Ruzon sprinted through the ruins, ash swirling around his boots, the girl cradled tightly against his chest. Her breaths came in shallow gasps, her small hands clutching the fabric of his cloak. Behind them, the forest shuddered—not with sound, but with pressure. Like a heartbeat too large for the world.
He didn't look back.
Not yet.
Instead, he raced for the nearest safehouse, a crumbling stone inn the Hollow Flame had converted years ago into an observation post. Moss clung to its walls, and the wooden sign out front—the Weeping Lily—swayed gently in the breeze, creaking like a mourning bell.
He shouldered through the door.
Inside, the air was stale with dust and old smoke. No one had been stationed here in months.
Good.
He laid the girl down near the hearth and knelt beside her. She shivered violently, eyes wide, and began to mutter nonsense under her breath—fragments of language, names, screams.
Ruzon struck a flint. Flame sparked, caught. The hearth came alive with warmth and light.
Only then did he see her properly.
The spiral mark on her palm now glowed faintly. Black veins pulsed outward from it, threading up her arm like frost spreading on glass. Her lips moved again.
> "It's cold. He's watching. The one in the ash…"
He touched her shoulder gently. "What's your name?"
No answer. Only a choked sob.
He swore under his breath and reached for his satchel. Inside, tucked between scrolls and dried herbs, was a small crystal orb etched with sigils: a Hollow Flame soul mirror.
He held it over her.
The glass clouded instantly. Shadows swam inside. A whisper—not hers—echoed from the crystal:
> "Your blood remembers, boy."
He dropped it.
The orb rolled away, humming faintly.
Outside, the wind began to rise. Not natural wind—this was deeper. Lower. A breath from something ancient.
The Mourning Wyrm.
It was near.
Ruzon drew his blade and stood between the girl and the door. He didn't know what was coming through the ash. But he knew it was hunting her.
And maybe him too.
Next...Chapter 2: The Blade of Wyrmrest, shifting to Veyrion's perspective. This chapter will contrast Ruzon's desperate pursuit of truth with Veyrion's life inside the machine of power.