Tess barely felt the pain anymore.
Her wounds had settled into a dull, throbbing ache, her arms too heavy, her legs trembling with every step she took. The only thing keeping her upright was Marin, who had slung an arm around her shoulders, half-dragging, half-carrying herthrough the devastation.
The city was dying around them.
Buildings collapsed in on themselves, their skeletal frames blackened by the flames that had already swallowed half the district. The once-cobbled roads were cracked and warped, thick with the stench of charred flesh. Somewhere in the distance, screams rose and fell like the dying gasps of a beast too broken to fight anymore.
But the worst was the silence between them.
Tess risked a glance at Marin. Her face was unreadable, but her body was shaking. Whether it was from pain, rage, or grief, she didn't know.
She didn't ask.
There was nothing to say.
Callen was gone.
She swallowed, her throat dry, raw. The memory of it clawed at her. The sound of his voice, battered and hoarse, still fighting even when he was outmatched, outnumbered. And then—
That scream.
She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to shove it away, but it was burned into her skull like a brand.
Marin gritted her teeth. "We need to keep moving," he muttered, mostly to herself. "We have to—"
A crack of sound split the air.
It was deep, resonant, like a fissure tearing open the world itself. The kind of sound that didn't just come from one explosion, but many.
They turned.
And watched hell unfold.
By the southern gate, the cluster of explosive reactive crystals detonated in an instant. A chain reaction, violent and unrelenting. The first blast sent a shockwave that shattered the nearest structures, tearing through the streets like a living storm. The second ignited a flare of red-hot magical fire, spreading outward in a wave of destruction.
Tess sucked in a breath as she saw it—not just fire, but something worse.
The flames didn't just cling to wood and cloth.
They burned stone.
The buildings shouldn't have been able to catch, but the magic in the fire warped reality, twisting its very nature. The flames climbed the walls, streaking up the gates, latching onto rooftops.
And it was spreading fast.
Marin took a step back, her grip on her tightening. "No," she breathed. Her voice sounded small.
Tess felt her stomach drop.
No one's going to survive this.
*
Merrick's heart nearly stopped when the ground shook beneath them.
He staggered back, catching himself against the nearest table as dust rained down from the rafters. Across the room, Mira clutched at Selka, her rabbit-fast reflexes the only reason they hadn't gone tumbling to the floor.
Elyan, at the window, turned pale.
"...What was that?" Selka whispered.
No one answered.
Then—the sky turned red.
Merrick pushed past Elyan, stepping towards the cracked window. His breath caught.
Fire.
Red, unnatural, crawling fire. It devoured the skyline in an instant, spreading across stone as if it were oil-soaked cloth. The roads beyond the safehouse were already ablaze, the heat so intense that he could feel it even from behind the walls.
He knew, without even checking, that there was no way out.
"We're trapped," Mira said hoarsely, voice tight with panic.
Selka was staring at the fire, unblinking.
Elyan exhaled sharply, her hands balling into fists. "We need to barricade the doors."
"But if we stay—" Selka began.
"We don't have a choice," Elyan snapped.
Merrick couldn't take his eyes away from the flames.
It was spreading.
Faster than it should.
Like a living thing.
Like it was hunting them.
*
Ivara didn't even bother looking at the destruction behind her.
She heard it. The boom of the first explosion, the second, the distant roar of a city being devoured by its own fire.
And she smiled.
Callen groaned, his barely-conscious body dragging against the dirt as she hauled him forward. He was ruined, barely breathing, his eye nothing more than a butchered mess of raw flesh.
But he was still alive.
For now.
"You're surprisingly stubborn," she mused, her voice light, almost mocking. "Most men would've died already. Maybe you're just too stupid to know when to stop."
Callen coughed, spitting blood onto the cobblestones.
Ivara clicked her tongue. "Tsk. That's not very polite, is it?"
She stopped walking, crouching beside him. Her fingers traced the ruined mess where his eye used to be.
Callen twitched, his muscles trying to flinch back. But he was too weak.
"Hm." Ivara tilted her head. "Maybe I'll call you One-Eye from now on."
He didn't answer.
She leaned in, lowering her voice to a whisper against his ear.
"You're going to wish I killed you back there, One-Eye."
Then she yanked him forward, dragging him towards whatever hell awaited him next.
And behind them, the city burned.
*
Felix stormed into the chamber beneath Keep Valcian, his breath ragged, his body burning with exhaustion. The journey through the war-torn streets had left him sweaty, bruised, and bleeding, but none of it mattered.
He had made it.
