Esthara saw her death. It took the form of a black knight with a shadowy blade and strength beyond any she had witnessed prior. Her comrades were dead and in less than a minute, she would follow. She knew this, but the sting of the Cinder Keeper’s touch on her back wasn’t dull in the slightest.

She clashed with the giant nearly being slammed to her knees as the knight brought its blade against the haft of her ax despite her Heart Flame empowering her Ashborn physique. She twisted attempting to use her ax head to hook the dark blade, but an armored boot connected with her midsection. Pain exploded through her chest and fire raged around her as her Heart Flame flared shielding her from some of the damage. The next thing she knew, her back impacted the far wall. Her lungs were robbed of air and her spine creaked on impact. For a moment, she closed her eyes accepting her fate; however, the crackling embers of her consciousness summoned the memory of her grandfather’s death.

He died standing, half of his torso mauled by the drake that had nearly killed her and her mother. She still remembered the dead beast at his feet, a walking embodiment of fire and death laid low by his ax. The look in his eyes when he held out his ax to her, the same one she now held, and the feeling of expectation weighing down on her when she took the weapon and the fire left his eyes for good. The memory stoked the dying embers of her Heart Flame pushing her beyond the limitations of her battered form. She fell from the wall, but as her eyes opened, she didn’t go down.

She would’ve smiled from the brief sense of accomplishment, but a wave of shadow sliced toward her, set to take her head off. She dodged, or at least, she tried. Her legs gave out and pain shot down her spine to her ankles. Fate turned out to be on her side though because her fall inadvertently brought her out of the attack’s path. Dust and bits of stone rained down on her stinging as they settled in her wounds. Again, she considered just letting herself die in the face of this dark and miserable tribulation. Her Heart Flame flickered and her breathing slowed.

Get up, Es! GET UP! She screamed at herself pushing everything she had into her dwindling flames. In the void of hope, she found solace in conviction, the mantra of her people. I breathe, I burn, I live in flame.

She pushed her body beyond its limits to stand once more as her Heart Flame burned away her dwindling Ethos. Once it hit zero, all of her wounds would catch up with her and she wasn’t sure if she’d survive. Still, as an heir of the Ashborn’s legacy, she wouldn’t give up until her Heart Flame was forcibly extinguished by her foe, anything less would disgrace her people and her oath.

Suddenly, she saw a light in the darkness. Her eyes snapped to the source and there, a man stood. He looked like a beggar that she saw so often in the Warrens. He wore a dust-covered black robe that seemed too small for his form ending slightly above his knees. His feet were bare and like the rest of him, covered in bits of viscera and what looked to be the dried blood of this Remnant’s creatures. In one hand, he held a sword that looked identical to the Shadowtitan Knight’s only slightly smaller. For a moment, Esthara lamented, believing that this was some fool from the Warrens who had somehow gotten a pass into Tartarus like her group and had stumbled upon his death.

This assumption evaporated when she caught sight of his eyes as they scanned the battlefield and corpses of her companions. Those eyes, golden and alien, settled on her for a long second before moving back to the Shadowtitan Knight. They were eyes that she had seen many times in the past. They were the eyes of dangerous men, of killers stained by trauma and apathy, of soldiers driven by purpose and resolve. Her grandfather had the same eyes.

Then, it happened. Sar’zek, who was somehow still alive despite his horrid injury, grabbed onto the Shadowtitan Knight’s ankle. He released a loud gurgle that to others might have sounded unimpressive, but Esthara recognized the telltale start of his battle cry which failed as the blood clogged his throat. Her dying leader futilely bit at the black armor to inject the venom within his fangs, only managing to scrape the metal. His desperate fight ended with a swift plunge of the knight’s blade.

Her heart twisted into knots at the sight. Sar’zek wasn’t what she would describe as a proud warrior. However, he was reliable and steadfast in his actions, if sometimes a bit too cautious. To see him die fighting even with his body cut nearly in two stirred admiration for him and outrage at the enemy who took his life. It wasn’t just her either. The stranger reacted as well, rushing the Shadowtitan Knight with his glowing blade held at the ready.

They clashed with each other, yet something inexplicable unfolded before her eyes. In the initial exchange, the dark knight outshined the newcomer in every facet: its sword swing was more sure, it was faster, it was stronger, and it utilized a form of attack that it hadn’t displayed against her and her team. However, when it looked like the blue-skinned man would fall as quickly as he came. He moved.

