Part 1: THE SCARLET DAWN
The Village of Whispers
The morning sun painted the valley in hues of rose and gold as Aric traced the new scars on his palms—FREEDOM in Lysara's precise hand, TRUTH in jagged glyphs he didn't recognize. The village children's laughter carried on the wind, but their games had changed since the temple's fall. Now they played Emberborn and Hollow King, their tiny hands mimicking blue fire.
Lysara stiffened beside him as a girl with brown curls (too familiar, too ordinary) placed a flower crown on the "king's" head.
"They remember," she signed, her own scars pulsing.
Grandmother Ash's staff lay between them, its carvings shifting daily—today showing a hooded figure watching the village from the northern woods.
The First Omen
The butcher's son returned from the forest with his eyes scorched white.
"The masks dance in the birch grove," he whispered before collapsing. When Aric peeled back the boy's shirt, his chest bore a single brand:
The Hollow King's mark.
The Bloody Feast
That night, the village held its harvest festival. Ale flowed. Fiddles played. Then the baker's wife stood abruptly, her smile stretching too wide as she plunged a bread knife into her husband's throat.
"Ash to ash," she sang in a voice not her own.
By dawn, twelve villagers lay dead—each killer repeating the same phrase before their eyes burned out.
Part 2: THE GUILD REBORN
The Birch Grove Ritual
The trees bled where the bark split. Gold masks hung from the branches like grotesque fruit, each whispering fragments of the god-child's voice.
"You were happy to forget..."
"...but memories rot when buried..."
*M"...we'll remind you..."
Lysara's dagger shattered the first mask—releasing a swarm of black moths that formed the frost-woman's face midair.
Grandmother Ash's Confession
The old woman collapsed upon returning, her milky eyes weeping embers.
"I thought breaking the cycle would starve it," she gasped as Aric tried to stem the fiery blood from her ears. "But the hunger just... changed form."
Her staff split open, revealing a miniature memory casket—this one playing her deepest shame:
Flashback: The First Betrayal
Young Ash kneels before the Pyre God, handing it a squirming bundle—the infant Lysara. "Take her memories instead of mine," she begs. The god's laugh ignites the forest.
The Scar Mutation
Lysara's throat bled as the scars rewrote themselves:
LOYALTY → LIAR→ LOST
The pain birthed visions:
- The brown-haired village girl sleepwalking to the grove
- A second staff buried beneath the butcher's shop
- A door in the earth, its handle made of fingerbones
Part 3: THE DOOR IN THE EARTH
The Butcher's Basement
The flies led them to the hidden trapdoor. Below, in a chamber older than the village, stood the true first staff—its carvings matching Lysara's mutating scars.
When Aric lifted it, the ground screamed.
The Bone Gate
The door wasn't wood or metal, but woven—from ribs, femurs, and tiny fingerbones (so many children's bones). Its surface pulsed like a heartbeat where Lysara's blood dripped onto it.
"It's a womb,"Grandmother Ash realized. "And a tomb."
The god-child's voice whispered through the cracks:
"You left me hungry..."
"...now I'll eat the world..."
The Choice Remade
The door swung inward, revealing not darkness, but the Pyre Temple at its zenith—the god-child grown into a monstrous teen, her gold eyes now pits of endless hunger, her white hair fused with the throne's embers.
"Last chance," she crooned, extending a skeletal hand. "Forget me, and I'll spare them."
Outside, the villagers' screams began.
ENDING: THE FINAL FIRE
Lysara stepped forward, her scars now reading:
NO MORE GODS
She took Aric's hand.
Together, they shattered the staff across the bone door's threshold.
The temple exploded— and the village girl with brown hair woke gasping, her hands clean, her eyes ordinary.
But in the forest, where the birch grove had stood...
...a single gold mask hung from a newborn sapling.
—TO BE CONTINUED—