As Caelara and Ashen continued their journey, the winds began to change. The skies darkened, and the air grew thick with tension. Ashen's powers were growing, and with every passing day, he could feel them stirring within him like a storm waiting to be unleashed.
"I can't control it," Ashen muttered one evening, his hands trembling as they hovered near a small campfire. The flame flickered violently, growing higher, then dying back down. "It's like something inside me wants to burn the world."
Caelara could feel the change in him. "It's your power, Ashen. It's not evil—it's a force, one that can either destroy or rebuild. But you must learn to harness it."
Ashen's golden eyes burned with intensity. "How do I do that? I've only ever felt this rage, this emptiness."
"You have to look beyond the rage," Caelara said, her voice soft but firm. "You were created for a purpose. Not to bring destruction, but to restore balance."
The air grew heavier, and a distant rumble echoed across the land. A storm was coming, and it wasn't just the weather. The Harrow, the destructive force tied to Ashen's fate, was awakening.
As they trekked through the mountains toward the next destination, a sudden burst of heat surrounded them, and the ground beneath their feet began to tremble. The sky above was on fire, streaked with crimson and orange as though the heavens themselves were burning.
"Ashen…" Caelara's voice was urgent. "You have to control it. Now."
He nodded, his face pale. The power within him was threatening to break free, to tear the world apart.
With a deep breath, Ashen closed his eyes and focused. He summoned the flame within, not to destroy, but to shape it—to bend it to his will.
The flames flickered, swirled, and then, as though guided by unseen hands, they settled into a calm, steady glow.
For a moment, the world stood still. Ashen opened his eyes, and for the first time, he felt in control.