Chapter 4: A Blaze Through the North

The smoke still lingered in the sky — a heavy curtain of grief over the broken lands of the Fire Kingdom. The scent of ash and blood mixed in the air as Raye stood atop a crumbled stone tower, surveying the aftermath.

Burned homes. Fallen comrades. A kingdom brought to its knees.

“It seems the one who led the war here isn’t present anymore,” Raye muttered, his eyes narrowing toward the northern horizon.

Kael stepped forward, blood on his armor but resolve in his stance. “We’ve rescued everyone we could, my lord. Sent them out of the inner districts. We’ve still got a handful of soldiers — some wounded, some still able to fight.”

Raye turned to him, voice low. “What about Captain Veyr of the Ember Knights? Is he still alive?”

Kael shook his head grimly. “No word. We haven’t found his body, but it’s possible he’s still holding out. There are reports of enemies hiding along the Outerwall of Serath.”

Raye’s eyes burned brighter with determination. “Take your men. Wipe out any enemy that remains. No mercy — even if they surrender. These are not soldiers... they are invaders. But rescue our people first. Anyone too injured to flee — bring them to Aurellian Town. That will be our regroup point.”

“Yes, my lord.” Kael saluted. “And... what about you?”

“I’m heading north — to the Ice Kingdom. Sir Draeven said that’s their next move. And...” His voice caught, just slightly, “Our King has been taken prisoner.”

Kael’s eyes widened. “The King?! But... Her Majesty Elirya, and Prince Auren — are they...?”

“They’re safe,” Raye replied quickly. “Escorted away before the last wave struck. If I’m right... it was Veyr who took them. He would never fall before finishing his duty.”

Kael lowered his head. “Forgive me for thinking otherwise, my lord.”

Raye gave a quiet nod. “No need. We’ve all lost too much.”

A long silence passed between them — two warriors bound by the same grief.

Kael stepped closer. “Then let me send at least two or three of our knights with you. You shouldn’t go alone.”

But Raye shook his head. “They’re more needed here. You’ll need every sword to hold Aurellian, heal the wounded, and finish what we couldn’t today. This kingdom still breathes — barely. But it can rise again.”

Kael didn’t argue. He saluted once more, this time with a clenched fist to his heart. “Then may your path blaze through the darkness.”

Raye gave him a final look — one of trust, and quiet farewell.

He turned, walking past burnt banners and toppled statues, toward the edge of the ruined courtyard, where Lyra, his flame-maned steed, waited. The beast stood tall and silent, its coat gleaming like blackened obsidian, and its eyes glowing faintly with embers.

Without another word, Raye mounted, his red cloak fluttering in the dying wind.

He spared one last glance at his shattered home — and the fallen commander whose sacrifice lit the way forward.

Then, spurring Lyra into motion, he rode alone — northward — toward the frozen lands.

Situated in the far northwestern reaches of Velaria, the Ice Kingdom — formally known as Caelrhime — is a sovereign, clan-like nation carved into an unforgiving terrain of snow and stone. Unlike the fertile hills and scorched lands of the Fire Kingdom, Caelrhime thrives in a place where the sun is dim, and the wind howls across frozen ridges like distant war drums. The ground remains buried beneath permafrost, and snowfall is a constant companion, painting the mountains and valleys in blinding white.

Yet despite the cold and isolation, Caelrhime is not a land of ice-crafted fairy tales. Its people build with granite and blackwood, hewn from the resilient stone and trees that manage to grow in deeper crevasses and wind-shielded lowlands. Their architecture is minimalist, fortified against avalanches and biting winds — low sloped roofs, dense stone walls, and deep underground halls that retain heat from geothermal vents found in the Skeldir Peaks.

There are no villages or towns scattered across its territory — Caelrhime is a single unified bastion, self-contained and fiercely independent. Its military, society, and culture function more like a tightly bonded clan, where each member is expected to fight, endure, and contribute. Every man and woman of age bears arms. Bloodlines and oaths matter more than titles or coin.

Though smaller in population than the Fire Kingdom, their martial prowess, resilience, and brutal efficiency in warfare have earned them recognition as a true kingdom. Few dare provoke Caelrhime — not for fear of numbers, but for fear of what a single Ice warrior can do on the battlefield.

