Chapter 2: Embers Beneath the Skin
The wind howled through the hollow bones of the ruined city, whispering through empty halls and broken windows. Reivan stood at the edge of the plaza, where once a fountain had shimmered like a jewel. Now, only shattered stone and blackened metal remained.
Each step felt heavier than the last. Not from exhaustion—his body, if it could even be called that anymore, didn't tire. But from the weight of memory, of loss, of… transformation.
> What have I become?
He stared at his hand. The red glow from earlier had faded to a soft ember, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. Whatever had happened, it wasn't just survival. It was rebirth. A forced one. And it came with something else—visions, feelings that weren't his, thoughts that lingered like smoke in the corners of his mind.
He wasn't alone in his own head anymore.
Suddenly, a flicker of movement caught his eye.
He turned sharply, reflexes faster than they'd ever been. A shadow darted behind a column. Not a ghost. Something real. Something alive.
He called out, voice rough but steady. "Who's there?"
No answer.
But then—a soft growl.
Low. Bestial.
He backed up instinctively, eyes narrowing.
From the rubble emerged a creature unlike anything he'd seen before. It had the body of a wolf, but its fur was scorched black, with cracks of glowing lava seeping between the tufts. Its eyes burned orange. Hungry.
> A cinderbeast…
The name surfaced in his mind, though he'd never heard it before. Another memory that wasn't his?
The creature lunged.
Reivan didn't think. He moved.
A flash of red surged from his palm, and the ground erupted in a burst of searing heat. The beast yelped, thrown back by the wave of ash and flame. He stared at his hand, stunned.
He'd wielded fire. Instinctively.
Not just any fire—this was the ash's fire. A power that didn't obey the old laws of magic. It devoured magic.
The cinderbeast snarled, pacing, wary now. Reivan raised his hand again.
> I don't know how this works… but I don't need to. Not yet.
He stepped forward. The ground around him seemed to respond, warm and alive beneath his feet. The beast lunged again, and this time, Reivan met it head-on. Fire bloomed from his arm, wrapping around his fist like a gauntlet.
He struck.
A single blow. The flames howled louder than the beast did. When the smoke cleared, the creature was gone—only ash remained.
Reivan collapsed to one knee, panting.
> That… shouldn't have been possible.
Not for a boy. Not for a human. But maybe he wasn't either of those anymore.
Behind him, the sigil on the stone had dimmed completely. Its purpose, it seemed, fulfilled.
He looked toward the horizon—jagged mountains loomed in the distance. Storm clouds gathered above them, unnaturally still. Somewhere out there, the ones responsible for the Black Purge still lived. And they'd feel it soon.
The ash had chosen its avatar.
And it was coming.
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To be continued…