He didn’t become faster nor did her gain any physical strength as far as she could tell. Still, he dodged the knight’s blow and struck a more decisive blow than her or her comrades had managed. His sword burned with blue energy which seemed to resonate with her Heart Flame and it cut through the knight’s defenses like they were nothing. After being launched by a sudden kick, Esthara feared for the man’s health, but he recovered telling her that his designation, whatever it was, must grant Vitality as one of its Core Attributes. It could’ve been Might, but his sword swings didn’t strike her as particularly powerful.

When his sword wave nearly overtook the knight’s energy projectile in their clash, her hope surged, only growing stronger when he, somehow, turned several crescents of the energy into a miniature sun.

Despite her years of training and study of great warriors, she struggled to comprehend what happened next. No matter how much power or speed or cunning the Shadowtitan Knight displayed, the newcomer evaded mortal injury and struck back a crippling blow. He always seemed to be a step ahead of the massive foe although she could tell the battle couldn’t go on forever. Although he was dealing far more damage than he was receiving, he was still taking damage, and sooner or later, his Ethos would fail from the dozens of cuts and scrapes obtained in their deadly dance. Meanwhile, the Shadowtitan Knight kept recovering as though it drew from an ever-flowing well of vitality.

Her Heart Flame stabilized as she watched thanks to the blue orb of light banishing some of the oppressive darkness weighing on the ancestral fire of her tribe. As the battle unfolded, she rallied stilling the shaking in her arms and legs while willing her Heart Flame to empower her exhausted muscles.

I have to do something, she shouted to herself. Her pride as a warrior refused to allow the situation to play out as it was. Even if the man won, she wouldn’t be able to bear the shame if she just watched and waited for her salvation. She would snatch it from the jaws of fate. Her knuckles paled when the grip on her ax tightened even further. The fire on the blade blazed with new life and she took a step forward.

Although her resolve was tempered, she understood that getting involved in the battle directly might spell the man’s, and subsequently her, doom. She could barely follow the Shadowtitan’s movements even with the light illuminating the action and the blue-skinned man’s raw skill far outstripped her own. She’d be just as likely to get in the way as she would be to help, so she decided to offer a distraction.

Her legs tensed before she charged away from the fight… toward the supposed king on his decrepit throne. The ashen figure watched her approach, soon filling the room with its ancient voice.

“So, the savage beast thinks it can bear its fangs at a king? Even fallen, I am far beyond your reach, pathetic creature.”

Her blazing ax swung forward smashing into a translucent barrier only a hand’s breadth from its head. Her back and arms strained as she pressed the edge of her ax downward. The withered figure laughed at her struggle. The ax rose, slamming down again with a burst of fiery energy. She struck a third time; a fourth, a fifth, and a sixth. Her muscles screamed from the strain, barely being held together by the small vestiges of her Ethos.

Among her party, she had been the only one with an advanced designation. With the Core Attributes of Might, Vitality, and Willpower, she specialized in dishing out and taking punishment. There was more to it than that though. Her people, the Ashborn of Mount Torgu’rava, utilized a special fire within their bodies that was passed down from the Bearer of the First Flame. In Fracture, this ability was referred to as a Legacy, something inherited or gifted from a mighty source. Her designation incorporated her Legacy as a central part of her strength and sometimes, as a result, strange things happened.

I! WILL! NOT! FALL! Each word rocked through her mind and body like a hammer on hot iron shaping her fighting spirit into the tool necessary for the task at hand. She wouldn’t fail. She couldn’t. Her Heart Flame came to life in response to her will and her creeping fatigue retreated.

Unbeknownst to her, a tendril of blue energy reached out from the blue orb behind her. When it touched her, a message written in the sacred script of her people popped into her thoughts.

Instinct answered for her. A primal desire for victory and an inherent understanding that power laid within her grasp pushed her into accepting the notification. At first, nothing changed, then, as her ax ascended for the seventh strike, another two notifications appeared.

All at once, her Heart Flame erupted burning brighter than ever as the fire shifted colors from deep orange to azure. Her ax descended with all the might she could muster. As it collided with the barrier, the room shook.

***

Jack slipped past a thrust that almost impaled his face as the edge sliced a line across his cheek. He felt the insidious shadow energy wriggling at the site of the cut, but couldn’t deal with it at the moment. His blade shot forward with a thrust of his own leaving a trail of blue light in its wake. Unlike before when he first repaired the Shadowsteel Blade-Conduit, he handled the weapon with one hand easily despite its balance and length being ideal for two-handed use, at least for someone his size. However, his opponent once more displayed its tenacity by shifting its body to the side so that the blow merely bit into its side rather than spearing into its stomach.