The current Patriarch and Kaedor of Caelrhime, Elrian Rhimehart, is a cold-eyed tactician renowned for his sharp judgment and unshakable calm amidst the chaos of war. Bearing the ancient title of Kaedor—Warlord of Caelrhime—he commands not only through strategy, but through the sheer force of his presence. A veteran of countless border skirmishes, Elrian is both feared and respected throughout Velaria. Though a man of few words, his decisions carry immense weight. He is not only a brilliant strategist, but also a terrifyingly formidable warrior, his strength and combat prowess earning him a place in battlefield legend.

By his side stands his daughter, Aurette Rhimehart, a rising symbol of strength and wisdom. Unlike most heirs raised behind walls, Aurette was raised on the training grounds, alongside soldiers. Sharp, disciplined, and bearing her father’s judgment — but with a warmth he lost long ago — she is called “The Winter Flame” among her people.

From the Fire Kingdom’s capital to the gates of Caelrhime, the journey on horseback takes five hours. But Raye and Lyra made it in three.

War had already begun.

The clash of steel, the rumble of armoured boots, and the bitter wind carrying shouts of fury echoed across the snow-covered battlefield. Smoke curled in the air, mingling with frost, as if the land itself mourned the chaos.

From a rear slope, Raye moved with silent purpose — a shadow among falling snow.

He advanced low, weaving between wounded soldiers, corpses, and shattered weapons, his eyes locked on the heart of the enemy formation. There, surrounded by elite guards, stood a tall, still figure. He gave no orders, yet everything moved around him. His armor bore a foreign crest — unfamiliar, but distinct.

That’s the one... He’s the leader behind this invasion.

Raye crept closer, breathing slow.

That’s when it struck him — an intent.

It wasn’t visible. It wasn’t loud. But it was terrifying — a flicker of danger that made the back of his neck stiffen.

It vanished as quickly as it came.

Something powerful is nearby...

But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

Raye closed in on two rear guards. With swift precision, he made his move.

Slash.

A clean cut across the first’s throat — the knight gurgled and dropped to his knees.

Stab.

Raye’s sword pierced the second guard’s chest, slicing through armor into the heart. The soldier gasped — then fell limp, collapsing into the snow.

Then —

Silence.

The air shifted.

Heads turned. Eyes found him.

In that single moment, Raye’s position was exposed. Sacrificed.

Enemy soldiers pointed. Shouts rose. Weapons were drawn.

“Tch...” Raye exhaled.

He had drawn attention — all of it.

A captain-level knight stepped forward, his gaze filled with recognition and disdain. He was massive, his armor marked with medals and scars, his grip like a man born for war.

“You...” the knight growled, advancing.

Raye said nothing. He readied his sword.

The knight lunged — steel clashed in a storm of strikes. Raye met him with equal ferocity. Their blades danced, locked, and sparked, until Raye slid under his guard and —

stabbed.

A brutal, precise thrust to the chest — straight to the heart. The captain choked, eyes wide in disbelief, and fell with a final exhale.

Then — another aura. Stronger.

A man stepped forward.

Draped in black and silver armor, his cloak trailed like smoke. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes revealed he had seen everything — and was unimpressed.

He raised one hand.

“Stop.”

Another knight, poised to engage, froze at the command. The others halted.

No one moved.

Raye didn’t hesitate.

He planted his foot and surged forward, blades raised, snow bursting beneath him.

This is it.

The first strike was his.

Clang!

His blade was fast — decisive — but the enemy parried with ease. Sparks danced in the cold air.

The enemy’s counterattack was a whip of precision. Raye barely blocked it, the force sliding him back.

Then the man spoke — calm, deep, and filled with regal venom.

“Nice to meet you... Prince of the fallen Fire Kingdom.”

He smiled, cruelly.

“I am Vaerond Valecross — Duke of the mighty Empire of Solmira.”

The name rang like a bell. Raye’s grip tightened.

“I’m Raye Blazebor—”

But Vaerond cut him off.

“No need for titles from someone who couldn’t even manage a proper backstab.”

He stepped forward, sword pointed at Raye’s chest.

“You think I didn’t sense you creeping behind my men? That moment you felt danger... that was me watching you.”

Raye’s eyes blazed. His pride scorched, his kingdom’s name dragged through the mud.

His blade ignited, fire coiling around his arm. The snow at his feet hissed into steam.

“You may think the Fire Kingdom has fallen...”

His voice was low. Steady. Resolute.

“But its flame still burns in me.”

He raised his sword.

“And I swear — I will be the one to end you.”