The hidden chamber was cavernous, its stone walls slick with moisture and illuminated by the faint, flickering glow of arcane braziers. A heavy scent—like old parchment and smoldering incense—hung thick in the air. The underground air hummed with an eerie energy, oppressive and cloying, like the very stone was pressing inward.
But none of that made Felix stop.
It was the man standing at the center of the room.
Felix's heart skipped a beat.
Varrel.
Or—what was left of him.
Hours ago, the man had still been himself—aged but sharp, silver-haired, eyes alight with an unyielding fire. Now, he looked like he had decayed in real-time.
His skin had turned wrinkled and pallid, a sickly, ashen grey that clung too tight to his bones. His once-pristine silver hair had begun to thin, strands drifting to the floor with each slight movement. And his eyes—
Felix took an unconscious step back.
His eyes weren't human anymore.
They burned with a dull, molten glow, a hollow mix of orange and gold, like the last embers of a dying fire. Like something inside him was slowly being consumed.
In his frail hands, clutched tight enough to whiten his knuckles, was the Book of Ashes.
Felix forced himself to speak. "What the hell happened to you?"
Varrel didn't answer immediately. He stared down at the book, fingers twitching along its cracked leather binding.
Felix took another step forward, his heart hammering in his chest. "Varrel—"
"I warned you, Felix."
His voice was hoarse. Not just weak—but frayed, eroded, as if something had been eating away at it.
Felix gritted his teeth. "I need answers. No more riddles. Tell me what that book is."
A slow, rasping breath left Varrel's lips. When he lifted his gaze, there was something far away in his expression, like he was looking past Felix.
Then, at last, he spoke.
"The Book of Ashes is a holy text."
Felix blinked. His mind struggled to process the words. "Holy—?"
"A scripture. A record of worship."
Felix felt something cold creep down his spine.
"You're telling me it's a religious text?"
Varrel let out a quiet, breathless laugh. "Not just any religion. A forgotten one. One that was buried, erased, and burned. But some things, Felix... some things do not stay buried."
Felix felt his stomach knot. "...Worship of what?"
Varrel looked at him then.
And in that moment, Felix understood what true fear was.
Because when Varrel spoke, it wasn't just his voice anymore.
There was something beneath it, something that echoed, as if something else—something vast—was repeating his words alongside him.
"The Ashen God."
The torches flickered violently.
Felix clenched his jaw. "You're losing your mind."
"No," Varrel said. His breathing hitched, his frail body shuddering. "No, Felix, I have never seen more clearly."
He pressed a hand against his temple, and for the first time, Felix saw it. The faintest trace of sigils—burned into his skin. Marks of influence.
Felix felt sick.
"You've been hearing voices," he said, the words a whisper.
"Not voices," Varrel murmured. "A voice."
Felix stared.
Varrel turned the book slightly, running his fingers across its ancient, brittle pages. "He speaks, Felix," he murmured. "Not in riddles. Not in deception. He speaks the truth."
Felix's hands curled into fists. "What did he tell you?"
Varrel exhaled, his grip on the book tightening. "...That I was meant to find this." His head tilted slightly, like listening to something only he could hear. "And that you were meant to bring it to me."
Felix went very still.
Something cold and heavy settled in his stomach.
"What?"
Varrel looked up at him, eyes glowing faintly in the dim light.
"The Ashen God knew you would come." His voice was calm, absolute. "And he told me what you would do."
Felix swallowed, feeling his heart begin to pound.
Varrel smiled faintly, almost sadly. "You were always meant to bring me this book, Felix. You just didn't know it yet."
Felix took a slow, measured step forward. "Put the book down, Varrel."
Varrel didn't.
Instead, he chuckled—a dry, rasping sound. "You think I don't see it? The hesitation in your eyes."
Felix's pulse thundered in his ears.
"This book is calling to you," Varrel said softly. "Just as it called to me."
The room felt smaller.
Felix felt the weight of the book's presence, thick in the air. Like an unseen pressure pushing down on his lungs.
Varrel took a slow step closer. "Do you know why they tried to burn every last copy, Felix?"
Felix's throat felt tight. "...Because it was dangerous."
Varrel smiled. "No."
His voice was barely above a whisper.
"Because it was true."
A faint pulse of heat emanated from the book.
Felix clenched his jaw. "This isn't you, Varrel."
Varrel sighed, the glow in his eyes flaring for a moment. "You're right." He glanced at his hands, at the withered, decaying flesh. "This body... it isn't mine anymore."
Felix gritted his teeth.
Varrel looked at him one last time.