One of the armored titan’s signature kicks snapped into Jack taking his legs from under him. He rolled as a foot attempted to stop on his head sending a clumsy sword wave of Logos at his foe’s injured ankle. The attack made the Shadowtitan Knight stumble as it tried to continue its assault by following him. Popping back up, Jack noticed the Logos-fueled light above their battle waning, so he sent a few more sword waves out, allowing his Logos Core to bolster the orb.

When the Shadowtitan Knight made it back to its feet, he was already moving. Two more crescent blasts of Logos slashed through the air toward it while Jack circled the titan and dashed forward on its flank. To deal with his approach, the knight tanked the second sword wave after batting away the first one. Their blades met in a clash before breaking apart, then clashing again as Jack barely managed to catch a counter launched with unexpected speed. Even using both hands to block the knight’s one-armed strike, he was being forced downward by the creature’s incredible strength. They traded blows several more times before he saw the fiery woman make her move.

Instead of joining the battle, she charged the back of the room bringing her flaming ax down on the decrepit figure on its throne. The fire fanned out in a small wave as an invisible force prevented the strike from connecting. For a moment, Jack was confused by her choice but didn’t have the time to dwell on it due to the deadly opponent before him. The sound of laughter and thwarted attacks echoed through the room for the next half-minute before Jack received an interesting notification.

Normally, he would’ve hesitated at the thought of creating some kind of enforced connection between himself and an individual he barely knew; however, under the influence of the Legacy of the Eternal Soldier, he accepted immediately. At that moment, it didn’t matter that she was a stranger. What mattered was that she was a fellow combatant on the field, another piece toward his desired goal— victory.

As soon as the Link took effect, a few more notifications appeared, but his attention honed in on the knight. A crash shook the room following an eruption of blue flame. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the obsidian=skinned woman wreathed in azure flame. Her battle cry rekindled fragmented memories of desperate struggles and lost causes. He didn’t let any of that distract him though.

Then, the moment that he had been waiting for came.

The knight’s focus slipped for a fraction of a second as the laughter from the sitting figure quieted following the sound of glass cracking.

In a fight, especially against an experienced opponent, a single distraction could result in defeat. Jack wasn’t stronger than the Shadowtitan Knight nor was he faster or higher level, but thanks to the effect of his legacy, his experience was the one metric in which he far outstripped his opponent.

The knight turned its head slightly while its blade shifted into a more neutral position in front of it. It looked as though it might move to assist its king when a glowing blue blade slipped into its guard. It kicked at Jack clumsily attempting to repel him. He expected this and jumped using his shoulder to force the sword arm higher while narrowly avoiding the impromptu low kick. The situation got worse for the knight when its injured ankle buckled while it was off-balance.

Jack stabbed his Logos-empowered sword into the Shadowtitan Knight’s neck while releasing all of the energy contained in the solarite channels. He landed on top of the massive creature using the momentum to wrench his blade sideways and roll out of a potential counterattack. However, no further attacks came.

He glared at his foe as it raised a hand toward the enthroned figure before collapsing into a pool of shadows that dissipated before his eyes. Instead of relaxing, his body moved independently of his will. Another explosion of azure flame swept across the back of the room as he charged forward. A few embers landed on his arms and face, but they didn’t burn him. His Shadowsteel Blade-Conduit lanced at the seated figure striking in tandem with Esthara’s third ax blow. He wasn’t sure how he crossed the room so fast; however, the world around him seemed to blur for a moment when his blade sank into the king’s chest.

A shriveled king’s eyes emitted a dull purple light that locked onto Jack. Slowly, it raised its head even as azure flames burned at its ashen body. Laughter echoed through the room once more.

“Hahaha! I see now! You are the reflection of a memory attempting to become a dream. Even now, you wear a mask. How ridiculous!” The flames took hold engulfing his entire body while Esthara’s stamina finally failed, extinguishing her flames and causing her to collapse, unconscious. Jack barely managed to catch her and stay upright with her impressive physique. He didn’t register her warm body against his though because his focus was transfixed by the burning king’s words. “You are no soldier… You are—”

The king’s words were drowned out by a bone-rattling crash. The entire structure shook and the sound of breaking stone. The serene focus wrapped around his mind frayed for the first time as uncertainty poked its familiar head out of the void of unknown possibility. Panic slowly mounted when a titanic crack reverberated throughout the ruin. Suddenly, a shower of dust and debris fell onto Jack and the unconscious Esthara. He looked up to a sight that doused his calm like a bucket of cold water poured over a dying fire.

