The sun hung low over Virelion's central square, casting long amber rays across soot-streaked stone.

Hundreds had gathered—soldiers with lowered helms, merchants clutching worn ledgers, children peeking from behind mothers' cloaks. They stood in wary silence beneath banners that had once borne the crest of Pride—now coiled with soft illusion-vines of gold and green.

At the heart of it all, the main platform had been cleared. No throne. No grand sigil of Wrath. Only a simple speaking post framed by twin braziers lit with steady, contained flame.

Kael stepped forward alone—Blazebinder sheathed, cloak swept back, no guards flanking him.

The murmurs stilled.

Great Sage: "Public sentiment—fractured but receptive. Moment of high influence."

Rimuru pulsed softly in Kael's ear, voice like a smile:

"No pressure. Just… the future."

Kael drew a breath—not to stoke rage, but to forge resolve.

He spoke:

"Virelion has fallen."

A ripple of tension swept the square.

Kael continued, voice clear and unwavering:

"But not to ruin. Not to ash."

He let the silence hang.

"I did not come to burn this city. I came to free it—from fear, from the rot of those who let it fall."

Eyes widened. A few voices whispered.

"From this day forward," Kael said, gaze sweeping the crowd, "Virelion will no longer serve those who would shackle it in the name of Pride."

He raised one hand—not in command, but in offering.

"It will become Ignovar—the city that reclaims light."

Gasps echoed through the square. A name carried power—and Kael had just rewritten theirs.

"No forced fealty. No new chains."

"Only those who would build a city worthy of its people may stay."

A pause. Then:

"Those who cannot stand beneath a new flame may walk away free."

For a breathless moment, the crowd held still.

Then a voice rang out from the back—young, clear:

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"Ignovar!"

Another voice joined. And another.

Soon, the square thrummed with the word—Ignovar—spoken not with fear, but with hope.

Kael stood tall, the ember-flower crest glowing faintly behind him.

Not a conqueror. Not a king.

A cause.

The crowd still murmured "Ignovar" as Kael stepped back from the speaking post, the name rolling through the square like an ember caught on wind.

He did not linger. He moved swiftly to the prepared council table beneath the eastern balcony—no court chamber today, only open air and open eyes.

Behind him stood Nyaro, Rimuru, and the senior Flame Guard. To either side, selected representatives from both Virelion's civilian council and Kael's allied commanders stood in tense but wary silence.

Kael rested both hands on the table.

"Today," he said, voice pitched for those watching, "we lay not new laws, but new flame."

He drew three etched steel tablets—one for each new division. Rimuru had helped shape the inscriptions herself.

"First: the Ashguard."

Kael held the first tablet aloft.

"To those who once defended these streets—you know their stones, their shadows. Now you will guard them anew—not for Pride, but for the people."

Gasps rippled through the former Virelion soldiers gathered beyond the square.

Kael's gaze swept them.

"Swear loyalty to Ignovar, to its peace—and you will wear this mark with honor."

The Ashguard insignia flared into view: a simple flame rising from layered ash.

"Second: Ignis Medica."

Kael raised the second tablet.

"No city can stand on steel alone. Healing must walk faster than harm."

He turned to the mixed group of healers—Raveni herbalists, Emberleaf flame-menders, even one Virelion battle-mage whose eyes burned with quiet guilt.

"Together, you will form the first mobile flame-healing corps—not to burn, but to restore."

Rimuru whispered gleefully: "Our first team already has a recipe list."

"Third: The Ember Choir."

Kael held the final tablet.

Now his voice shifted—softened, but resonant.

"Stories shape cities. Songs shape memory."

He looked directly at the mixed gathering of bards, illusionists, scribes, and a few wide-eyed street performers already clutching worn instruments.

"The Ember Choir will carry this city's voice—not through banners or decrees, but through words that endure."

"Spread the truth: we did not conquer. We built."

Rimuru twirled in delight. "I'm writing the first verse."

Kael set the tablets down.

"These are the flames that will shape Ignovar."

He stepped back, gaze unwavering.

"Let no ruler, no Doctrine, no fear snuff them out."

The sun dipped low behind Virelion's highest tower—no longer crowned with Pride's sigil.

In its place, Kael's ember-flower crest shimmered faintly against the darkening sky, an illusion woven with delicate care by Rimuru's threads.

But Rimuru wasn't finished.

She floated now across the highest rooftop overlooking the central square—a broad slate surface lined with soot-slick tiles and faded murals.

"One last touch," she whispered.

From her core, a rich stream of slime-gold flowed—brilliant but soft, leaving behind a trail of glowing script as she twirled.

Letter by letter, word by word, the message unfurled:

Kael Drayke King not by crown… but by cause.

The golden words pulsed gently with her mana, designed to last for days, visible both by day and by the shimmer of starlight.

Below, civilians gathering for evening aid began to notice.

One pointed. Then another.

Soon the square buzzed with quiet awe—not in fear, not in blind loyalty, but in something older: hope.

Kael stood at the eastern balcony, watching in silence.

Rimuru drifted down beside him, voice a soft hum:

"Now they'll sing a different story."

Kael's eyes remained on the words above.

"Not a kingdom born of conquest," he murmured. "A kingdom that remembers the weight of fire."

And beneath that quiet vow, Ignovar's first true night began.

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