Smoke lingered where he passed.
Even days later, the winds near the Ashfold carried the scent of scorched stone and old blood — soft, subtle, but wrong. Animals wouldn't go near the border now. Crows circled like they knew something had slipped through.
In the city of Velmire, someone finally listened.
The city watch posted extra guards along the eastern road. Merchants whispered of a ghost in the fog. Nobles laughed over wine about the "Ashfold Phantom." But when the third outpost went silent in a single week, no one laughed anymore.
At a round table beneath the stained-glass glare of Solgard's sunlit chapel, six men in gilded robes argued over tea.
"—I'm telling you," said Lord Carrow, pale and sweating, "this is no bandit. No beast. This is a warning."
"Don't be dramatic," scoffed Lord Ardent. "Some backwoods lunatic probably wandered too close to the Ashfold and tripped over a torch."
"Three towers, Ardent. Three! And no survivors." Carrow's voice cracked. "They didn't fall. They burned. Clean through."
A third man, older and silent until now, traced a symbol into the table's ashtray — a circle with six points. Forbidden.
"Don't say it," Ardent growled. "Don't even imply it."
The old man didn't speak. Just wiped the mark away and left the table.
Meanwhile, Kael walked the stone path toward Velmire, hood drawn, head low.
He could already feel the city before he saw it — the hum of crowds, the rise of prayers, the clash of blacksmiths working weapons no one would live long enough to use. Civilization carried weight. It pressed against him like a wall.
He hadn't spoken aloud in days. Not since the incident at the outpost.
He hadn't meant to kill the soldier.
But the flame had.
It moved now without his command — not wild, not mindless, but… willing. As if it knew something he didn't.
As if it remembered.
"You remember, don't you?"
Kael stopped.
The voice echoed from behind his eyes, soft and feminine. It didn't belong to him. Or anyone mortal.
"They left us. Just like they left you."
He closed his eyes.
The air shimmered around him. Heat pulsed beneath his skin. Not now. Not here.
The voice faded — laughing, distant — like smoke on wind.
Velmire's gates stood tall, lined with banners and armored guards. One of them eyed Kael as he approached.
"Hood down," the guard barked.
Kael didn't move.
The guard stepped forward, hand on his sword. "I said—"
"I'm a pilgrim," Kael said, voice low, rough from disuse. "Come to light a candle at the shrine."
"You don't look like a pilgrim."
Kael finally raised his head.
His eyes — dull gold with flickers of dying flame — locked with the guard's. For a moment, the man froze. Sweat beaded on his brow. Something ancient and wrong whispered at the edge of his thoughts.
Kael smiled — barely.
"Would you like to search me?" he asked.
The guard swallowed hard.
"…No. Go on."
Kael stepped through the gates of a city that had once cheered his name, now oblivious to the ash it had left behind.
In a darkened alley, a shadow stirred.
A figure wrapped in silks and prayer beads knelt beside a wall scorched with strange heat. She touched the burned stone gently and whispered a phrase in a forgotten tongue.
"Remnants stir. The Ash has walked."