Chapter 111: The Song of Pyres
The sun had just begun its slow descent behind the jagged peaks of the southern mountains. The sky was painted in shades of blood-red and bruised purple, casting a burning hue over the valley below—a cruel echo of the flames soon to come. The ash still clung stubbornly to the earth, a ghostly dust that whispered of battles past, and of death that had not yet released its hold.
But the silence was suffocating.
A calm before a storm that promised to consume everything.
Caedren stood atop a jagged cliff that overlooked the wide valley, his silhouette a stark black against the dying light. The wind tugged relentlessly at his long black hair, tossing it like a banner of war. His eyes, dark and sharp, cut through the smoke-hazed horizon, searching for a sign, a movement—anything that would betray the coming of the Pyric Choir.
He felt it deep in his bones.
Something ancient.
Something malevolent.
A stirring in the distance that chilled even his hardened heart.
Lysa came up behind him, her footsteps soft but certain against the scorched earth.
"Do you feel it?" she asked, voice low but edged with steel.
Caedren didn't turn. His gaze remained locked on the horizon where the first flickers of flame had begun to stain the dusk.
"The Pyric Choir is moving," he said, voice steady but grave. "Their songs... they grow louder."
Lysa's lips pressed into a thin line.
"They've brought the true Flame with them," she said. "It's unlike anything we've ever faced."
Caedren finally turned to face her. His dark eyes burned with a grim intensity.
"They've brought Veila with them," he corrected. "Not just a prophet, not just a fanatic. She was Ivan's scribe—his closest witness. She understands the Flame better than anyone alive today. And she worships it... like a god."
Lysa's hands clenched into fists.
"Then we fight her."
Caedren shook his head slowly.
"It's not that simple."
"The Pyric Choir doesn't just kill."
"They consume."
The words hung in the air, heavy and ominous.
A quiet chill seemed to creep up from the earth beneath their feet, as if the land itself sensed the coming doom.
That night, the camp was alive with nervous energy.
Torches flickered in the cold wind, throwing dancing shadows on the tents.
Soldiers sharpened blades until the metal sang—a song of steel and blood.
Armor was strapped on, polished to a dull gleam under the torchlight.
Commanders barked orders; formations were drilled with ruthless precision.
But beneath the practiced routine, even the most seasoned warriors knew the truth:
What was coming was no ordinary battle.
This was an execution.
A reckoning.
From the east, the Pyric Choir advanced like a storm rolling across the horizon.
Silent. Swift. Unstoppable.
As they moved into the valley, the night itself seemed to twist around them.
A low, haunting song began to fill the air.
It seeped into the very bones of every soldier and watcher.
A sound that chilled the blood and stirred the soul.
Caedren's eyes darkened.
Figures appeared first—cloaked in black, their robes billowing like smoke caught in the moonlight.
They moved as one, a wave of shadow and flame.
Their voices rose in a chilling chant.
But Veila was not among them.
She came alone.
A blazing figure shrouded in fire.
Her hair was molten lava, spilling like rivers of flame down her back.
Her eyes were black—cold and endless as the void at the heart of a dying star.
Every breath she drew seemed to scorch the very air.
A living inferno.
"We must face her," Lysa said, her hand resting on the hilt of her blade, eyes steely and resolute.
Caedren nodded.
His grip tightened on the broken hilt of his sword.
His heart beat a furious rhythm.
A pounding drum of rage, fear, and desperate hope.
The moment had come.
He stepped forward.
His boots crushed the ash beneath him, a sharp crunch in the silence.
Behind him, the soldiers fell into formation.
The camp was ready.
The fight for the future had begun.
The Pyric Choir's song grew louder, deeper.
It reverberated through the valley like the cries of the damned.
A sound that clawed at minds and frayed nerves.
Then, from the shadows, Veila's voice rose.
"Caedren," she called out, her words dripping with venom and poison.
"You think you can destroy what was never meant to be destroyed?"
"The Flame is eternal."
"It will consume you."
Caedren's eyes narrowed.
His voice was steel and flame.
"It will not consume me."
"You don't understand, Veila."
"You think the Flame is power."
"It's only a cage."
Veila smiled.
A terrible, cruel smile.
"And yet you're still chained to it."
She raised her hand.
The Choir fell silent.
"Burn."
The world ignited.
Flames burst from the earth like angry spirits unleashed.
The air thickened with smoke and heat.
The night was torn apart by fire.
The battle that followed was like no other Caedren had ever fought.
The Pyric Choir was beyond mere soldiers.
They were conduits of destruction.
Each carried the Flame in their blood.
Their souls bound to fire.
When they sang, the earth burned beneath their feet.
Flames erupted, licking skyward like the tongues of some ancient beast.
The very air caught fire.
They wielded the Flame as gods wield thunder and lightning.
Caedren charged into the inferno, Lysa at his side.
His sword flashed in silver arcs.
He cut down the first wave of Choir members.
But with each strike, the flames seemed to heal them.
They burned brighter.
Stronger.
Lysa was no less fierce.
Her blades were deadly, slicing through the fire with precision and skill.
But even she struggled.
The Choir's power was overwhelming.
"You can't kill them, Caedren!" Lysa shouted, blocking a brutal strike.
"We have to stop Veila!"
"I know," he growled, pain and fury sharpening his voice.
"I'm going for her."
But before he could move, Veila's voice tore through the chaos.
"Fool!"
Her hands raised high.
Flames swirled around her, gathering like a storm.
"You think you can fight the eternal?"
"You think you can extinguish a god?"
Caedren charged.
Heart pounding.
Fury blinding.
The ground cracked beneath him.
Flames erupted like molten rivers.
The firestorm forced him back.
The Pyric Choir merged with the flames.
Their bodies became one with the fire.
Veila's form shifted.
Her burning body warped the air around her.
She raised her hand.
A wall of flame surged forward.
It swallowed everything.
Trees, rocks, men, and hope.
Caedren and Lysa barely escaped.
Their clothes scorched.
Their skin burned raw.
But Caedren did not stop.
He would not stop.
With a roar, he broke through the inferno.
Sword raised high.
In the heart of the firestorm, he faced Veila.
"Let us see if your flame is enough to burn me, Veila."
His voice was fury and defiance.
Veila laughed.
A sound like crackling fire and breaking bones.
"You are but a child playing with fire, Caedren."
"You think you can defeat me?"
Caedren's eyes blazed.
The fire of a thousand worlds burning in his gaze.
"No."
"But I can break you."
The flames roared around them.
The battle for the soul of the world had reached its peak.
The Song of Pyres.