In every forgotten age, there is always one who remembers. One who waits not with hope — but with certainty.
The letter burned to ash in Ash's hands.
It didn't crumble. It didn't smoke.
It simply vanished, as if it had never existed.
Only the final line lingered in his mind, echoing long after the wind had swallowed the embers:
You are not the only one who remembers the First War.
Ash stood motionless on the rooftop of the old chapel. Below, the slums of Lowend moved like a sea of quiet rebellion. Lights in windows. Whispers in doorways. Weapons wrapped in linen and buried beneath floorboards.
But Ash's thoughts were not on the present.
They were behind him — far behind, in a past so old it should have turned to dust.
Yet some memories do not fade.
They wait.
At the edge of the city, where stone met swamp, stood a forgotten structure — a tower swallowed by vines and rot. No name marked it. No guard watched it. Even maps of Ravenmark omitted its place.
But Ash walked straight to it, steps steady. As if the city itself guided him.
Kael followed him, uneasy.
"What is this place?"
Ash paused at the tower's base.
The moss-covered door bore no lock, no seal. Just a faint carving nearly erased by time — a spiral of flame coiled around a single eye.
"It was a temple," Ash said. "Before Ravenmark had lords. Before the First Crown."
"To what god?"
Ash looked at him.
"To one that was never a god… but was feared all the same."
He pushed the door open.
Inside, the tower was cold. Not with temperature, but with absence — like all warmth, all noise, all life had once been stripped from it and never returned.
Stone staircases wound downward instead of upward, leading deep into the earth. Ash descended without hesitation. Kael followed, reluctant.
With every step, the silence grew heavier. A presence settled on their shoulders — not watching, not judging…
Remembering.
At the base, they entered a vast chamber. Dozens of stone pillars rose like ancient bones. Symbols were etched into every surface — circles, swords, stars, and the mark of the downward flame.
And at the center…
A figure.
Seated.
Unmoving.
He wore no crown. His robes were tattered. His eyes were closed.
Yet the moment Ash stepped forward… the figure spoke.
"So. The mask breathes again."
Ash tensed.
"Who are you?"
The figure opened his eyes.
They burned not with fire — but with the void left after fire.
"I was there when the First War was sealed. When the traitors buried the truth beneath kingdoms and called it peace."
"I am the last Witness. The last living oath to a world that chose silence over justice."
Kael whispered, "What is this?"
Ash stepped forward.
"You sent the letter."
"No," the Witness said. "But I knew it would find you."
He slowly stood.
"And now that it has, your choice is no longer your own."
The Witness raised a hand. The runes on the stone walls blazed to life.
Scenes unfolded in light — moving images flickering like memories trapped in flame.
Battles beyond comprehension.
Cities that floated. Armies that bent the skies.
And a man — or a being — at the center of it all.
Cloaked in flame and shadow.
Wielding not a weapon, but a throne.
A conqueror.
A liberator.
A monster.
Ash saw himself.
But not quite.
"This… isn't me."
"No," the Witness said. "But it is what the world will believe you are."
"And what if I choose a different path?"
"Then you will die. And another will take your place."
"Is that what this is?" Kael snapped. "Another prophecy? Another puppet for an old war?"
The Witness turned.
"This is not prophecy. This is reckoning."
"The blood that built the kingdoms still cries out. You are not its savior. You are its balance."
He walked toward Ash.
"But you are not yet ready."
"The mask remembers. The flame sleeps. But the soul — your soul — is still torn."
"Before you conquer anything… you must know what you're truly fighting."
He raised his hand to Ash's chest.
And the world turned white.
Ash gasped.
He stood not in the tower anymore.
But in a battlefield.
Not past.
Not future.
But memory.
Ash turned — surrounded by fire, sky split by war cries. A thousand versions of himself in armor not made by man. Faces blurred. Screams without names.
The truth buried in his bones awakened.
Not all of it.
Just enough to know:
He had not been alone back then.
And one of them — the ones who fought beside him — had betrayed them all.
Ash dropped to his knees, breath ragged.
Back in the tower, the Witness caught him.
"The storm has begun, Ash Draven."
"The past is not done with you."