The hideout was quiet.
Ash still drifted in the air from Kael's last raid, the scent of scorched metal lingering like a warning. Lucien slept restlessly in the corner, muttering names Kael hadn't heard in a decade.
But Kael sat in silence, eyes closed, flame dancing on his palm.
The black-and-white fire hissed and pulsed, alive. Hungry.
It whispered to him now.
Not in words—but in memories.
[Ten Years Ago – Moments After His Death]
There had been nothing.
Then… heat.
Kael had opened his eyes inside a plane of fire and shadow. A throne of broken halos towered before him. Chains of light floated, shattered and melting into ash.
And on the throne sat a being neither angel nor demon.
The Flame Warden.
Eyes of infinite dusk. Wings charred at the edges. A halo bent into a crown of thorns.
"You burned for their sins, Kael."
Its voice was a choir… and a scream.
"But saints who die in betrayal are offered one choice."
Kael remembered reaching for his blade—but it was gone.
"Take back your time," the Warden offered, "but not without a cost."
A vision flashed—ten years earlier. His old body. His friends still alive. The world not yet doomed.
Then came the flame. It seared his soul, tore his purity in half.
[Present – Kael wakes from the memory]
He opened his eyes, chest heaving.
The flame on his hand was no longer white.
It was pure black.
A voice echoed inside him.
"Time is a curse, Kael. And curses… always want more."
[Meanwhile – Church Archives]
Freya slammed a sealed tome on the table, ignoring the gasps of the scribes.
She flipped through pages of forbidden scripture. Sigils burned under her touch.
"Ashen Saints."
The text described an ancient prophecy—saints who died unjustly, reborn with flame not of heaven… but of something older. Something divine and damned.
And all of them… were hunted.
None survived.
Freya clenched her fists.
"Kael's not just back. He's changing."
[Kael – At the Black Altar]
Kael knelt in an old ruin outside the city—a temple once used to bind demons. Now overgrown. Forgotten.
He touched the stone.
It burned.
But he didn't pull away.
"I know you're listening," he said quietly. "I want control. No more whispers. No more tricks."
The stone cracked.
A sigil lit the ground.
And out of the shadows rose a figure: not the Warden, but a servant—horned, cloaked, faceless.
"You seek dominion over the flame, Saint?"
Kael stood, fire wreathing his arms.
"I seek vengeance."
The servant hissed. "Then give up your mercy."
Kael didn't blink.
"I gave that up the day I died."