Echoes in the Mist
When the past cannot find a grave, it roams.
And when memory refuses to die, it becomes prophecy.
The road east of Ravenmark was rarely traveled.
Once, long ago, it was a vital artery of trade and war, connecting kingdoms before borders were inked in blood. Now it was little more than a memory in stone — half-buried in grass, broken by roots, forgotten by maps.
And yet, Ash walked it like it had called him.
Kael followed close behind, his cloak drawn tight against the cold. Mist clung to the earth like a veil, hiding twisted trees and the sound of distant water. No birds. No beasts.
Only the crunch of their boots.
"Are you going to tell me where we're going?" Kael finally asked.
Ash didn't look back.
"To find a grave that never held a body."
Three nights earlier, the Witness had whispered her name.
Seraphine.
A name Ash hadn't heard in lifetimes.
He hadn't remembered her face. Not yet. But the emotion had struck like lightning — love and loss braided into something deeper than either.
She died because of me.
Or she lived through something worse.
Ash wasn't sure which truth scared him more.
He only knew this: if she still echoed in this world — in whispers, in visions, in the masks others now feared — then she had a story that demanded to be found.
And perhaps… forgiven.
At dusk, they came upon ruins — barely visible through the mist.
A stone gate arch crumbled into moss. Statues of faceless women lined the path like mourners. Thorned vines choked every inch.
Kael squinted.
"This place wasn't on the map."
Ash stepped over the threshold.
"It wouldn't be."
"What is this?"
"A temple. One of the last to the flame-born."
Kael stiffened.
"Your kind?"
Ash shook his head.
"No. Not mine. Hers."
They walked through the temple's remains — shattered altars, broken tiles painted with fire motifs, and faded murals on the inner walls.
One caught Ash's eye.
A woman cloaked in gold flame, standing between two armies. Her hands were raised — one to the sky, one to the earth. The armies behind her knelt. Not in worship. In fear.
Kael read the ancient script beneath the image.
"Seraphine the Flamekeeper. Last of the Starbinders."
"Savior… or destroyer."
Ash reached out and traced the mural's face with his fingers. For a second, the wind held its breath.
"She was more than a warrior," Ash whispered. "She was a seal."
Kael frowned.
"A seal? For what?"
Ash didn't answer.
Because something moved behind them.
From the mist, a figure emerged — cloaked in bark and shadow, its face obscured by an old tribal mask. It carried no weapon, but power pulsed from it like a living storm.
Kael drew his sword.
"Stay back."
But Ash stepped forward.
"You followed us," he said. "Why?"
The masked figure knelt.
And spoke in a voice like grinding earth:
"Because the fire you carry belongs to her."
Ash narrowed his eyes.
"You knew her."
"We were her sentinels. Long ago. Before the kingdoms burned her name."
"And now?" Ash asked.
The figure rose.
"Now we are all that's left. She sleeps beyond this temple. Trapped where time forgets."
"But something has begun to stir… something old has begun to call her name again."
"And if she wakes without remembering who she was—"
The figure removed its mask.
An ancient face — half-human, half-marked by the fire. Eyes that had seen centuries.
"She will not be your ally."
"She will be your end."
Later that night, Ash sat alone at the temple's heart — a sunken circle where stars once aligned in sacred patterns. He lit a small flame between his palms, watching it dance in silence.
Kael sat at a distance, sharpening his blade, throwing glances now and then. The sentinel had retreated back into the mist, promising to guide them to "the gate" by dawn.
Ash closed his eyes.
The fire flickered with memory.
And then—
A whisper.
Not from this world.
Not from outside.
From within.
"Ash…"
His breath caught.
"Why did you leave me?"
He turned.
But no one was there.
Only the mist.
And her voice, lingering like a ghost in the flame.