With a roar, the general twisted, his axe cleaving in a brutal arc. The blade, glowing white with crackling power, cut clean across Gerald’s right arm.

  Blood and sparks sprayed as the king staggered back, his sword falling from nerveless fingers.

  The square fell silent—save for the scream of the crowd, the gasp of the brothers, and the echo of Raiku’s triumphant laughter.

  Blood dripped down his side, his right arm hanging useless, severed at the shoulder. The greatsword lay on the cobblestones, still glowing faintly with the heat of battle. Gerald staggered, but his back never bent, his gaze never lowered.

  “Father!” Colby cried, fire sparking wildly in his trembling hands. Atlas surged forward, Stormtalons drawn, while Marco and Jax readied themselves to fight despite their exhaustion.

  But Gerald’s voice cut through their panic, thunderous and unyielding.

  “STAY BACK!”

  The command froze them in place. His presence—his Will—was too great to disobey. Even bleeding, even broken, Gerald stood taller than any man in the square.

  He turned, planting his feet, his remaining hand gripping the hilt of his blade. Slowly, he lifted it, balancing the massive weapon on his left arm alone, flames kindling along its edge as his King’s Will surged one final time.

  The air around him shimmered with heat, with resolve, with a strength not born of the elements but of sheer human defiance.

  Gerald’s voice rolled across the square, shaking both armies into silence.

  “You call us weak. You call my sons weapons, tools for kings and war. You are wrong.” His eyes blazed, his words striking like hammer blows. “This kingdom was not built on fear. It was built on unity—on men and women who stood together when all else fell apart. That is what we are.”

  He raised the blade higher, fire crawling up his arm, consuming him with light. “My body may break. My blood may fall. But my spirit—our spirit—is unshakable. This land, these people, my family… they are worth more than my life.”

  The soldiers, both friend and foe, stared as the king became a figure of legend before their eyes—scarred, broken, but burning brighter than any flame.

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  Gerald turned his gaze to his sons, his voice softening just enough for them to hear through the roar of fire. His eyes glistened, not with fear, but with love.

  “I don’t regret you four.”

  The words pierced deeper than any blade. Colby’s flames faltered with emotion, Marco clutched his chest as tears welled, Atlas bit down hard to stifle a cry, and even Jax’s usual smirk cracked into anguish.

  With a roar that shook the heavens, Gerald launched forward. Fire engulfed his greatsword, his entire body blazing like a living inferno. The King’s Will surged through every fiber of him, heightening his strength beyond mortal limits. Each step scorched the ground, each swing of his weapon split the air like the wrath of gods.

  Raiku braced, lightning flaring to meet him, but for the first time—even the Thunder’s Hand looked unsettled.

  The armies held their breath as king and general collided in a storm of fire and lightning, the ground trembling under the weight of Gerald’s final, desperate strike.

  The square became an inferno. Gerald’s greatsword, wreathed in searing flame, came crashing down with all the weight of his will. Raiku’s axe, alive with crackling lightning, rose to meet it.

  When they collided, the world split apart.

  A deafening BOOM shook the city, fire and lightning exploding outward in a blinding storm. Stone shattered, walls cracked, soldiers from both sides were thrown off their feet as heat and electricity tore through the air. For a moment, it felt as though the sun itself had descended into the square.

  The brothers shielded their faces, barely able to withstand the blast. The roar seemed endless. Then, slowly, the fury subsided.

  Smoke and dust hung heavy, the acrid smell of scorched stone choking the air. Slowly, shapes emerged from the haze.

  At the center, Raiku lay on his back, armor cracked and sparking, his chest rising in shallow, ragged breaths. The once-proud general now looked broken, his weapon shattered beside him, his body twitching with the last sparks of dying lightning.

  And opposite him—stood no victor.

  Gerald’s body was still, lifeless. His once-proud form now scorched and blackened, flames extinguished, skin marred by the price of his power. His sword lay beside him, glowing faintly before cooling into silence.

  The square fell into stunned silence. The Flame of the Kingdom—its king, its shield, its father—had burned his last.

  King David’s smirk faltered as he stepped forward, seeing Raiku’s condition. For the first time, doubt touched his cold eyes. He raised a hand, his voice sharp to his soldiers.

  “Fall back! Take General Raiku!”

  The enemy, shaken by what they had witnessed, obeyed without resistance. Two soldiers dragged the barely-breathing Raiku away, his lightning finally gone. David’s gaze lingered on the princes, their eyes blazing with grief and fury, before he turned and retreated into the chaos with his battered army.

  As the enemy fled, the brothers ran forward, hearts pounding, tears already stinging their eyes. Colby’s fire flickered uncontrollably, Marco’s hands trembled as if to heal, Atlas clenched his fists until they bled, and Jax dropped his knives entirely, his swagger gone.

  They skidded to their knees beside their father’s body, the heat still radiating from him, unbearable not from flame but from loss.

  “Father!” Colby’s voice cracked. Marco’s breath hitched in disbelief. Atlas shook his head violently. Jax whispered, almost childlike, “No… no, not you.”

  The body did not move.