"You already know the truth, Felix."
Felix's fingers itched toward his weapon.
Varrel's voice dropped to a whisper.
"And soon, you'll hear Him too."
Then, the torches went out.
Darkness swallowed the chamber.
Felix's breath hitched, his heart hammering in his chest. The air thickened, pressing against his skin like a living, breathing thing. It was not silence that followed, but something far worse.
A voice slithered into the void, reverberating through the stone walls.
Varrel.
Or what was left of him.
"You fear it," he murmured, his voice drifting from everywhere and nowhere. "That is good. That means you understand."
Felix took a slow step back, his fingers twitching toward his weapon.
"But fear alone is meaningless," Varrel continued, his tone half reverent, half fevered. "It is but the prelude to understanding."
Felix swallowed down the tightness in his throat. "Understanding what?"
A low chuckle. Soft. Amused.
Then the chamber shuddered.
Felix felt it beneath his feet, a faint, pulsing tremor, like a heartbeat buried in the stone.
"The Ashen God," Varrel whispered. "The one who speaks beyond time. The ember that lingers when all else is dust."
Felix clenched his jaw, forcing himself to steady his breath. "You're raving."
Varrel sighed. "Oh, Felix. I once thought the same."
Felix took another step back, muscles tensed, ready to bolt at the first sign of movement.
Varrel continued, undeterred.
"He showed me," he murmured, voice dipping into something almost tender. "The truth of things. The fire beneath the skin of the world. The rot. The lie."
Felix exhaled sharply. "And what is that lie, Varrel?"
The darkness around him shifted.
Felix could not see—but he could feel. A presence. A weight pressing into his mind.
"The lie," Varrel said softly, "is that we were ever meant to build. To thrive. That this world was made for us."
A pause.
Then—
"No. This world was meant to burn."
A shiver crawled up Felix's spine.
"You wanted to turn the Syndicate into a firestorm," he muttered, realization threading through his voice. "Not for power. Not for control."
He inhaled, the truth sinking into his gut like a stone.
"But because you believe it's what was always meant to happen."
Varrel laughed.
Not a madman's laugh. Not a deranged cackle.
No.
It was soft. Understanding.
"You do see," he murmured.
Felix's stomach twisted.
"Why?" he demanded. "Why the city? Why turn this place into a funeral pyre?"
Another pause.
Then, Varrel spoke.
"Because He awoke here, Felix."
Felix's body went cold.
Varrel continued, voice quiet but unshakable.
"The Ashen God is not a thing of flesh and bone. Not a beast to be slain. He is the whisper in the embers. The smoldering breath beneath the charred sky."
The pulsing beneath Felix's feet grew stronger.
"He does not create," Varrel said. "He does not destroy."
Felix could hear the faint, distant crackle of fire.
"He simply remains."
Felix's hands balled into fists. "And what does He want?"
A slow, gentle exhale.
"He wants nothing."
Felix's jaw clenched.
"No demands. No promises," Varrel murmured. "Only truth."
Felix's breath came quicker.
"You're killing people," he snapped. "Tearing down this city. For what? For nothing?"
"No."
The word was firm.
"I do this because I was made to," Varrel said. "As were you."
Felix's pulse pounded.
"You keep saying that." His voice was sharp. "That I was always meant to bring you this book. What the hell does that mean?"
There was a shift in the air.
Then, Varrel spoke—low, measured.
"It means you already have."
Felix's stomach dropped. His breath hitched.
Varrel sighed. "You see now?"
Felix's skin crawled.
He had fetched the book for Varrel. Hadn't even known what it was.
But the moment he stepped into this room, the moment he challenged him—
He had placed it into Varrel's hands himself.
Felix's vision blurred at the edges. He needed to get out.
Now.
Varrel kept speaking, voice thick with devotion.
"Felix, the fire is already spreading. The city—" He sighed, as though savoring the words. "It will soon be as He intended."
Felix moved.
He didn't hesitate. Didn't look back.
He ran.
He bolted through the dark, weaving past stone pillars, darting toward the faintest hint of light in the distance.
Behind him, Varrel's voice echoed like the turning of a page.
"You'll see it soon, Felix," he called. "The world as it was meant to be."
Felix's breath burned in his throat.
"And when you do…"
The tunnel entrance loomed ahead, a sliver of light breaking through the suffocating dark.
Felix lunged forward—
"He will be waiting."
And then—
Felix broke free.
The cold air of the night hit him like a slap.
He stumbled, lungs burning, legs screaming in protest—but he didn't stop.
He ran.