Long ago—before Ash, before the crimson core—there was a boy called Kaelith the Arclord.
Praised. Feared. Gifted beyond reason.
He was not born into power. He carved it from blood and ruin.
Orphaned by war. Trained by death mages. Crowned as a Royal Archmage by the age of twenty-one.
And betrayed at twenty-three.
By his own disciples.
---
They had feared what he might become.
Kaelith had begun unlocking forbidden things—arcane devourers, memory fire, bloodsoul fusion. He could erase spells with a thought. Shape time with a whisper.
So they planned it carefully. Poison in his tea. A dagger laced with anti-magic. And worst of all—
> A seal made from his own soul, stolen while he slept.
Kaelith had laughed as he bled out.
Not from madness—but from understanding.
"You think this is the end?" he had whispered, as flames consumed the room.
"No, my dear traitors. This is the prologue."
His body died.
His soul vanished in crimson fire.
And centuries later, Ash was born.
---
Back in the Labyrinth, Ash awoke from the vision, his heartbeat steady.
Arin stirred beside the small fire. "Another nightmare?"
"No," Ash said. "A memory."
She looked at him. "Of who you were?"
He nodded slowly. "And of who I'm becoming again."