The cave was narrow, the air thick with dust and the scent of old earth.
Ashen followed Ravel through the twisting passage, each step echoing off the stone walls. The flicker of golden fire from his palm lit the path, casting long shadows that danced like spirits behind them.
"Are you sure this leads out?" Ashen asked.
Ravel grunted. "I've walked this path once before. It's not marked on any map, but it connects Greyhill's outer ridge to the southern pass. We'll come out close to the old Ashfall trail."
Ashen didn't ask how he knew. He was beginning to understand that Ravel's past was far more complicated than he let on.
They emerged from the cave just before dawn.
The sky stretched wide and open, pale with the early light. Below them, the highland fields rolled gently until they hit the jagged silhouette of the Ashfall Mountains, black and vast in the distance.
Ashen shivered, but not from the cold.
Those mountains didn't just look dangerous.
They felt dead.
---
The journey through the southern pass took them through silent woods and dried riverbeds. Villages had been abandoned. Ashen saw broken carts left on roads, doors swinging open in the wind, and old fires long gone cold.
"The Ashfall path is cursed," Ravel said as they walked. "Not by magic. By memory."
Ashen glanced at him. "What happened?"
Ravel pointed toward the peaks ahead. "The Flame War. A hundred years ago, when the divine fires raged out of control. This land burned for days without stopping. Entire towns disappeared in ash. When it ended, the survivors sealed everything they couldn't understand."
Ashen's flame pulsed inside him. "And we're going back in?"
"There's something left in those ruins. Something connected to your flame. Maybe even the first one who carried it."
Ashen nodded, determined. "Then I'll face it. Whatever it is."
---
Two days later, they reached the base of the mountains.
The trail narrowed into a steep path carved through black rock. Old warnings were scratched into stones along the way—symbols of death, decay, and divine silence.
The wind howled here, dry and cruel.
As they climbed, Ashen noticed strange marks on the rock—burn patterns, handprints scorched deep into the stone. Like someone had tried to hold on as they were dragged up.
He didn't ask about them.
They made camp in a sheltered crevice, and Ravel lit a fire with mundane flint, refusing to use divine flame.
"Too risky," he said. "If you burn here, others might come."
Ashen raised an eyebrow. "More Flamebound?"
"Worse," Ravel muttered. "Things left behind after the war. Creatures caught between life and fire. Some of them… used to be people."
That night, Ashen dreamt again.
---
He stood in a vast plain of ash.
Above him, the sky bled fire. Figures walked the horizon—giants made of burning armor and smoke. They marched endlessly toward a tower that rose from the ground like a black spear.
At the top of the tower stood a man in gold and ash.
His face was hidden, but his voice echoed like thunder.
> "The fire chooses its heir. But fire cannot save what refuses to change."
Ashen stepped forward.
"Who are you?"
The figure turned his head slightly.
> "I was the First. The one who tried to rewrite fate. And I failed."
The world shook.
> "If you want to survive, Ashen… don't follow my path."
---
Ashen woke with a gasp, fire crackling faintly from his fingertips.
Ravel was already up, sword in hand.
"You felt it too," he said.
Ashen nodded slowly. "The First Flame…"
Ravel looked toward the mountain peak, where a storm of black clouds circled like vultures.
"Then we're close."