The Dream Realms – Between the Veil
Ashrel Vale had died once.
He remembered the scream—Vaelira's, not his—when the blackfire consumed his body during the siege of the Dawn Citadel. He remembered begging her not to give in to the dark, to let him go.
But the Wound Between Worlds had other plans.
And so did she.
When Vaelira called upon the Hollow Flame, it resurrected his soul—but not into life. Into unlife. Into something bound, ageless, and terrible.
For centuries, he had slumbered in the dream realms—half-man, half-shadow. A sentient echo of the brother she once loved, now her most loyal general.
Until now.
---
The Hollow Queen's Chamber
Vaelira stood alone, bathed in moonlight that refused to touch her.
She whispered his name.
"Ashrel."
A figure stepped from her shadow—tall, lean, his face eerily similar to Ashren's, but his eyes were cold mirrors, black flames flickering beneath the irises.
"I live again," he said.
"No," she corrected. "You serve."
Ashrel said nothing, but a flicker of pain crossed his face. A ghost of memory.
"The boy," he said. "He looks like—"
"He is ours," she replied. "But not yet mine."
"Then you want me to take him?"
"No," she said softly. "I want you to test him. Burn away what's weak. And if he survives…"
She reached for him, brushing hair from his brow.
"…bring him home."
---
Emberhold – The Breaking Point
Ashren didn't sleep.
Not because he feared the Queen.
Because he feared himself.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw visions—cities burning, fire leaping from his hands, a woman's scream swallowed by silence. The fire within him no longer felt like a gift.
It felt like a voice.
And it was growing louder.
Seris tried to comfort him, but he had grown distant. Even Caelis, ever loyal, began to worry.
Then the earthquakes began.
Small, at first. But they weren't natural. They came from within the earth, and always with one word whispered on the wind:
"Ashrel."
---
The Confrontation
On the third night, as frost descended over the Vale despite no winter wind, a new figure appeared beyond the walls.
He bore no army.
Just flame.
Ashren stepped into the field alone.
The figure lowered his hood.
And Ashren gasped.
"…Who are you?"
The man smiled faintly. "Your uncle. Your shadow. Your mirror."
Ashrel lifted a hand.
Flame met flame.
The sky cracked with thunder.
---
Brother's Fire, Son's Wrath
They didn't speak again.
They fought.
Ashrel moved like memory incarnate—every strike perfect, calculated. His fire was colder than Ashren's, laced with Hollow corruption. But Ashren's fire answered with rage, unpredictability, human pain.
They clashed across the mountainside, their battle lighting the sky for miles.
But Ashrel didn't try to kill him.
He tested him.
And when Ashren finally landed a blow that split Ashrel's brow, the general laughed.
"You're stronger than I thought."
"Then why do you hold back?" Ashren shouted.
Ashrel's smile faded. "Because if I kill you… I die too."
Then he vanished in smoke and dreamfire.
---
In the Aftermath
Seris found Ashren on his knees, bleeding flame.
"Who was that?" she whispered.
He looked up, fury and fear warring in his eyes.
"My family."