Morning crept over the forest in hues of dull orange and pale gold, its light filtering through twisted trees and settling upon the makeshift camp where Joren and Aelira stirred. The fire had died to embers in the night, but its warmth lingered, stitched into the air like a comforter against the cold world.
Joren had barely slept. The memory of the Watcher’s words haunted him—not for their vagueness, but for the quiet certainty they carried. Someone, or something, had taken interest in his legacy. The Ashbound line had long since faded into obscurity, buried beneath history and suppression. That it still echoed into the present meant power yet slumbered within its core.
He rose slowly, bones stiff from the uneven stone floor of the cave. Aelira remained curled beneath his worn travel cloak, her breath shallow but even. Healing slowly. The worst of her fever had broken overnight, but she still bore the weight of fatigue and exposure. If they were to reach safety—or what passed for it now—they would need to leave soon.
Joren knelt and laid his palm above the embers, not quite touching them.
“Kindle,” he whispered.
The coals flared, and flame blossomed anew.
Not from flint or kindling—but from him.
**Ember Art: Sparkweave (Basic)**
*Flame summoned through Core resonance.*
*Efficiency: 12%*
*Flame Integrity: Stable.*
He cooked the last of their dried meat, a bitter, leathery thing barely worthy of the term ‘meal,’ but it sufficed. Aelira stirred at the scent and sat up groggily.
“Still alive,” she murmured.
“Good. I didn’t want to drag your corpse to the next town.”
A weak smile tugged at her lips. “Charming.”
They ate in silence, tension coiling in the air like mist. Joren could feel her gaze, not fearful, but… curious. Studying him as one might study a flame behind glass.
“You’re not just a wanderer,” she said finally. “Not with the way you call fire.”
Joren didn’t respond at first. He let the crackle of the fire fill the gap, then said, “No. I’m not.”
She waited.
“I’m Ashbound. Or… what’s left of them.”
Stolen story; please report.
Her brow furrowed. “That’s a myth. My father used to scare us with tales of fire-eaters and oath-burners who walked naked through volcanoes.”
“They weren’t myths,” Joren said, his tone flat. “They were cultivators. Keepers of balance between flame and world. Until the Ember War. Then they were heretics.”
“What happened to them?”
“They lost.”
Aelira looked down. “So why you?”
“I didn’t choose it. The legacy found me. When my village burned, it left a mark behind. In me.”
She was quiet for a long moment. “My brother… he could start fires. Nothing big, just flickers. My parents said not to speak of it.”
Joren looked at her sharply. “If he’s alive, he may still carry a spark.”
She nodded, but her expression tightened. Hope was a fragile thing, and too often cruel.
They packed quickly and left the cave, stepping once more into the ever-humming woods. Joren led them northward, toward the ridge that marked the beginning of the Ashveil Road. It was an old trade route, long since abandoned after the Emberrot made travel unpredictable. But it was faster than circling the wilds—and if they were lucky, they might find remnants of the old pyre-wards that once protected travelers.
As they crested the ridge, the forest thinned, revealing the stone spine of the Ashveil Road—half-buried in moss and cracked by roots, but still passable. Charred wooden posts lined the sides at intervals, each one once embedded with cleansing runes.
Most had faded.
But one still flickered faintly.
Joren stepped closer, eyes narrowing.
**Ritual Object Detected: Flamebound Totem**
*Purification Strength: 4%*
*Rune Decay: 87%*
*Reactivation Possible: Requires Ember-Infused Catalyst.*
He drew a small shard from his pouch—an ember crystal, barely charged. He pressed it into the socket beneath the rune.
A surge of light.
The rune flared, casting an aura across the road like a dome of firelight. Warm. Pure. Aelira gasped as the tension in the air broke.
“Feel that?” Joren asked.
She nodded. “Feels like… breathing after holding it too long.”
The road ahead shimmered in that warmth. Whatever horrors had stalked it before, for now, they were held at bay.
But only for now.
They followed the path for hours, winding through charred glades and overgrown clearings. Birds called from the canopy above—strange cries that warbled and echoed, never quite settling into melody.
Near dusk, they came upon a ruined cart.
Its wheels were shattered, and the wood blackened from within, not by heat but by something *drawn out.*
Joren knelt beside it, placing a hand on the frame.
**Residual Fireprint Detected.**
**Analysis: Soulfire Consumption, Partial.**
*Victim Status: Unknown.*
*Time Since Incident: 11 Days.*
“Soulfire,” he said aloud. “Someone burned here. But not with normal fire. This… this fed on more than flesh.”
Aelira crouched beside him. “What does that mean?”
“It means we’re not the only ones walking this road. And someone out here is harvesting more than just bodies.”
The realization brought weight. There were Emberrot spawn, yes. But there was *intent.* Purpose behind the spread. He could feel it now, like an echo through the ground.
They continued walking as the sun dipped below the trees.
Eventually, they found a small shrine—a circular clearing with stones arranged in a spiral around a central fire basin. The air within the circle was clear, untouched by rot.
Joren lit the basin with his Core, and the flame danced pure and white.
They slept in the spiral, under the watch of silent stones.
But in the middle of the night, the flame whispered.
Not in words.
In *feelings.*
It told Joren something was watching. Something that remembered his name.
And then it faded.
---
**New Passive Trait Unlocked: Flame Listener**
*Detect ambient intent through flame behavior.*
*Strength: Low*
*Alert Sensitivity: Active*
---
Joren stared into the fire for a long while before sleep finally took him.
And in his dreams, he walked the Ashveil Road.
But he was not alone.
