The Hollow was colder than usual.
Not because of wind or temperature, but because of the silence. It wrapped around Ashen like a second skin. His breathing was calm, his heartbeat steady—but something in his chest warned him this trial would not be like the others.
Across the chamber, the silver-haired woman stood with her arms crossed, her expression unreadable.
"Today," she said, "you face not a memory… not an illusion… but a truth. This is the final test before I decide if you're worthy of the knowledge hidden in this place."
Ashen squared his shoulders. "I'm ready."
She gestured toward the far wall.
A circle of ancient runes lit up beneath his feet. Light flared. The chamber dimmed, as though all flame had been swallowed.
Then—he appeared.
At first, it was just a shadow. But slowly, the figure took shape.
Same height. Same build. Same clothes.
Same face.
Ashen stared into his own eyes.
But this version of him was different. His presence was suffocating. His expression was cold, merciless. Flames danced around his hands—but they weren't orange or blue. They were black.
The silver-haired woman's voice echoed:
"This is the you that gives in. The you that burns without care. The you that would become a god… and destroy the world to do it."
Ashen stepped forward. "I won't become him."
"You already are," the dark version said. "I'm not your future—I'm your instinct."
Then he attacked.
---
The duel was unlike anything Ashen had ever faced. His mirror moved like lightning, predicting his every move. Every flame Ashen summoned, the other crushed with one darker, stronger. Their strikes split stone. The Hollow trembled.
Ashen was forced onto the defensive, barely blocking blow after blow. Each hit felt like it struck not just his body, but his soul.
"This is what you are," the mirror hissed. "You think you're different? You think you'll stay kind? You won't. The world will break you. And when it does, you'll beg for the strength I offer."
Ashen gritted his teeth. Blood ran from his nose, his lip split.
"No," he whispered. "I'll never become you."
"You already have."
The black flame surged forward like a tidal wave. Ashen raised his arms—and for a second, he thought he'd be consumed.
Then a memory flashed.
The child in the village. The boy he saved. His mother's smile. The day he first felt warmth not from fire… but from hope.
He screamed.
The gauntlet on his arm burned white-hot.
His flame turned gold.
He pushed back.
---
The Hollow cracked in half.
When the smoke cleared, the mirror-self lay crumbled on the floor, fading into embers.
Ashen stood alone, panting, his arms shaking. His flame was calm now, gentle but strong.
The woman stepped forward slowly. "You didn't defeat him with strength."
Ashen nodded. "I defeated him with will."
She smiled, for the first time.
"Then you are ready."
---
That night, she led him deeper into the Hollow. They entered a chamber no light touched, save for a single altar carved from obsidian. Upon it lay a scroll, sealed in molten wax.
"This," she said, "contains the truth of your flame. Of the one who forged it. And of the war that never ended."
Ashen stepped forward.
As his hand reached out, the seal cracked open on its own.
And the runes on the scroll glowed with a fire that had not been seen for a thousand years.