He saw the sky. A black hand of astounding proportions held a massive chunk of the ruins in its hand. Massive golden eyes stared down at him, each unfathomable in their power and depth. Amidst the backdrop of orange sky, a black dot appeared and began rapidly expanding. Dust, stone, and ash swirled into the sky toward the dot. The burning king’s laughter carried on the wind as he turned to dust in a flash and was carried away.

Jack barely heard the clang of the metal gauntlet that landed at his feet. His eyes met those of the awe-inspiring creature. His breath came quickly and in shaky fits while his heart hammered in his chest. Several more notifications popped in and out of his mind. Finally, one settled blaring its message like a klaxon through his mind.

He didn’t comprehend the last few words of the message because an interrupt came once more. This time, its source echoed from deep within as well as without, a sound that sent chills through his entire body. One single chime pealed across time, space, and thought like the word of some absolute being, ordained to find him. That chime was followed by a whisper from the colossal creature with golden eyes.

“Jack, my brother, come home.”

Sudden pressure ached through his head making him feel like his head would burst. Thousands of memories surface; however, they were broken, thus unable to fully form. His overtaxed mind failed again and again to comprehend the fragments. He screamed in the vain hope that somehow the act would alleviate the pain.

Above, the colossus reached toward him. It said something else, but Jack didn’t hear it. He couldn’t hear anything. Around him, cracks began to form in the air. In the sky, the black dot had grown to the size of a full moon and was pulling the foundations of the world into its depths. One of the cracks in reality suddenly fractured further touching Jack, then everything went black.

***

The streets and skyways of Elysium hummed with power and promise as the most powerful and influential figures in the city went about the plots and trials. His keen eyes saw enough that subtle tremors ran through his arms and legs, none of which went unnoticed by the other occupant of the room.

“There is no need to be nervous, elf. No harm will come to you here,” said his captor. The man wore a red suit and tie with a black shirt and shoes. His gray hair was neatly combed back giving way to his striking face. Despite his handsome features, the real draw for any onlooker’s attention was his completely black eyes which were reminiscent of a bottomless well. No matter how much Alindal looked, he couldn’t see anything in those eyes; no joy, no anger, no hatred, no mercy, and certainly, no empathy.

His heart fluttered from the nerves gathering in his mind. He couldn’t understand why the Seamstress hated him so. Even cursed as he was, he believed that surely adherence to the teachings would save his light. Yet, here he was, trapped in a place so different from his home that he couldn’t comprehend it. As if that wasn’t bad enough, violence and disregard for life ran rampant in this place, Fracture as the denizens called it. He avoided breaking the precepts until now, but the man in front of him would put an end to that soon.

“But you intend for me to harm others,” he responded; his voice firm despite his nervousness.

“Certainly, I am told this will be a great struggle for you,” the black-eyed man said with a chuckle. “I am looking forward to seeing how you handle the challenger that I have arranged for you in the Fleshpits.”

“But why?!” Alindal yelled, losing his composure. The metal collar around his neck seemed tighter every second like a closing noose. “Why are you doing this to me? I had an agreement with my handler and I was to buy my freedom with my sigilcraft! Those were the terms!”

“Hoho, I’m afraid that I’ve decided to alter those terms. It would be criminal of me to let someone with your potential waste it on simple crafting projects,” he said with a grin. He then spread his arms wide and added, “Of course, if you are unsatisfied with this arrangement, you may attempt to take your freedom by force. You could even run! There are so many possibilities before you, elf. I merely offer the one that is best for your growth.”

Alindal gritted his teeth. He wanted to run. He wanted to do something, but he couldn’t. The man before him wasn’t just a slaver. He was Azatiel, the current leader of Fracture’s capital city, Asylum, and also the driving force behind almost all of the world’s criminal activity. Alindal had been in Fracture for less than three months, but even he had learned not to cross Azatiel. So, instead of rebelling in the face of absolute power, he lowered his head, unwilling to throw his life away in the act.

Azatiel lowered his arms with a look of slight disappointment. He walked over to Alindal and after patting him on the shoulder, stood at the wall-length window overlooking Elysium and the other districts of Asylum. He waved a hand at the elf dismissively.

“See my assistant on your way out,” Azatiel said. “She’ll give you the information about your appointment in the Fleshpit’s arena. Best of luck, Mr. Alindal.”

With that, Alindal walked out of the room, worry weighing on his heart.