"Caldrin, I've got a question," Vera said as she walked through the silvered corridors of the Mirror Vault, long arched hallways lined with mirrored panels that shimmered softly in the ambient light.
She stopped at one panel that was slightly recessed, a faint lattice of sigil-lines veining its surface like frost across still water. Touching the center, she watched as the glass slid outward like a drawer, revealing a compartment filled with neatly stacked pouches, folded satchels, and labeled flasks.
"Three up and two to the left, my lady," Caldrin offered from her side.
"Oh. Thanks." She closed the drawer and moved three panels up, two columns to the left. Pressing lightly on the seam, another panel opened, this one holding fresh sets of travel gear: folded cloaks, changes of clothes, and a few bundles of rations and tools.
She eyed it for a moment.
Vera couldn't imagine ever organizing her belongings this obsessively, but she had to admit it was convenient—especially now that she couldn't rely on an interface to find things. She suspected Caldrin was the one keeping it all in order, though she wasn't inclined to compliment him for it. The man clearly came with both pros and cons.
"You were saying, my lady?" Caldrin prompted politely.
"Right." Vera refocused on the question that had been nagging her. "I've been meaning to double-check something. It's related to the… changes that have occurred."
"Certainly," Caldrin said. "Ask whatever you wish, and I shall do my best to provide clarity."
She pulled a bundle of cloaks, rolls, and rations from the drawer, tossed them into a leather satchel at her feet, then slung it over her shoulder before turning back to him. He was watching her, hands clasped behind his back, as calm and inscrutable as ever.
"You have a rough idea of how strong I am, don't you?"
He raised a brow. Just slightly. "I fear you may overestimate my insight, my lady. Skilled though I am in many disciplines, I've never been particularly well-versed in the more martial rankings. Mostly by choice, naturally, but I would imagine there are many warriors across the dominions whose strength far exceeds mine. And even they, I suspect, would have difficulty quantifying your limits."
"No, that's not—I didn't mean for you to measure me in any way. I meant more like… a level. You should know roughly what level I'm at, right?"
Caldrin regarded her in silence as if carefully weighing her words.
Was he not familiar with levels?
Maybe that made sense. Levels were a player-side concept, something purely UI-based. She hadn't seen a single HUD element since waking up here, so why would a concept as gamified and arbitrary as a level still be around?
"My lady," Caldrin said slowly, "are you perhaps referring to Flamebindings?"
Vera blinked. "Flamebindings?"
He inclined his head. "Yes. It may not be so different from what you are describing."
She narrowed her eyes. He'd definitely guessed she was talking about something not quite natural to this world.
"…Alright. Jog my memory." She motioned at him. "What exactly are Flamebindings?"
Caldrin took a moment before answering, his tone taking on a shade of reverence. "The Flamebindings are the soul's covenant with power. A rite first traced to the Triad of Quiet Flame, later formalized under House Emberward during the early Ember Cycle. Each Bind marks a deeper attunement to Resonance, as the soul is branded by fire and made more real in the eyes of the divine."
Vera lifted a brow. "…Okay, but what does that mean in practice?"
A light smile touched his lips. "In practice, it is a scale. A system of measurement. Each Binding reflects the depth of one's Resonance, how firmly the soul is anchored to power. Generally, the more Binds one holds, the more formidable their strength. It begins with the First Flamebind and ascends to the Tenth. If I recall correctly, you yourself reached the Tenth Binding some years ago."
Vera folded her arms. That actually didn't sound too far off from levels, even if the terminology was new. If there were ten Bindings total, then…
"Do you remember roughly when I reached the Tenth Binding?"
"Oh, I most certainly do," Caldrin said, his tone now drifting into something almost nostalgic. "Unless I misremember, it was approximately twenty-nine seasons, seven weeks, two days, and thirteen hours ago."
She shot him a flat look.
He gave a mildly apologetic nod that she doubted was sincere. "In other words, around four years and five seasons, my lady."
"Thanks," she muttered, shaking her head.
