Ashen Vale couldn't sleep.
It was that voice again.
"Ashen Vale. The flame you carry remembers the end of the world. And it's waking."
He'd heard it twice now. Once in the Echo Trial. Once just before the dormitory bells chimed. It wasn't a memory. It wasn't the ember talking.
It was something—or someone—else.
And worse?
It sounded like it knew him better than he knew himself.
By dawn, he hadn't closed his eyes once. The ember inside him pulsed with quiet heat, but no message came. Kepp snored on the bunk above, half-covered in spell-scrolls. Ren meditated silently in the corner, as if sleep were optional.
Ash sat up, pulled on his tunic, and stepped out into the corridor.
The hall lights were dim this early—blue-tinted and soft, giving the air a hushed feel, like walking through someone else's memory. He walked past doors labeled with strange titles: Emotion Containment Wing, Root Echo Calibration, Spell Infection Quarantine.
At the end of the hall was a door that hadn't been there before.
Black, metallic. No handle.
Just a faint sigil glowing in the center: 🜂
Ash stared. Then placed his hand on it.
The door opened silently.
The Dreamguard
Inside, the room was massive. Circular. Every inch of it shimmered with reflected memory—floating symbols, murmured voices, flickering visions of other students, other spells, other times.
At the center stood a figure.
She wore a long coat of stitched shadows, embroidered with patterns that shifted as Ash watched. Her face was hidden behind a porcelain mask, smooth except for two glowing eye-slits. In her hand: a lantern made of bone and starfire, flickering without flame.
"Ashen Vale," she said. Her voice echoed with layered tones—male and female, young and old, all at once.
Ash stopped.
"Who are you?"
"I am Protocol Zero of the Dreamguard. You may call me She-Who-Binds."
He swallowed. "Why me?"
"You awakened a Cradleborn-level Root on your first memory field entry. That hasn't happened in seventy-two cycles. You are a statistical anomaly."
"Great. So I'm a mistake?"
"Statistical anomalies change wars."
She floated forward—yes, floated, her feet never touching the ground—and circled him like a hawk.
"You carry a Root born from conflicting truths," she said. "Emotion and Concept. Rare. Dangerous."
"I didn't ask for it."
"No one asks. Memory chooses. Fire listens."
He felt the ember react to her presence. It pulsed, softly but urgently, like a warning. She paused.
"You're afraid," she said.
"No," Ash replied too quickly.
"Yes, you are. You fear what the flame remembers."
Ash stepped back. "What do you want from me?"
She raised the lantern.
"Not want. Need."
The lantern flared.
And suddenly Ash was somewhere else.
Vision of Ruin
He stood in a ruined city. Buildings broken. Sky black with swirling ash. No sun, no stars, just a spiral of flame overhead.
In the center of the city stood a tower made of bone and brass.
And surrounding it—
—were thousands of constructs. Like his own Root form, but corrupted. Twisted. Their eyes burned with stolen memory.
A horn blew in the distance. The sky split.
From the spiral, something fell.
A god of fire.
Its body was formed of molten roots and spiraling chains, its voice a song of endings. It landed with a sound like the world breaking.
Then—
Then Ash was back in the Dreamguard chamber, heart racing.
He fell to his knees.
"What was that?" he gasped.
"A vision. It's neither mine, nor yours. Your Root's. It remembers the last cycle."
"The last… what?"
She-Who-Binds knelt beside him. "This world has ended before. Burned. Forgotten. Each Root is a fragment of the past—seeking hosts to prevent its return. Or ensure it."
Ash looked at her, voice low. "And mine?"
"Yours saw the fire and didn't run. It remembered and stayed. That is Cradleborn."
She stood.
"Your role begins now."
Ash swallowed. "And what role is that?"
"You will join a hidden unit. Six students. Selected from different aspects. You'll train in Root resonance, multi-thread casting, memory engineering. You'll prepare for what's coming."
He shook his head. "I can't even sleep without seeing fire."
"Then learn to dream while burning."
The lights flared.
The door opened behind him.
"Class begins in one hour," she said. "You will tell no one of this meeting."
Ash turned to go.
"Wait," she said.
He paused.
"One more thing. That voice you hear?"
Ash turned slowly. "You know what it is?"
She nodded once.
"It's not from this world."
Spell History Class
Crow stood before the chalkless board in Room 117, robe half-buttoned, sipping black tea made of boiled stardust.
Ash sat between Kepp and Nia, still reeling from the Dreamguard meeting. He hadn't spoken a word since returning.
"Today," Crow said, "we cover a forbidden topic: Spell Extinction."
The class leaned forward.
"Many believe that Root Spells are forever. They are not. They can die. They can be forgotten. They can be erased."
He tapped the board.
A floating rune appeared: 🜇
"The first extinct Root: Time Grasp. Conceptual-Echo. Once wielded by five Cradleborns. Now, no known user."
He drew a circle, then slashed through it.
"They died in the Flame Spiral War—memories shattered beyond repair. Root lost."
Kepp raised a hand. "Can they come back?"
Crow smiled. "Roots are like seeds. Sometimes, they regrow. But only if someone remembers them."
Ash blinked. "Memory gives spell life?"
Crow looked at him. "Yes. And memory, twisted, gives spell death."
The board shifted again.
This time, it showed a flickering name:
"Ashen Vale – Status: Echo-Watcher Class: ???"
The class murmured.
Crow said nothing.
Ash stared.
Then the name disappeared.
Crow drank deeply and sighed. "Class dismissed. Ashen, stay."
The Assignment
Ash remained as the others filed out. Nia gave him a glance—half concern, half challenge.
Crow stood with his back to him, facing the now-empty board.
"You were summoned by the Dreamguard," he said.
Ash didn't deny it.
"They showed you the Spiral."
Ash nodded. "It was… it wasn't just a memory. It felt alive."
"It is. Memory doesn't fade. It curls. Warps. Becomes prophecy."
"Why me?"
Crow finally turned. "Because your Root didn't bind to you—it called for you. And that voice you hear? The one whispering warnings? It's not your enemy."
"Then what is it?"
Crow leaned forward, and for once, there was no sarcasm. Only fear.
"It's the part of you that remembers what you were… before this life."
Ash's stomach dropped.
Crow handed him a sealed envelope.
"Open this tonight. Alone."
Ash stared at it.
Crow nodded to the door. "Go. Before you miss Blade Class. And Ash?"
He turned.
"Not all fire is destructive. Some is meant to cauterize."
Letter in the Dark
That night, while the others slept, Ash opened the envelope.
Inside: a single page, black ink, unfamiliar handwriting.
But the voice reading it in his mind was his own.
"If you're reading this, then the fire is winning. You're not just a boy, Ashen Vale. You're a spark of what came before. One of six sent across time, wrapped in false memory, waiting to wake. The Spiral is coming again. And when it does, the world will burn unless you remember who you were."
Below that, six names:
1. Ashen Vale
2. Nia Featherburn
3. Kael Rivers
4. Ren
5. ???
6. ???
At the bottom, three words written in flame-ink:
"Find the others."
The letter dissolved into embers.
Ash sat in silence.
Outside the window, the stars flickered unnaturally.