The army marched beyond the riverlands, their victory still fresh but fragile. Smoke from the rebel banners drifted behind them, yet the silence among the soldiers was heavy. They had fought as one, but unity forged in blood was brittle.
Kael rode at the front, Tharos pacing beside him. The beast's wings brushed the air, ember light flickering across the column. Kael felt the rumble in his chest again the same pressure that had haunted him since Iron Pass. But this time, it was sharper, insistent.
At dusk, they reached a ridge overlooking the plains. The men made camp, fires burning low. Garrick joined Kael, his voice low.
"They follow you now. But belief is fragile. If you falter, it will break."
Kael nodded, though his gaze was fixed on Tharos. The beast's eyes glowed brighter than the campfires, and the rumble grew until it was no longer a whisper.
Kael stepped closer, his hand brushing the feathers. "What are you?" he whispered.
The air trembled. The rumble broke into sound not impression, not thought, but words.
"I am fire. I am memory and I am bound to you."
Kael staggered back, breath caught in his throat. Garrick froze, his cane slipping from his hand. The soldiers nearby turned, their faces pale, for they had heard it too.
Tharos's voice rolled across the camp, deep and resonant, carrying weight like thunder.
"You endure because I endure. You march because I march. Doubt is ash. Belief is flame. Together, we burn."
The men fell silent, awe and fear mingling in their eyes. Some dropped to their knees, others clutched weapons tighter. Garrick's voice was hoarse. "By the gods… it speaks."
Kael's heart pounded. For years, he had felt the beast's presence as shadow, as pressure, as half‑formed thought. Now it was undeniable. Tharos was not instinct, not illusion but it was voice, it was will.
He raised his sword, the firelight catching on steel. "You hear it," he said to the men. "You know now that we march not alone. Fire walks with us. And fire does not falter."
The soldiers stared, torn between fear and reverence. But none turned away.
As night deepened, the camp held its breath. The world had shifted. Tharos had spoken, and nothing would be the same.
Kael stood at the ridge, the beast beside him, ember wings unfurled against the stars. For the first time, he felt not burdened, but chosen.
And he knew: the march toward destiny had begun