The forty-seventh dawn painted Kael El's empire in violet-gold streaks, a quiet glow washing over a 6,906-square-kilometer sprawl—nineteen territories fused into a titan of forest, plains, mesa, desert, swamp, jungle, tundra, crypt, molten wastes, steel flats, and now Dorn's ash plains. The major city thrummed, 115 buildings a fortress of Mist Core-lit walls, forges blazing as 1,838,000 subjects hauled ash-slick loot. Kael lounged in the Lord's Estate, the Stormforged Blade across his lap, EX: Dragonflame Reaver simmering, Stormhide Armor patched with Dorn's ash-forged steel. His flirty smirk shone, a cool dominance radiating—Dorn's fall had fueled a surge, and Torva's shadow crept closer.
Day 47. Ash is mine—Torva's next. His dark eyes burned with unwavering confidence, pride a molten core beneath his chill exterior. One-point-eight million souls, 6,906 sq. km, and a Champion Lord's might—Zara led at 67, but Kael's leap from Dorn's defeat was a storm. They're watching—I'm rising.
