Smoke hung heavy over the ruins, painting the sky in shades of red and black. Aubrey's chest heaved as he staggered forward, his fists still glowing faintly with the last whispers of Bloodfire. The giant Ashborn's body twitched in the shattered street below, molten veins pulsing like dying embers.
But Aubrey wasn't looking at the beast anymore. His eyes were locked on the cloaked figure standing across the rooftop.
The Watcher.
Their hood swayed slightly in the hot wind, the firelight painting strange shadows over a face Aubrey couldn't see. Behind them, more cloaked silhouettes shifted, silent, unmoving, their presence heavy like stone pressing down on the air.
"You've awakened something you don't understand," the lead Watcher said, their voice low, carrying across the broken rooftop. "And now, it will not stop."
Aubrey clenched his fists tighter, the heat inside him sparking against exhaustion. "You think I don't already know that?" His voice cracked with both fire and fatigue. "Then stop talking in riddles—tell me what the hell this thing was!"
The Watcher tilted their head. For a moment, the silence was unbearable, broken only by the distant wail of sirens and the hiss of molten blood cooling on asphalt. Then, softly:
"That was not the end. That was a messenger."
Aubrey's stomach twisted. Messenger? From what? From where?
Varric limped forward, silver weapon still glowing faintly, his glare cutting across the rooftop. "If you've been watching, then you know how close this city came to burning down tonight. Don't play games with us. Who sent it?"
The Watcher didn't answer. Instead, they raised a single hand, and the air shimmered. Symbols flared faintly in the smoke—circles of light, geometric shapes etched in fire and silver. Strange, ancient, yet alive.
Aubrey felt his Bloodfire surge in response, veins glowing hotter, as if the symbols were calling directly to him.
"What the hell is that?" he whispered, his chest tightening.
The Watcher lowered their hand, the symbols fading into smoke. "It's the language of what burns beneath your veins. You've been chosen, Aubrey. Whether you want it or not."
A shiver went through him. Chosen. The word tasted like iron. He hated it.
"I never asked for this," he spat.
"Neither did fire," the Watcher replied, voice calm, too calm. "But it consumes all the same."
The silence stretched again, thick, suffocating. Aubrey's fists flared against it, his body screaming to act, to strike, to end the suffocating riddles.
But before he could move, the sound came—deep, guttural, echoing from far below the city. A tremor rippled through the rooftop, shaking loose bricks and glass.
The Ashborn corpse twitched again. Harder this time. Its molten veins flared bright, brighter than before, as if something far larger was pulling its strings.
"Damn it," Varric cursed, bracing his weapon.
The Watcher stepped back, cloak swirling in the rising ash. "This city won't survive many more nights like this." Their gaze locked onto Aubrey. "And neither will you."
Then, in a blur of smoke and flame, the cloaked figures vanished.
Aubrey's blood ran hot and cold at once. Questions screamed in his head, but the street below screamed louder—the monster wasn't done. Its body convulsed, molten ichor spilling into the gutters, splitting the concrete as if something beneath the city was clawing upward.
Varric grabbed Aubrey's shoulder, forcing his attention back. "We don't have time to chase ghosts. That thing's not finished."
Aubrey gritted his teeth. His ribs ached, his head spun, but his fire still burned. He stepped forward, staring down into the smoke, fists clenched.
"If that was just a messenger," he muttered, "then I'll send one back."
The Ashborn's molten eye
s snapped open.
And the city braced for another round.