The first to answer the call was not a king.
Not a general.
But a thief.
Her name was Vel Raelin, once called the Whispershadow—a woman who had stolen from three crowns and vanished before the sun could catch her. Ael had spared her life once, long ago, in a dungeon filled with fire.
Now, she stood on the ramparts of Delenmar, flipping a dagger in her hand, her grin sharp as ever.
"You called," she said, "and I got curious. Not every day the world's most terrifying corpse sends out invitations."
Elric crossed his arms. "You really trust her?"
"I trust her to be unpredictable," Ael said. "And right now, we need chaos on our side."
Vel winked. "And here I thought you called me back because you missed me."
Ael didn't smile. But his silence was softer than it used to be.
—
Within days, others came.
Some rode with banners.
Others arrived in shadow.
One was a monk from the Temple of Veyl, who had once exiled Ael for his cold logic. He now bowed before him without shame, whispering, "The Hollow seeks not only hearts, but faith. We would rather follow a sinner who remembers than a saint who feels nothing."
Another came wrapped in armor scorched by demonic flame—a warlord named Karsis Iron-Blood, who had fought Ael in three lifetimes and lost each time.
He knelt and said nothing.
But the look in his eyes promised war.
—
They called it the Ashen Banner.
It wasn't a kingdom.
It wasn't an empire.
It was a gathering of the broken, the fearful, the stubborn.
And the hopeful.
Ael stood at the center of it.
Not as king.
Not as god.
But as a man who now knew what both meant—and why he no longer wished to be either.
—
The Hollow King moved in turn.
Rifts tore through the eastern skies. Out of them came his first general, a being not born but made—a mirror-armored figure who spoke only in the words of others.
They called it Silence.
It moved without sound.
It killed without mercy.
And in every town it passed, it did not leave corpses.
Only emptiness.
Families that forgot each other.
Lovers who looked into each other's eyes and saw nothing.
Entire cities turned gray with emotional void.
—
Ael knew he could not face this alone.
The Hollow King was not simply power.
He was what Ael had once been—purity without humanity, logic without compassion, dominance without connection.
To defeat him, Ael could not become that again.
He had to be something more.
—
On the eve of battle, the campfires of the Ashen Banner lit the valley like stars returned to earth.
Elric stood beside Ael, sharpening his blade. "Never thought I'd see the day."
Lyra approached, cloak fluttering in the breeze. "An army without a crown. A leader who doesn't command."
Ael looked out at the gathered.
"They're not following me."
He turned.
"They're following a reason. One I forgot long ago."
Vel appeared behind them, tossing a coin in the air.
"So, what now, King-Not-King?"
Ael stepped forward.
And raised a hand.
The flames across the camp grew brighter.
Not from magic.
But from resolve.
"The Hollow thinks this world is still ruled by fear," Ael said quietly. "We'll show him it can still be ruled by feeling."
His voice echoed in the valley.
Not loud.
But certain.
"We fight not to reclaim what was lost. We fight to protect what was found."
The Ashen Banner rose that night.
And the world took its first breath of hope.