Ashes…
They fell from the sky as if the world had burned thousands of years ago, and all that remained was ash that refused to rest.
In a place without earth or sky, between life and death, a lost boy stood.
His bare eyes tried to understand, and his body bled without blood.
There was no light, no darkness. No time, no direction.
Only an endless gray space… and a distant whisper above a lake of mist.
Ashen lay on the ash, his chest rising slowly, each breath leaving him as if it were his last.
"Is… it over?"
He whispered weakly.
But the space answered with a deep echo, as if mocking the idea of an end.
Then, memories began to rise from the fog—fragments of a life that no longer belonged to him.
---
A child running among trees, laughing brightly.
A woman with black hair touched his forehead and said with a warm smile:
"Ashen, remember—kindness is not weakness."
A large man with gentle eyes placed his hand on the boy's shoulder:
"One day… you will understand why you were given this name."
The scene changed.
The laughter disappeared.
The sky turned gray, like the space around him.
He saw himself among his clan.
Many faces stared at him—some smiling, some mocking.
He heard familiar whispers:
"He's weak."
"He won't inherit his father's strength."
"A shame to our clan."
The boy's face in the memory froze. But among those cold eyes, two warm hands held him—his mother and father.
They smiled at him, as if the whole world meant nothing as long as they stood by his side.
---
Then, a scream.
The sky turned red.
The ash became fire.
The cries devoured every other sound.
The scene of war exploded before him: walls collapsing, rivers of blood, swords cutting through flesh like rain.
Ashen stood there, screaming, unable to move.
His hands trembled, his legs froze.
He saw the youths who mocked him the day before standing before him now, forming walls of flesh and blood, facing death with laughter:
"They will not pass as long as our young lord stands behind us!"
Then an explosion.
Their bodies were torn apart, their remains scattered, their blood forming a strange circle on the ground.
He saw his cousins—the ones who used to beat him in training—pushing him back as they fought until their last breath.
He saw his uncles—who once plotted to remove him—screaming their enemies' names until their throats broke, just to buy him one more second.
He saw everyone he thought hated him… dying for his sake.
---
Then his father appeared.
His face was covered in blood, but he smiled—a smile impossible to forget.
"Ashen… we were wrong to protect you too much… but now, it's time for you to live for us."
He placed his hand on the ground, and the air trembled.
Ancient glowing symbols of blood formed beneath them.
The scent of iron, incense, and old curses filled the air.
The sky split open, and a vortex of bloody fire rose around the clan.
Ashen screamed, but his father raised a hand in silence. The sound of the ritual drowned everything else.
"By the primordial blood spell… by the seal of the lineage… I protect the roots!"
Bodies began to collapse one after another.
Each clan member lost their color, their blood evaporating and flowing into the kneeling boy at the center of the circle.
Ashen screamed until his voice tore apart:
"Stop! Please stop!"
But his father did not answer.
His eyes were steady, painful, and full of resolve.
"You… are our future, Ashen. Blood is our legacy… and you are its last heir."
The ground cracked.
Flames rose, consuming everything.
His mother, with a tearful smile, spoke her last words:
"Live… for all of us."
---
A chorus of screams echoed:
"Ashen, our young lord… live, for as long as you breathe, our clan lives!"
"Survive, Ashen!"
"Live, our young lord!"
The moment froze.
All sounds melted together into a single tone—the tone of blood.
He saw his father stretch out his burning hand, drawing a transport sigil with his finger.
A burst of bloody light swallowed him whole.
The last thing he saw were the eyes of his clan fading one by one.
---
Silence returned.
The ash returned.
Ashen stood alone in the gray space, his face wet with tears.
The shades of his clan drifted around him, transparent like smoke.
He tried to touch them, but they vanished before his fingers could reach.
He sat on the ash and looked at his trembling hands.
He no longer knew if he was crying… or if the ash itself was flowing from his eyes.
"All this… for me?"
Only the gray wind answered, brushing his cheek like a cold touch.
He looked up and saw distant human shapes without faces, walking slowly toward him.
Each step they took left a trail of blood on the ash.
As they approached, he began to hear familiar voices:
"Smile, our young lord."
"Don't cry, we're with you."
"Live, Ashen."
The voices grew closer, until they spoke from within his heart.
"Our blood is in your blood… if you forget us, the blood will remember."
Then, the gray space trembled.
The ash began to glow faintly, and the mist stirred as if something inside it was awakening.
A dim red light rose from Ashen's chest—where the ancient blood seal had slept for centuries.
He opened his eyes wide as the light grew stronger.
He could hear his heartbeat mixing with the cries of the past, like a chorus of souls burning inside him.
"Live, our young lord!"
A final cry shook the gray world, loud enough to crack the space itself.
In the next moment, light exploded from his body, and a wave of blood surged into the gray sky.
---
In the real world, his torn body lay trembling on the savage battlefield.
Old red veins glowed beneath his skin, and mysterious markings of the ancient clan appeared across his chest and arms.
The air around him grew heavy.
Every drop of blood he had lost returned to him, melting into his flesh as if feeding the fire inside.
He finally opened his eyes—
No longer the eyes of a lost child.
They were like ashes that had burned and gone cold—without light, without mercy.
The gray space faded, but a voice remained within him, whispering softly:
"Whenever you try to forget… the blood will remember."