Six seasons made a year here, which meant that was just shy of five years ago. That lined up almost perfectly with the start of Ashen Legacy's third expansion, when the level cap had been raised to 200. If Veralyth had reached the Tenth Flamebinding around that time, then the math worked if each Binding covered something like twenty levels.
Caldrin cleared his throat. "Of course, as with all great systems of power, there are whispered exceptions. Tales of those who surpass even the Ten. Whose souls blaze beyond mortal bounds. Individuals such as yourself, my lady."
Vera eyed him, waiting.
He gestured lightly. "Such figures are spoken of in varying terms. Rekindled. Truebound. Those of the Eleventh Flame. Or, perhaps most famously, the Cycle-Forged."
Vera's eyebrow twitched at that last one. It sounded very close to the Legacy Cycle mechanic for pushing past the level cap. And if she assumed a linear relationship between Bindings and levels, that would make her almost equivalent to the Fifteenth Binding.
"Ah," Caldrin added, raising a finger with a quirked brow. "And let us not forget the far more modern title some have adopted: Ashborn Ascendant."
Vera was silent for a bit. "That's my title."
She'd earned it by winning the Grand Crucible—the same victory that had awarded her ownership of Sablewatch Hollow. It was supposed to be unique to her character.
Caldrin nodded smoothly. "Precisely so, my lady. And yet, for some unfathomable reason, certain individuals have taken to associating it with myth, might, and—less surprisingly—mayhem. Thus, the title has acquired something of a legendary patina. A convenient label for those whose power is believed to surpass even the Tenth Flamebinding."
Vera offered him a long, unimpressed stare. "…You know, I bet most servants wouldn't get away with jabbing at their employer this casually. Constantly."
"I am not most servants."
"I've noticed, unfortunately." She brushed past him down the mirrored halls of the Vault. At the entrance, she set the filled satchel beside another one she'd packed earlier and turned as Caldrin caught up.
"But alright," she said. "Flamebindings. I think I get the gist." She eyed him. "Just for reference—what Binding are you at?"
"I have not undergone the Rite of Embercalm since before your slumber, my lady, so I cannot say with complete certainty," he replied. "At last measure, I was at the Seventh Flamebinding. Rather respectable, if I may be so bold." He gave a small, modest incline of the head before continuing, "Since then, I've also begun taking the proverbial stab at some Fourth Seals. I would not be surprised if I had reached the Eighth Binding by now."
Vera nodded to herself. That tracked. The Eighth Binding should begin around 140, and Caldrin would have started at level 138.
That was respectable. If she remembered right, the average NPC in Ashen Legacy rarely broke level 20, and most sat below 100. A handful rivaled players—Elaria among them—but those were designed to be the exceptions. Most of the world simply wasn't built to keep up with top-tier characters like hers.
Here, someone like Caldrin would probably be considered a genius. Or a battle-hardened veteran, at least.
"…Just for reference," Vera said again, slower this time. "Do you know what Binding Elaria's at?"
"Lady Valecrest?" Caldrin tilted his head. "I do not, I'm afraid. But it is widely accepted that she has surpassed the Tenth Binding."
"Do you think she's stronger than me?"
"I would be poorly qualified to say, my lady. I suspect you are far better equipped to answer that yourself."
Vera breathed out through her nose. With nearly two years since her last memory of the game—and all the uncertain translations between that digital world and this one—she couldn't be sure anymore. Back then she should have been stronger, but maybe the level cap had been raised to accommodate figures like Elaria. Or maybe the more grounded, 'realistic' pacing of this place had altered progression altogether.
"Do you know where she is now?"
Caldrin looked thoughtful. "That, too, is difficult. As Flamebearer of the Covenant of Flame, I expect she is quite busy addressing the threat posed by the Godgrave's reawakening and the emergence of The Silence Between. That may place her somewhere near the fronts in the Graven Reach or its bordering dominions. Alternatively, she could be at her order's seat in Caer Virell."
"So… not exactly close by," Vera muttered.
Caer Virell was, for all intents and purposes, the continent's de facto capital—at least to the extent that one existed. This land in general was more a sprawl of city-states and untamed wilderness than any neat web of empires or kingdoms. What passed for alliances were often loose and temporary, and the Covenant of Flame—perhaps the largest and most organized force left—was more of a coordinated effort among disparate factions than a proper nation.
