hammering the Seared One back, blow after blow.
But the dark knight was faster than before, stronger, fueled by something unnatural.
Their auras collided in bursts of raw power, lighting up the fortress like a second sun.
Ashen felt the edge of exhaustion, the bite of old wounds reopening — but he pushed past it.
He had to.
For Lyra.
For everyone who couldn't fight anymore.
The Seared One drove him back against the broken wall, black blade flashing.
Ashen roared, unleashing a torrent of fire that blasted the enemy across the courtyard.
The Seared One stumbled — and Ashen saw his chance.
With a wordless cry, he threw himself forward, fists wreathed in pure, searing mana.
He struck once.
Twice.
Three times.
Each blow cracked the Seared One's armor further.
Ashen's aura flared to its absolute limit — a towering inferno visible for miles.
"I AM ASHEN!" he shouted, voice shaking the earth itself.
"I AM THE FIRE THAT CANNOT BE EXTINGUISHED!"
With a final, devastating blow, he shattered the Seared One's breastplate — revealing not a man beneath, but something ancient and writhing.
The dark thing within screamed, recoiling from Ashen's light.
Ashen didn't hesitate.
He plunged his hand into the creature's core — and ripped it apart in a pillar of fire.
The explosion rocked Black Hollow, throwing enemy soldiers into the air, turning night into day.
When the smoke cleared, the Seared One was gone — nothing but ash on the wind.
Ashen stood alone, breathing hard, body trembling.
The enemy forces, leaderless, faltered — then broke, fleeing into the night.
The survivors of Black Hollow stood victorious.
For now.
Ashen staggered, barely staying upright.
Lyra rushed to him, throwing his arm over her shoulder.
"You idiot," she muttered. "You were supposed to fight smart, not suicidal."
Ashen managed a grin. "Worked, didn't it?"
She shook her head, but her eyes were bright — proud.
Kael approached, wiping blood from his blades, his expression unreadable.
Ashen met his gaze.
Something passed between them — a silent challenge, a promise of storms yet to come.
But that was a problem for another day.
For now, they had survived.
And survival was a victory all its own.
Ashen raised his fist, flames spiraling into the night sky.
The others roared in response.
The fire would not die.
Not here.
Not ever.