Chapter 5:The Fire Beaneth The Stone
1114 Words
The tunnels beneath the Stone Forest were forgotten by most, swallowed by time and sealed by fear. Whispers claimed the place was cursed, its rocks once molten with the fury of gods. To Kaelin, it was home—once a sacred ground for the old Masters, now a graveyard of bones and secrets.
The cave’s entrance groaned as Kaelin pushed aside an overgrown slab, allowing Ren to slip inside first. The boy’s torch flickered across jagged walls carved with symbols older than the Dominion itself.
Ren’s voice echoed. “What is this place?”
Kaelin crouched beside the entrance, closing it behind them. “A memory.”
They descended into the dark. The deeper they went, the hotter it became—not just the air, but the pressure. Like the mountain still remembered the blood spilled in its name.
At the base of the cavern, a chamber yawned open, wide and circular, its floor etched with runes that shimmered faintly in the torchlight. In the center stood a platform—black stone ringed with crimson streaks. A sarcophagus rested upon it, chained by iron that had rusted but not broken.
Ren shivered. “Is that… a body?”
Kaelin’s expression hardened. “A promise.”
They made camp on the edge of the platform. Kaelin knelt before the runes, eyes closed, feeling the pulse of magic still dormant in the stones. Each symbol had once been a key. A word. A vow.
“Why did we come here?” Ren asked.
Kaelin didn’t look up. “Because power sleeps beneath the surface, waiting for the worthy.”
Ren hugged his knees. “I thought the old Masters were extinct.”
Kaelin’s hand grazed the stone. “Not extinct. Buried.”
In the Dominion Capital
High Chancellor Liora paced her crystal chamber, robes trailing ash. Across from her stood the Masked General, his armor gleaming like obsidian.
“You let him live,” she said, venom on her tongue.
The General’s voice was calm. “He’s not what he once was. A ghost in a boy’s body.”
“That ghost just destroyed one of your garrisons.”
“An outpost. Not a stronghold. Let him gather his flock.” The General’s lips curved behind the mask. “I want to burn them all at once.”
Liora’s eyes flared. “You play with fire.”
He turned. “I was born in it.”
Back Beneath the Stone
Ren awoke to a low hum, the stone beneath him vibrating faintly. Kaelin stood barefoot on the rune circle, eyes glowing faintly gold. His shirt was off, revealing scars like claw marks across his chest and a strange tattoo pulsing near his heart—an ancient sigil.
“Get up,” Kaelin said. “It’s time.”
Ren stumbled to his feet. “Time for what?”
Kaelin raised a hand. The runes lit up in sequence, each symbol flaring like a heartbeat. The chains on the sarcophagus groaned, iron splitting, stone cracking.
Ren stepped back. “What are you doing?!”
Kaelin didn’t answer.
The lid of the sarcophagus shattered.
A blinding light burst forth, a vortex of red and gold energy swirling above them. The chamber shook, dust and rocks falling like rain. Inside the stone coffin lay not a corpse—but a blade.
Not just any blade.
The Blade of Sovereigns.
Forged in dragon fire, quenched in the blood of traitors, it was a relic from the first war—only to be wielded by the last Master.
Kaelin stepped forward and reached out.
The second his fingers brushed the hilt, the chamber screamed. A tidal wave of power surged into his chest, eyes snapping shut as the magic coursed through him. His knees buckled but he did not fall. The blade recognized its master.
When he opened his eyes again, gold fire danced across his skin.
Ren stared. “What are you?”
Kaelin answered softly, “Reborn.”
Elsewhere: In the Dustlands
Word spread like wildfire.
An outpost destroyed.
A Dominion general slain by a ghost with golden eyes.
And somewhere in the wind, the name “Kaelin” was whispered again.
In a remote camp, a woman stirred at the name. She was older now, battle-worn, half-blind in one eye—but her memory had not faded.
She whispered, “He’s alive…”
Her name was Maren. Once Kaelin’s comrade. Once his lover. Now a warlord leading her own broken battalion of survivors.
She stood, grabbing her axe.
“Rally the camp. If he’s back… the fire isn’t dead.
Return to the Mountain
Kaelin and Ren emerged from the mountain at dusk, the Blade of Sovereigns strapped to Kaelin’s back. Ren kept glancing at it with a mixture of fear and awe.
Kaelin gave him a nod. “The blade doesn’t make a master. Only choice does.”
Ren frowned. “What if I choose wrong?”
Kaelin looked to the horizon, where black smoke curled in the distance. “Then you become the very thing we’re fighting.”
Dominion Forces Mobilize
The Crimson Dominion responded swiftly. Patrols swept the countryside, raiding villages and interrogating anyone who dared utter Kaelin’s name.
But the people remembered.
They remembered the fire that once protected them. The Master who had stood when the world knelt.
Now they whispered. They hid him. Sheltered him.
And so the rebellion grew—not loud, but quiet. In bread shared. In blades hidden beneath hay. In children taught to chant the old names before sleep.
Kaelin’s New Order
Kaelin set up a new camp in the eastern cliffs, a hidden monastery surrounded by stone and storm. There, he trained those willing to fight—not for revenge, but for redemption.
Ren trained every day, bruises marking his arms, sweat slicking his back.
“You’re not fast enough,” Kaelin barked.
“I’m trying!”
“Don’t try—commit.”
Ren swung again, this time with anger in his veins.
Kaelin caught the blade. “Good. Now again.”
That night, Kaelin sat alone with the Blade of Sovereigns before him, meditating. The blade pulsed once—then spoke, its voice low and ancient.
“They will betray you again.”
Kaelin opened his eyes.
“I know.”
Ren appeared at the cave’s mouth. “Master? You should see this.”
Kaelin followed.
Outside, across the sky, flames soared. Not from war—but from torches.
Hundreds of them.
Maren stood at the front, her army behind her.
She dropped her axe and smiled.
“I heard the fire was back.”
Kaelin’s hand rested on the blade.
“Then let’s make it roar.”
- Writer