Their headquarters, established in Caer Virell near the continent's center, was nearly a third of the landmass away from where Vera stood now in the southwestern regions. Reaching it wouldn't be simple, especially given her relatively lackluster understanding of the modern flow of this world.
Which brought her back to a question she'd been quietly dodging for the past day:
What was she supposed to do about Elaria?
Should she send a message? Let her know she was back?
Or… should she try to find her?
Sooner or later, she'd have to meet the woman. That much was unavoidable, no matter how much Vera wished otherwise.
…Screw it. She'd table the decision until after her visit to Marrowfen. Get her bearings first, figure out where Veralyth Mournvale stood in this world, and decide then.
She turned back toward Caldrin, ready to close out the conversation, when a stray thought tugged at her. Her brow furrowed.
"Is there something wrong, my lady?" Caldrin asked.
"…Quick check," she said. "Do you know what Serel's Binding is?"
His expression softened subtly. He folded his hands again. "Last it was officially assessed, she was of the Seventh Binding."
Vera lowered her head. "Right… Okay."
That was consistent with the game. Both Caldrin and Serel had technically been part of her estate's 'staff,' which meant they'd been assigned the same base level. There, age didn't matter. Level was level.
But here?
Caldrin was probably thirty-something.
Serel was six.
And yet stronger than most people alive.
What did that mean in this world? What did it mean to place that kind of power in the hands of a child?
Caldrin's strength at least made some sense. It could at least be explained by years of training. A role that partially demanded it. Serel, though? Vera doubted the girl had fought a single battle in her life.
So how had she reached the Seventh Binding?
Was it something she was born with—because of her lineage? Because she was Veralyth Mournvale's daughter? Elaria Valecrest's?
Or was it simply not explained? A mere quirk of being an NPC made real.
Vera hadn't really considered it before, but she might need to test Serel's abilities. Not harshly, but she needed to know what the girl was capable of, and whether she had any control of it.
Because if a six-year-old Seventh Binding was as rare as Vera suspected, Serel might be seen as something more than just a child.
Vera picked up the two bags at her feet, vanished them into her Vaultring with a pair of already-practiced gestures, and stepped out of the Mirror Vault into the corridor beyond.
Their upcoming trip would be a good chance to check all of that—and learn more besides.
She'd spent most of the late morning and afternoon hunting the last of the Hollowmaw Sentinels near the eastern pass. Not that she'd meant to take that long. And if anyone asked, she absolutely hadn't lost track of time.
Unfortunately, Sentinel bone-plate didn't drop neatly into loot windows anymore. She'd had to hack it apart herself. A lot of awkward sawing. Nowhere near as fun as it used to be.
By the time she returned to the estate, she'd only managed to clean up, sit with Serel for a bit, and start prepping for their journey.
Since Serel was coming along, she'd asked Caldrin for advice. What they'd need. What to expect. Things like that. He'd delivered, as always, with checklists, route options, and even contingency plans that made it feel less like a trip and more like a campaign.
Now all that was left was deciding how they'd get to Marrowfen.
Which meant paying a visit to the Summoner's Nook.
The Nook was a broad, domed chamber tucked into the estate's eastern wing, sealed behind the Bleak Atelier and a locked door. In-game, it had been more of a novelty. A half-forgotten trophy room cluttered with low-tier cosmetic pets, miniature echo-statues of mini-bosses, and assorted seasonal collectibles she couldn't quite bring herself to delete. One of them, she noted now with a faint snort, was a tiny, squirming model of a Hollowmaw Sentinel—chest-jaw agape, forever screaming silently in harmless loops.
The oddities were still here, scattered across the chamber in little glowing dioramas, each moving with just enough idle animation to trick the eye. She'd already poked a few to confirm that they weren't alive. Just impressively real.
What hadn't been there before was the wide, black-paneled arch at the rear of the chamber. It slid open at her approach, revealing a vast stable hall beyond, lined with vaulted alcoves and glowing sigil-stalls, each attuned to one of her mounts. The air inside was warm and damp, tinged with a musky tang. It wasn't unpleasant, exactly. Just… vivid. More in-your-face than she was used to from anything animal-adjacent.
