Years Ago – The Manor of Duskvale
Before the Gate opened.
Before he was feared.
Before his name carried weight or curse…
Ashren was a child hiding in shadows.
The manor was cold, carved into cliffs where sunlight rarely reached. His father—a lesser noble obsessed with purity and legacy—never looked at him without calculation. His mother, once warm, had long since turned to glass. Her silence was the sharpest knife.
Ashren's only warmth came from a servant named Nirell.
She hummed when she swept the halls, slipped him stolen pastries, and spoke of the old stories—gods made of stars, blood that could burn, kings who once walked between worlds.
"Why are you always in the dark?" she'd ask.
"Because it's quiet here," little Ashren would reply.
But it wasn't the quiet he sought.
It was escape.
---
The Fire First Stirred
He was eleven when it happened.
Locked in the manor cellar as punishment—three days without light, food, or kindness. It wasn't new.
What was new was the voice.
"You are not broken."
At first, he thought it was a hallucination. But the air grew warmer. The stones began to glow. The chains on the door trembled.
And then—
Flames.
They erupted from his skin like a scream, not burning him, but freeing him. The door exploded open, scorched black. The house above caught fire in seconds. Servants screamed. His father came running.
But Ashren didn't hide.
He stood in the ruin, glowing, eyes like molten gold.
---
What the Fire Gave
The family called it a curse. The Order called it a danger. But deep down, Ashren knew the truth:
The fire wasn't born from rage. It was born from refusal.
Refusal to be silent.
Refusal to be chained.
It was freedom, pain, and purpose—melded in heat.
From that day on, they never locked him away again.
But they never loved him either.
---
Now – With Seris
Ashren sat at the edge of the cliff above Cael Thalor's ruins, eyes reflecting the stars.
Seris sat beside him, quiet for once.
"You were always this way," she said softly. "Even before the Gate. Before the war. Fire was part of you."
He looked at her. "You sound like Nirell."
Seris blinked. "Who?"
Ashren smiled faintly. "Someone I burned the world for."
She rested a hand on his shoulder.
"And now?"
He looked toward the distant black tower where Malric waited.
"Now I burn it to rebuild."