Chapter Forty-One-The Bearer of Death Flames
The air within David's fortress still tasted of blood and tension from the council's betrayal. Yet outside its storm-thickened walls, something ancient stirred — something born not from blade or crown, but from fire itself.
Cristi stood under the pale dawn sky, watching the fog curl across the forest line. He had dreamt of fire again — not normal fire, but something… deeper. Blue and black flames danced in his vision each night, speaking a language of destruction and rebirth. He hadn't told Alex yet. Not even in whispers.
Alex approached quietly, his armor still stained from the chaos of the recent skirmish. "Cristi," he said, resting a hand on his shoulder. "You've changed."
Cristi blinked. "So have you."
They exchanged a small laugh, though it didn't reach their eyes. Too many swords had been drawn between friends. Too many truths had been buried.
"Listen," Alex continued, walking beside him now. "There's something I haven't told anyone… yet. I believe you might be the bearer of the Death Flame."
Cristi stopped cold.
"What?"
Alex turned toward him, voice hushed but firm. "It explains the resistance to shadow magic, the dreams, the aura you've been giving off since the siege of Tenebris. I was there when the last bearer died — they screamed for hours. But you… you sleep through it."
Cristi swallowed hard. "If I am the bearer… what does that mean?"
Alex looked away, jaw clenched. "It means you're both a weapon and a curse."
Meanwhile…
Kael, Lira, and Greenwolf had moved fast since the council. David had ordered them west — toward the Forest of Life, where the death flame's remnants were last recorded by the scrolls of Arion.
Kael's body still bore the marks from the last battle. Deep scars lined his back, but they had become stories to Lira — proof he was still fighting. She stayed close, now more than ever. The bond between them had become something unspoken, forged by fire, loss, and the creeping shadow of Andrew's return.
"I don't trust this Cristi," Greenwolf muttered, sharpening his axe. "Too quiet. Too… inward."
Kael shook his head. "Maybe he's just scared. Who wouldn't be, carrying the fire of death inside them?"
They paused at the base of a broken archway deep in the woods. Lira crouched and ran her hand along strange etchings.
"These runes…" she whispered, "…they're reacting to Kael. Not me. Not even Greenwolf."
The runes pulsed softly — then burst into a quiet black flame.
Lira leapt back. "Kael, step away!"
But Kael stood still. The flames didn't burn. They clung to his boots like shadows trying to whisper.
"I saw this in my dreams," Kael muttered. "This is… where the fire chose its bearer."
Back at the Fortress
David poured over ancient scrolls while Mihai watched in silence. "The fire of death was never meant to have a bearer," David murmured. "It was the flame of endings — even the gods feared it."
Mihai leaned forward. "So what happens when Cristi awakens it?"
David looked up, eyes hollow. "Then it's not Andrew we'll have to stop."
That Night
Cristi sat alone at the edge of camp, looking into a small fire he'd lit. His hand reached out instinctively, and the flames turned violet.
His eyes widened.
Inside the fire, he saw visions — kingdoms collapsing, seas of shadow armies marching, Kael dueling Andrew on top of a crumbling mountain, and in the center of it all… himself.
His eyes flickered black for just a moment.
Alex stepped beside him, quiet.
"It's waking up, isn't it?" he asked.
Cristi nodded slowly. "Yes. And I don't know if it's me anymore."