Vera stepped in, boots clicking softly against the inlaid stone, and swept her gaze across the length of the hall.
In Ashen Legacy, players could collect as many mounts as they wanted, but only ten could be slotted for active use. From what she could tell, those ten were the ones that had made the leap into this world with her.
Which was probably for the best. She didn't think the estate could accommodate her full menagerie anyway. Besides, she wasn't missing much. Most of her favorites had been in her active lineup.
The Ashveined Strider was the first to catch her eye—if the glowing slits on its angular helm could be called eyes. All six legs moved with uncanny precision as it paced its stall, each step leaving behind weak trails of soot that faded in seconds. Obsidian hide shot through with ember-veins shimmered as it turned, and with a sideways glance, it huffed a breath of faintly steaming air.
A few stalls down loomed the Verdant Bloomtreader, its antlers brushing the arch above as it stood motionless, regal and ancient. Moss clung to its fur like it had grown there, and its hooves pulsed with green light, filling the air with the delicate scent of wet bark and iron-rich soil. That one had taken her weeks of tracking during the Kindlebloom Wilds event—she'd nearly missed the claim timer by oversleeping.
Farther along, the Sablegrin Vargyr lay curled in a tight knot, its dark fur gleaming like ink under moonlight. Crimson eyes cracked open as she passed, narrowed in what she guessed was its version of an unimpressed greeting. It thumped its tail twice against the floor—equal parts "welcome" and "fight me." Caldrin had warned her it was a bit temperamental. Given that she'd won it as a PvP tournament reward, that wasn't surprising.
Beyond them, the Gilded Merehound drifted lazily just above the floor of its stall, ignoring gravity altogether. The Cragback Kauth lay nearby in what could generously be called a nap, its ore-plated bulk unmoving except for the slow rise and fall of its shell-like back. Nestled between them were even stranger sights: rare, luminous creatures she'd once spent countless hours farming or months trading for. Things she never thought she'd see anywhere outside a screen.
There was a part of her that felt guilty keeping them penned up like this. Beautifully crafted and clearly enchanted or not, they were still stalls.
Then again, she doubted she could just let them out. In Ashen Legacy, mounts hadn't had levels or aggro behavior, but this wasn't the game. These creatures were powerful. Some probably very powerful. The kind that could flatten villages if left unsupervised. Caldrin had mentioned most of them likely wouldn't stray even if released. They were bound to her through something deeper now.
Still, maybe someday she could build them some better housing. Something that didn't make her feel like she was running a cheap magical zoo. But that was a problem for future Vera.
She reached the last stall and came to a stop.
The Echoshade Howler stood at the far end, a towering wolf-like creature formed of swirling wisps and shadowed mist. Its body flickered at the edges, like an afterimage caught between worlds. When its eyes met hers, she felt a pulse of recognition from it.
She smiled.
Mounts couldn't be dismissed here, which was inconvenient. Especially since she wasn't aiming to draw attention on this trip. And every single one of her mounts radiated 'look at me' energy. Giant spectral wolves, mineral-plated lizards, and moss-crowned elk were a far cry from subtle.
But the Echoshade Howler had a bit of an edge, according to Caldrin, which made it the best fit.
"You feeling up for a little outing?" she asked.
The Howler leaned its head to the side, mist along its back coiling like smoke on the wind. A soft, reverberating hum followed. Not quite a growl, not quite a purr. But she did gather that it was an acknowledgment of sorts.
Vera chuckled. "Great."
Another perk of the Howler was that it was cute. At least in her opinion. She bet Serel would love it.
Stepping forward, she pressed her palm to the sigil-wrought gate. The markings flared once, and the barrier dissolved with a hiss of displaced air.
The Howler took a single step—and then vanished. It unraveled into a haze of drifting wisps that slid past Vera, melting into her shadow. She couldn't see it anymore, but somehow she could still sense that it was there.
Her gaze drifted one last time across the stables, over the creatures watching her in silence. Then she turned and made her way out.