The world shimmered, not with light, but with heat—waves of distorted memory rising like steam from a battlefield long since abandoned. Ren stood ankle-deep in scorched feathers. The sky overhead roared crimson, thick with ash. Flame-flickers spiraled in lazy arcs across the horizon, yet there was no sun—only a dying glow pulsing behind a veil of smoke.
He took a step forward. The ground cracked beneath him, brittle as glass, and bled golden embers. Far ahead, a child stood before a pyre that had long since gone cold. Her shoulders were small, her robe too big, and her hair stained with soot. In her hands, a candle barely flickered, stubborn and dim.
Elen turned.
She looked older now—no longer the fragile girl he'd pulled from the fire, but something between a mourner and a prophet. Her eyes no longer pleaded. They accused.
"You saw it, didn't you?" she whispered. "What they did to the others. To me."
Ren said nothing. He didn't need to. The dreamspace fed their emotions back to them—raw, loud, unfiltered. His guilt echoed like thunder through the scorched wind.
"You could've left me there."
"I didn't want to."
"You didn't know me."
"I didn't have to."
She looked down at the candle. "Then you're a fool."
"I've been called worse."
Her laugh was soft, and bitter. "The Church said I was born with a blight in my soul. They showed me how to pray, how to kneel, how to scrub the ash from my spirit. But it always came back." She extended a hand, and the candle flared. "No matter how many times I tried to burn myself clean."
Ren stepped closer. "You're not dirty, Elen. You're alive. That's what they hate."
Behind her, the pyre groaned and collapsed into itself. A gust of heat surged past them. When she turned again, her face was wet with tears that hissed to steam on her cheeks.
"I hear the voices even now. The sermons. The chant of Sanctus Vitae. The screams."
"They're gone."
"No," she said. "They're just quiet… for now."
Then, from the smoke, a figure emerged—tall, draped in ceremonial white, face hidden behind a mirror mask. It moved with the fluid grace of someone not walking, but floating. Every step it took, the dreamscape around them warped—candles blew out, feathers blackened, the earth bled silver.
The figure extended its hand toward Elen.
"Return," it intoned. The voice was neither male nor female—just command. "You are a Child of Flame. Heresy can still be purged. Confess, and be sanctified."
Ren stepped in front of her without thinking.
"She's not going anywhere with you."
The masked figure turned its mirror toward him. In that polished surface, Ren saw countless reflections of himself—dying, burning, kneeling, screaming. In one, he was holding Elen's hand. In another, he was the one burning her.
"Reaper," the voice crooned. "Death is not yours to wield in sanctified lands. You trespass upon consecrated ground. Your soul is an echo—unclean, uninvited."
"I'm already damned. Get in line."
The figure raised its hand, and the sky screamed.
A lance of light erupted from the clouds, arcing toward them. Ren grabbed Elen, shoving her down, but the impact never came. Instead, a shield of phoenix flame burst outward from her chest, incinerating the incoming strike mid-air.
When the smoke cleared, Elen was on her feet again. The candle was gone. In its place hovered a burning feather—gold, red, and violet. It hummed with power that felt older than scripture and more honest than prayer.
"No more," she whispered. "No more kneeling. No more cages. I don't need their blessings."
The masked figure hissed, and the dreamspace began to crack.
Flame surged from Elen's palms. The soul bond pulsed, linking their minds in perfect clarity—Ren's rage, her grief, their shared will.
Ren called the sickle to his hand. Elen raised her arm, and a phoenix's cry erupted across the heavens. Together, they charged.
The battle was not long. The mirror figure was not a person, but a memory—a mental defense left by her captors. It shattered beneath their joint assault, breaking like stained glass.
When it was over, the pyre was gone. The ash settled. A calm finally took hold.
A voice echoed from deep within Ren's mind:
[Soul Bond Complete: Elen – Phoenix Bloom][Shared Ability Gained: Flame Resonance – Passive: Immune to Lightburn. Active: Soulfire Surge][New Mission Unlocked: Break the Cycle – Sever the Church's Chain of Rebirth Sanctification]
The dreamspace faded slowly. Elen's warmth remained.
When Ren opened his eyes again, they were still in the woods. Elen slept peacefully now, the hint of a smile on her lips. Her spirit no longer flickered—it blazed.
Somewhere far across the plains, inside a vault of marble and fire, an old nun dropped her censer and clutched her chest. The sacred seal on the Holy Reliquary burned black. A heretic's bond had completed—and with it, prophecy stirred.
The Reaper had chosen his phoenix.
And the Church of Faith would never forgive him for it.