Six months had passed since Astaroth fell.
The world was still healing—from the smoke, the blood, the screams that had scorched history itself. The skies had stopped bleeding fire, but the world hadn't forgotten. Neither had Dexter.
So, he returned home.
Home.
"Mom, I'm home!" Dexter called, stepping through the familiar doorway. His voice cracked at the edges—too much war, not enough rest.
Mrs. Clara turned from the kitchen, a wooden spoon in her hand, and froze. Her breath caught. For a moment, she didn't move—then she dropped everything and ran.
"Dexter!" she cried, throwing her arms around him.
He held her tight, burying his face in her shoulder. The scent of old perfume and warm stew wrapped around him like a blanket he didn't know he missed.
"You're here… You're actually here," she whispered, cupping his face.
"I told you I'd come back," he smiled, though his eyes were tired.
They sat. He told her everything.
The Ring. The demons. The war. His training. The fall of Astaroth. The Sons of Flame. Tulopia. The Convergence.
An entire world she never knew existed.
Mrs. Clara listened in silence, only nodding, her hands clutched tight on her lap.
When he finished, she wiped a tear away and let out a slow breath. "All this time… And you're still you."
Dexter nodded. "Mostly."
She stood. "You must be starving. Let me cook you something proper. Don't argue."
He didn't.
Thirty minutes later, the table was set with hot soup, roasted yam, and spiced chicken—just like old times. The smell alone could lift the dead.
They ate in silence for a while, the clinking of cutlery grounding them.
Then Dexter broke it.
"Mom... you need to warn them. The government, the defense councils, whoever's still listening. The Convergence is happening—tomorrow."
Her eyes widened. "Tomorrow? Are you sure?"
"I am. So are my friends."
She raised a brow. "Friends?"
Dexter smiled, the first real one in weeks. "Yeah. They're... different."
He listed them, one by one.
"Kael. First son of Thazur. Flame-Singer.
Riven. Second son of Thazur. Blade-Born.
Sethan. Third son of Thazur. Storm-Walker.
Orin. First son of Kel'Zael. Voice of Ash.
Vael. Second son of Kel'Zael. Heart of Iron.
Zyre. Third son of Kel'Zael. The Black Howl.
And Naru... the one raised among humans. The one who never belonged anywhere."
Mrs. Clara stared. "You travel with demons now?"
"I travel with warriors," Dexter replied. "They chose me. And I chose them."
The Next Day
The ground wept fire.
Beneath the ruins of Astaroth's fallen citadel, the land cracked and hissed. Smoke spiraled upward in lazy, dangerous curls. The sky overhead was an open wound—dark, trembling, and bleeding heat.
Dexter stood at the heart of it, his sword still sheathed in dried blood. Around him, the Sons of Flame stood in a silent formation, watching the horizon as if it might split open.
Something had changed.
Time stuttered. Flames flickered backward. Shadows stretched toward the sun. Even the wind seemed afraid to move.
Then it came—not a sound, but a feeling.
A pulse. Deep. Bone-deep.
"The seal weakens. The prison breaks."
Dexter dropped to his knees, clutching his head. A blinding flame—white and ancient—erupted in his mind. The world vanished.
And then, he fell—not through space, but through time.
A Vision of the First Flame
He stood on a mountain of black stone beneath a sky of burning stars. The air was thick with ash. Down below, war raged—millions of demons battling not for land or power, but freedom.
Beside him stood Tulopia, younger, but unmistakable. Her robes glowed red and gold, her voice carried the weight of eternity.
"This was the First War," she said. "Before the rebellion. Before the Ring. Before corruption."
Dexter couldn't speak. The wind howled through him like he was made of hollow glass.
She continued, her eyes locked on the battlefield below. "The Primal Flame was not always our enemy. He was once the guardian of our souls. The father of the Nine Flames. When the Elders turned on the humans and sought dominion... he stood against them."
Dexter clenched his fists. "So they imprisoned him."
"They betrayed him," she corrected. "Buried him beneath the world, chained in silence."
"Why show me this now?"
"Because the Convergence is here," Tulopia whispered. "And he remembers betrayal."
From the battlefield rose a titan—its body forged from fire and stone, limbs wrapped in heavy chains, molten tears falling from its eyes.
"You are the Key," it said.
"And the Lock."
The vision shattered like glass.
Trial by Flame
Dexter gasped awake, his body drenched in sweat. The Sons of Flame had formed a tight circle around him, weapons drawn—not against outsiders, but toward each other.
"What the hell is going on?" he rasped, rising to his feet.
Vael's voice was raw. "He's making us choose. One of us must fall."
Orin's eyes burned red. "The Primal's will. A test of loyalty. One must be consumed."
Dexter stepped between them. "We've survived together. You've bled for this cause. No one dies today."
Riven lowered his blade. "It's not about survival. It's about balance. The flame awakens—and it demands a price."
The sky cracked.
A pillar of flame dropped from the heavens, striking the ground between them.
From its center stepped a figure—fluid, ever-changing. Its body was smoke and white fire, its eyes like dying stars.
It spoke:
"You who wear the Ring… You who carry the blood of demons and the will of man. Choose."
The voice was ancient. It carried no malice. Only truth.
Vael stepped forward. "Take me. My flame is strong enough to bear it."
But Sethan growled. "No. I've killed innocents. Let me carry the burden."
Dexter shouted, "This isn't a choice—it's a trap!"
The voice answered.
"All awakenings demand loss. All power, cost."
Then, without warning, Sethan stepped into the flame.
Kael screamed, reaching for him—but it was too late.
The fire roared up, engulfing Sethan.
When it faded, he was gone. No ashes. No trace. Just a whisper in the wind:
"The First Flame accepts."
The Sky Breaks
Something in the world shifted.
The sky shattered like brittle glass, revealing not stars—but flame and shadow. Gigantic chains rose from the abyss above, stretching across the heavens like bridges from another realm.
Dexter's chest burned. The Ring on his finger pulsed like a heartbeat—no longer a prison, but a key.
Tulopia's voice echoed in his mind.
"You carry the Final Flame. The Primal seeks not war, but reckoning.
But if the world strikes first… there will be no forgiveness."
Vael dropped to his knees. "Sethan... I felt him die. We shared the same fire. I felt it extinguish."
Dexter's jaw tightened. "Then we make sure his death has purpose. We finish this."
Above them, a deep voice thundered across the realms—deeper than stone, older than time.
"He who was bound... shall rise again."
And then the seal broke.
The skies ignited. The oceans screamed. The earth howled.
And from the center of the flame, something ancient began to climb out of the abyss.