Chapter 3: The Kingdom That Burned Bright

The Fire Kingdom is one of the five kingdoms that make up the continent of Velaria, located in the southeastern highlands. The kingdom is surrounded by lush green hills and forested slopes, and a strong, clear river named Emberstream flows through its heart, providing fresh water, fertile lands, and trade routes for the people.

Unlike the other, larger kingdoms, the Fire Kingdom is small in size. It has only one city, which also serves as the capital — Ignisar. This city is the center of power and life in the kingdom, where the Imperial Family rules from the heart of their ancestral home.

Ignisar is divided into two main sections: the Inner Walls and the Outer Walls.

The Inner Walls hold the Royal Palace, the homes of nobles, command halls, and the quarters of the Fire Knights — the elite protectors of the realm. It is well-guarded, with stone towers, training grounds, and halls built from red-gold stone that gleams under sunlight.

The Outer Walls surround the rest of the city. Here, the common citizens live their daily lives — markets bustle with traders, blacksmiths ring steel in their forges, and plazas echo with children’s laughter and performers’ songs. Life flows here with warmth and energy, like the heart of a flame.

Though small, the Fire Kingdom stands proud — a land of passion, loyalty, and strength rivaling the other kingdoms.

Raye’s fists clenched the reins as the bloodied soldier fell into his arms, breath shallow and words weak.

“We… we lost, my lord. The kingdom… it’s been attacked…”

For a moment, rage flashed in Raye’s eyes like fire. But he swallowed it. Now was not the time for emotions — now was the time for action.

He knelt beside the fallen soldier and looked to one of his men.

“Take him to the nearest town. Make sure he lives,” Raye ordered, voice sharp but steady.

He stood and turned to the rest.

“Everyone else — prepare for battle.”

Without wasting a second, Raye and Kael mounted their horses again. The hooves thundered against the ground as they charged through the path like a blazing storm cutting through the wind. Speed and urgency filled every breath. Not a single word was spoken among the men — only silence, tense and heavy. They were already preparing themselves for what was to come.

As they approached the Fire Kingdom, their hearts sank.

Dark smoke curled into the sky. The walls — shattered. The gates — torn open like paper. Fires danced across the rooftops, and the once-proud capital lay in chaos.

Raye’s eyes burned with fury, and he pulled his blade slightly from its sheath.

“The war is not over,” he declared, voice firm and burning with purpose. “Help the citizens escape. Find those who can still fight. Regroup with me at Emberhold.”

His words struck deep like steel, filling the soldiers with renewed purpose.

“Kael, lead our forces. I’ll make for Emberhold alone and find the King.”

“My lord, I cannot allow you to go alone!” Kael said, stepping forward.

Raye looked over his shoulder, eyes full of fire and pride.

“Kael… trust me, my friend. As long as I stand, the Fire Kingdom has not fallen. And it will never fall.”

He turned to the rest of the soldiers and raised his sword high.

“Men of the Ember Knights! You carry the fire of our ancestors in your hearts. Let no fear grip your soul, and let no enemy walk away alive!”

With that final roar, he galloped toward Emberhold — his cape trailing behind him like a red flame. Kael, without hesitation, turned and led the others into the burning streets to rescue whoever they could.

Raye entered Emberhold alone.

Smoke drifted through the broken arches like spirits of the fallen. The ground was soaked in blood. Cracked stone, shattered statues, and the cold bodies of his fellow knights littered the once-mighty corridor that led to the palace gates.

His gaze rose. In front of the palace stood several armoured figures — tall, cloaked in unfamiliar designs, their crests unrecognizable. These weren’t soldiers of any known kingdom. They were foreign. But Raye didn’t need to know their names — their swords stained with Fire Kingdom blood said enough.

He dismounted swiftly, patting his horse gently.

“Lyra, stay here,” he said, running his fingers along her mane, eyes soft for just a moment. “You’re safe.”

Lyra let out a soft, low whinny as he turned away.

Steel sang as Raye unsheathed his sword.

The men ahead — though outnumbering him — hesitated. Something in the air shifted. The weight of death clung to him like a cloak. His presence alone struck fear into their chests — fear sharpened by the way he carried his blade with effortless confidence.

One of them roared and rushed forward.

The rest followed.

Bad decision.

The silence broke with the whistle of a blade through flesh. Steel flashed — too fast to follow — and in seconds, heads fell, one by one. Blood painted the ground in arcs, and their bodies collapsed like broken puppets. None landed a blow. None stood a chance.

Raye didn’t slow down.

He kicked the palace doors open, the wooden slabs cracking against the stone walls inside. The grand hall had become a battlefield. Once-golden pillars now stood blackened and broken. Fires licked across banners. More enemies lay in wait — but he moved like a storm through them.

Each corner turned revealed more chaos — and more lives he took without hesitation. His blade danced — clean, deliberate, merciless. One enemy lunged with a spear — he twisted aside and severed the man's arm in a blink. Another tried to run — he didn’t make it two steps before collapsing with a blade in his back.

Room by room, he searched.

His heart pounded with every door he opened, calling names in his mind. His mother. His younger brother. His King.

But silence answered him.

