The first thing Ash heard was the crack.
It echoed through a golden void— the sound of something ancient breaking open. Before him hovered an egg, radiant as the sun, suspended in nothingness. Veins of molten gold streaked across its shell, pulsing like a heartbeat. Then the egg cracked again. A sliver broke away, and a roar— ancient, soul-deep, world-splitting— erupted from within.
Wings of flame burst outward.
Asharion staggered back, though he had no body here— only consciousness, floating in a realm made of a memory that was not his. The newborn dragon uncurled from the egg's remains, its scales gleaming like hammered light, its eyes burning with intelligent sorrow. It opened its mouth again—
And spoke.
"Asharion Veytrix… the last flame is yours to carry."
Ash tried to speak, but fire consumed his lungs. The dream melted into white light.
He awoke with a gasp, drenched in sweat despite the bitter cold. Smoke and ash filled his nose. His ears rang with silence.
Then the crackling of fire fire. Distant screams. And the bitter stench of scorched wood.
Emberfall was gone.
His home was gone.
He tried to sit up and found he couldn't. Something tugged at his wrists— ropes, tight and rough. He was bound, his back resting against a half-collapsed stable wall. Flames licked at the far edges of the village. Ash still drifted like snow.
A figure approached through the smoke— tall, cloaked, and silent.
Moonlight struck her face, revealing silver eyes that glowed like steel under frost. Her armor was black leather inlaid with violet, her hood now pulled back. Two curved daggers were strapped to her thighs. Her movements were fluid, almost inhuman.
He knew what she was, a Moonblade Assassin. They were Moonstruck elves that were deadly killers.
She crouched in front of him, staring.
"Name," she said flatly.
Ash blinked. "What?"
"Name," she repeated, slower.
"…Ash."
Her eyes narrowed. "Ash what?"
He hesitated. "…Just Ash."
She studied him in silence for a moment longer. Then she spoke, "Wrong."
She stood and turned her back to him, eyes scanning the shadows beyond the wreckage. Something about her posture— poised, calm, ready to kill— told him she was more than just a blade-for-hire. She hadn't come for coin.
That much he could tell...
She had come for him.
He struggled with the ropes. "Why did you save me? Who are you?"
"Keep your voice down," she hissed. "The Sentinels will return."
"Sentinels?"
"The ones who burned your village to the ground."
Ash's throat tightened. "My friends—Tomas—"
"Most likely dead," she said bluntly. "Or worse."
He stared at her. "You don't even care."
"No," she said coldly. "I don't care about your friends. I care about you. Because you're not who you think you are, Asharion… Veytrix."
The name struck him like lightning. "What?"
She crouched again, eye level now. "You think it's coincidence, what happened today? That you survived a blast of flame capable of turning men to cinders? That the raiders flinched when they saw you ignite?"
He shook his head slowly. "I don't know what happened. I just… I felt pain. Heat. And then—"
"You awakened," she said. "Partially. Not enough."
He stared blankly at her. "What am I?"
She stood again and cut his ropes with a flick of her blade. "We don't have time for answers. If they find us here, they'll burn the rest of this valley to ash."
"Wait—where are we going?"
She turned away. "To the ruins of Solspire. There's someone who can explain."
Ash rose shakily, rubbing his wrists.
She tossed some clothes at him and looked away, "I picked these up, pretty sure one of em will fit ya."
Ash screamed as he realised that he had been naked, he scrambled for the pile of clothes. He felt embarrassed and confused, he wondered how long he had been like that or why she tied him up while he was exposed.
As he was just about putting on a new shot he spoke again.
"You can't just expect me to follow you after telling me nothing—"
A howl cut through the air.
It wasn't anything his human ears had picked up before.
The assassin spun and faced him, her silver eyes sharp and strong. "Sentinels. Three of them."
This left Ash even more confused than he already was. "Sentinels? What's a sentinel—"
Being from the quiet village he had very little idea of the things that existed in their world.
Shapes emerged from the smoke— armored wraiths, tall and faceless, wearing bone-white masks etched with flame runes. Each held curved glaives that burned black with corrupted fire. They didn't speak. They didn't pause.
They attacked.
The speed at which they covered the distance between them was superhuman.
The first one lunged at Ash.
He screamed—but before the blade could touch him, the assassin leapt like a shadow. Her twin daggers flashed, deflecting the glaive in a burst of sparks. She spun low, sliced under the Sentinel's ribs, and flipped backward with inhuman grace.
Ash stood there startled, he had never seen anyone move so fluid and fast.
"Run!" she shouted at him, breaking him from his reverie. "Move will ya!"
The second Sentinel advanced from the side while they were distracted.
Ash backed away trying to put as much distance as he could between them and him but he stopped. His eyes watched the remains of his village in ash and smoke, bodies charred beyond recognition. Then another spike of heat surged in his chest— the dream came back to him, he could picture the golden egg in his chest, like something alive inside him. He fell to one knee, clutching his ribs.
The flames came again.
The assassin took one quick glance at him and cursed under her breath, "By the goddess grace..."
This time, there was no explosion— only a pulse, like a shockwave. The Sentinel nearest to him stumbled, its glaive extinguishing as if snuffed out by wind. Its mask cracked. It shrieked in a sound that wasn't of this world.
Ash stood, panting.
The assassin sliced through the third Sentinel in a blur of movement, then kicked the stunned one toward the burning pyre. It caught flame instantly— howling as it dissolved into smoke.
She turned to Ash, eyes wide for the first time. "…You're stronger than I thought."
He didn't feel strong. He felt broken.
"Why are they after me?" he whispered. "I want to know why everyone had to die. Why I can do things no human should."
"Because you're the last of the Veytrix line — and the only one left who can awaken the Flameborn Throne." She said without batting an eye.
"The what now?"
"No time to explain." She threw him a cloak and yanked up her hood. "Cover yer face. We'll cut across the river gorge before sunrise."
Ash stomped his foot on the ground. "There's plenty time to explain or I won't move."
She stared at him hard and long before saying. "Why do you humans always have to be a pain in the arse." She walked up to him and smacked him on the head with the flat of her dagger.
He helped. "Ow! What was that for?!"
"I you don't move yer arse I'll beat ya up and drag you myself."
Minutes later Ash was staggering beside her as they fled the remnants of Emberfall. The village he'd known — the sketches, the laughter, Tomas's voice— lay behind them as glowing embers in the snow.
And as they disappeared into the forest, Asharion heard the dragon's voice from the dream once more — quiet now, but certain.
"You are not alone, Asharion Veytrix. The fire remembers."