Chapter Four: Legacy of the Ashborn
The cavern trembled with the Guardian's dying breath. Its massive body slumped against
the wall, scales cracked and smoking from the silver lances I'd driven into its chest. Behind
it pulsed the Ashborn Heart, like a living star, silver veins spreading across the stone like
lightning.
I stood there, chest heaving, sweat and blood mixing on my palms. The silver glow
beneath my skin had dimmed but not vanished; it beat in rhythm with the Heart, each
pulse echoing inside my ribs.
Mara stepped closer, her staff raised warily. "It's not dead," she whispered. "This is only
the first shape."
The Guardian's golden eyes flickered open again. With a guttural roar, its broken form
surged upright, shattering stone like paper. Its body warped, claws elongating, horns
sprouting as its form twisted into something older and hungrier. Shadow and flame
wrapped around its scales.
"Alexander!" Mara shouted, throwing up a ward as the beast's tail slammed down,
cracking the floor between us. "It's testing you. Finish it, or it will never let you near the
Heart."
I stumbled back, breath short. The silver power within me stirred, desperate to explode. I
clamped it down. "I don't want to kill anything else."
"You don't have a choice," Mara snapped. "It's the Guardian of the Ashborn — it won't
yield to anyone unworthy."
The Guardian lunged, and I dove aside, claws slicing the air where I'd stood. Stone chips
rained down. The beast's roar shook the chamber; even the Heart seemed to tremble.
"Why me?" I shouted, my voice cracking. "Why do I have to do this?"
Because you were born for it.
The voice wasn't Mara's. It was inside me, a whisper rising from the silver pulse in my
chest. The same voice that had whispered when the power first appeared. It scared me
more than the Guardian's claws.
I scrambled behind a fallen pillar, my hands trembling. Silver light bled from my skin like
steam. I could let it loose — but would it obey? Or would it destroy everything, including
Mara?
The Guardian leapt again, crushing the pillar into dust. I rolled clear, my breath ragged,and saw Mara pinned under falling rubble once more. Her staff flickered, a dying spark.
Alan's face flashed before my eyes. His betrayal. His rejection. The endless nights I'd
spent alone.
"I've always been weak," I whispered. "But not anymore."
Mara's words surfaced: It's not the power that kills. It's the will behind it.
I rose to my feet, fists trembling. "Fine," I whispered. "If you're mine, then listen to me."
I opened my hands. The silver glow surged, but this time I guided it. I shaped it.
Wings of light erupted from my shoulders — not feathers, but shards of silver flame. My
eyes burned as energy coursed through me, no longer wild but precise.
The Guardian roared and lunged. I met it head-on.
The wings flared and I launched upward, striking from above, silver blades forming around
my hands. Each strike found its mark; each movement was mine. The cavern thundered
with the clash of magic and flesh.
The Guardian reared back, eyes dimming. For the first time, it hesitated — and then
bowed its massive head. The fire around its scales dimmed to embers.
Mara's voice was barely a whisper. "It's yielding."
The Guardian lowered itself to the ground, the silver veins on its body flaring once, then
fading. As it dissolved into mist, its final growl rumbled through the cavern: a sound not of
rage, but of recognition.
The Ashborn Heart pulsed brighter, its glow flooding the chamber.
I stepped forward, drawn by a force beyond thought. The Heart loomed before me — a
crystalline sphere the size of a boulder, suspended above an altar of obsidian. Its light
pierced my skin and bones, showing everything I was and everything I feared.
"Alexander…" Mara's voice trembled. "Be careful."
I reached out. My fingers brushed the Heart.
A storm exploded behind my eyes. Visions consumed me — an ancient race walking
among vampires and witches, binding them with silver fire; a betrayal, a war, a slaughter.
The Heart torn from its bearer and hidden deep underground. The prophecy of a child
between worlds who would restore its power.When the visions faded, I was on my knees, gasping. The Heart floated before me, a
fragment of its glow now pulsing in my chest.
Mara knelt beside me. "You've accepted the legacy," she said softly. "But it will destroy
you unless you master it."
I lifted my eyes to hers. "How?"
She touched the altar, tracing an ancient rune. The cavern around us shifted. The floor fell
away, revealing a vast abyss filled with silver fire. A path of light appeared, leading
downward.
"This is the Trial," she said. "It will show you your deepest fears and your greatest truths. If
you survive, the power will be yours to command. If not…"
She didn't finish.
I rose on trembling legs, the glow steady now within my veins. "I've been running my whole
life," I said. "Not anymore."
Mara gave a single nod. "Then step forward."
I turned to the abyss. The silver flames rose higher, whispering like a thousand voices. For
the first time, I didn't flinch.
I stepped onto the path of light — and the world dissolved into silver fire.
Silver fire swallowed everything.
For a heartbeat, I felt weightless — no ground beneath my feet, no ceiling above my head,
only a vast expanse of molten light. My body stretched like smoke, each pulse of the
Ashborn power burning through my veins like liquid stars.
Stone solidified under my boots. Cold, black stone, floating in an endless ocean of silver
flames.
I spun, searching for Mara, but she was gone. The cavern was gone. The Guardian was
gone. Only me.
Faces flickered in the fire — Alan's scornful eyes, the sneers of every person who had
ever turned their back on me. My chest burned where the Ashborn Heart's fragment
pulsed. Each beat echoed in the emptiness, steady, inexorable."This is the trial," I murmured, my voice sounding small. "Then show me."
The flames answered. They bent inward, gathering into a shape ahead of me — tall,
broad-shouldered, cloaked in darkness. When it lifted its head, I saw my own face staring
back at me, eyes glowing silver, smile twisted.
"You can't control me," it said — my voice, but deeper, colder. "I am what you've always
been afraid of. Weakness wearing power like stolen clothes."
The words cut sharper than claws. I staggered back, fists clenched. "You're not me."
It laughed. "I am the part of you you'll never escape. If you want to master the Ashborn
power, you'll have to kill me. But you can't. You're too soft."
Silver light flared around its hands — my hands — forming weapons of energy.
I drew a ragged breath. The trial wasn't just some test of strength. It was me against
myself. My fear. My power. My doubt.
The double raised its glowing blade. "Come on, Alexander. Let's see what you're really
worth."
The first blow came like a thunderclap of silver fire.