And then—he heard breathing.

A soft, broken sound.

He pushed open the doors to the royal council chamber.

There, slumped against the far wall beneath a torn banner of the Fire Kingdom, was Commander Draeven. His armor was in pieces, chest plate shattered, blood pooling beneath him. His sword lay broken across his lap. One eye was shut, the other barely open.

“Raye…” Draeven’s voice was cracked and dry. “You came back…”

Raye rushed to his side, eyes scanning the room for any remaining enemies — but the chamber was still. Only death and dust.

He knelt beside the commander, hand gripping his shoulder.

“I’m here, Commander. Stay with me.”

“Raye… thank god you’re safe…” Draeven wheezed, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t speak—” Raye moved to support him, but Draeven’s bloodied hand clutched his wrist tightly.

The grip was weak, but filled with urgency. Raye understood — Draeven wasn’t holding on for his life. He was holding on to deliver the last pieces of hope he had protected.

“They escaped…” Draeven muttered, voice trembling. “Her Majesty… Elirya… and young Prince Auren… they were escorted out… through the secret exit… they’re safe…”

His breathing staggered as his chest rose and fell heavily. Blood soaked through his armor.

“But… His Majesty…” Draeven’s eyes flickered, pain flaring in them. “He was captured… they took him…”

Raye’s jaw clenched, fury boiling beneath his skin. “Are they still here?”

Draeven gave a faint shake of his head. “No… not anymore… but… from what I gathered… their next target is the Ice Kingdom.”

He coughed again, a harsh, gurgling sound.

“Raye…” he rasped, “This enemy… they’re not from this continent… they’re from a land beyond the sea… their strength… it’s unlike anything we’ve faced.”

Raye had suspected as much. The strange armor, the unknown tactics — it all made sense.

“I’ll save them. I’ll bring His Majesty back. Just hold on, Sir Draeven,” Raye said, trying to lift him.

That’s when he heard it.

The sound of a blade being drawn.

He slowly turned his head toward the echo — a figure stepped from the shadows of the throne room archway, sword glinting beneath the broken stained glass.

“Sir, hang in here,” Raye whispered, gently setting Draeven to rest against the wall. “I’ll deal with this.”

The knight strode forward, smug behind his helm. His armor was jet-black, detailed in crimson, with a golden lion emblazoned across the chest plate — regal, foreign, and proud.

“So the coward prince returns,” he said, voice laced with contempt.

Raye’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t know foreign invaders relied only on words.”

The knight’s expression twisted behind the helmet. “You dare call the glorious Empire of Solmira foreign?”

He raised his blade. “I am Sir Calderon, knight of Solmira. Who are you?”

Raye unsheathed his sword with a sharp whisper of steel. “Someone you won’t live long enough to remember.”

“Such arrogance!”

Sir Calderon lunged.

Their blades clashed with a thunderous ring.

Raye didn’t retaliate — not yet. He deflected, parried, watched. His eyes moved faster than his hands, analysing the rhythm, reading the patterns. Calderon’s style was heavy-handed, reliant on strength and intimidation. Raye sidestepped a sweeping slash, then blocked a follow-up jab with the flat of his blade. Sparks flew.

The knight spun, aiming a brutal overhand strike. Raye deflected it with a twist, then pivoted, letting the momentum pass beside him.

“You’re just a puppet,” Raye said coldly. “You’re not the leader. You’re barely the voice.”

That struck a nerve. Calderon growled, and his next barrage came faster.

Raye dodged the first, blocked the second, then countered with a sudden precision — his first strike.

Their swords locked, and Calderon finally saw the difference in weight — Raye’s calm strength against his brute force.

“Let me show you what true power looks like,” Raye whispered.

His blade ignited with a low hum — embers flickering along the steel.

“Flameblade: First Form — Ember Requiem.”

In a blur, Raye unleashed a series of sharp, flowing strikes:

Calderon dropped to his knees, coughing blood.

“You… cannot… defeat the might of our Empire…” he wheezed.

Raye stepped forward and — with a cold finality — beheaded him.

“Thanks for the warning.”

He spun and ran back to Draeven — but the old knight’s head was now tilted, his chest still.

“Sir Draeven…”

He knelt beside him.

The commander stirred, barely.

“Oh heavens… you’ve become so strong…” Draeven whispered, a faint smile on his lips. “I only regret… I won’t be able to see the rest… of your journey…”

“Don’t speak,” Raye muttered, voice shaking.

Footsteps echoed from behind — Kael and the others, drawn by the sound of steel clashing.

“My lord, we’re back—!” Kael stopped as he saw the scene.

“Kael, help Sir Draeven—”

Draeven reached out one final time, gripping Raye’s hand.

“My lord… I’m sorry… I couldn’t protect them…” he said, guilt trembling in every word.

And then his grip fell limp.

The strongest knight of the Fire Kingdom — the shield of the realm — was gone.

Raye shut Draeven’s eyes gently, then rested a hand over his chest.

“I swear on your honour… your death will not be in vain.”

He rose, solemnly.

Kael and the knights lowered their heads, kneeling beside their fallen commander.

And in that ruined chamber, among fire and blood — they honoured him in silence.