The golden light of the Summer morning peeked through the slats and planes of the diamond-paned windows of Maester Harron’s boarded up shack. It had been well over fifty years since his passing, although transcension would probably be more accurate. Harron—or what was left of him relatively—was curled up in the middle of the floor, surrounded by the dust and familiar scent of his journals. He arched his back and stretched his arms forward, much had changed since then, much. For starters, the dire wolf that Harron had once cared for turned out to be more figment than physical. A prophecy of what was to come, or, instead, what had happened. Harron padded over to the looked down in the steel bucket of water, the wise yellow-green eyes and cunning smile of the great wolf stared back at him.

“He doesn’t know me,” The Syl woman said sullenly. She slumped down on top of her bedroll, futilely trying to wipe the tears from her eyes. After she had parted ways from Vas, she immediately returned to her camp in the nearby woods. She hated crying, and she hated how it always made her feel. It was a sign of weakness, and weakness is not something she could or wanted to live with. It was vital to her mission that she remain strong and confident in the face of adversity. Her goal was not an easy one. Additionally, it always messed up the linework she did around her eyes. She wiped her ink-covered hands on her blankets, leaving black streaks across them as well as her cheeks.

“Lady Tsyra, I’ve told you before that he’s not ready. He has no idea who you are or who HE is, for that matter,” Master Harron said calmly as he padded over to her, resting his massive head on her lap. “You’ve been watching over him for years and have waited for him to be returned to the Garden for far longer. I understand your earnestness, but The World Grove must take its due time to grow and heal. You can’t force change, and you can’t force memory,” he paused and directed his attention to a box of polished Darkwood. “Well, almost…”

Tsyra stroked his head, leaving behind ink-stains. She let out a soft laugh as it created blurry splotches on Harron’s grey and brown fur. “I know, or rather I understand. As foolish as it sounds, I had always hoped that when we met again, Aiysara and I would still be able to recognize one another, and we could just go back to how things used to be. I didn’t expect him to return as a, well, as a human,” Tsyra absentmindedly drew circles around Harron’s ears as they twitched in response to her touch. His fur was soft, despite the burs and twigs clumped in his coat. The two had been traveling together for almost twenty years now in search of him.

“And I am confident The Watcher, feels the same about becoming a gardener and then a flea-bitten mongrel,” Harron grumbled, scratching at his ear. “And yet, here we are. I do miss my books, however,” He sighed longingly as he got off her lap and stretched. “I suppose it’s not all terrible, though. I only hope the Grove can maintain itself. Hundreds of my best years, wasted! I have never felt more useless and depreciated in all of my days.”

Tsyra smiled kindly at him. “I wouldn’t say wasted. At least you found purpose in your lifetimes since The Breaking, and in this one, you tended the World Grove and brought me to Vas. I spent lifetimes without Aiysara, waiting for the day he would return and reclaim the world for the Fae, among other things,” She whispered. A slight mischievous grin sliding across her lips

Harron laid his head on his massive paws, “Ever the impertinent ones. You, Fjor’an Syl, never cease to amaze.” He yawned, letting his tongue loll out of his mouth. “So, My Queen, what do you propose?”

“Don’t call me that,” She spat. “I, for one, do not look forward to the return home. A throne always felt more like a prison to me than an actual prison. As for what I intend, the Harvest Dance is in several days, and I fully plan on talking with him then. Hopefully, I can stir up some sort of memory of Aiysara.”

“And if you can’t or if he leaves beforehand?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t made it that far.” She replied. “I only hope that nothing changes or causes any issues for him,” She sighed heavily. The weight of memory, her mission, Vas’ destiny, and recollection bearing down heavily on her shoulders. It was crushing. She looked up to the Highland in hopes an answer would be etched in the stars. They were starting to burn fiercely in the night sky. “I suppose I have to return to the house now.” She rose and dusted off her skirt, vest, and blouse.

“Lady Tsyra, why do you work there? Not only are you royalty, but you always seem so miserable after the fact.” Master Harron asked.

“It’s because of him. I promised I would always watch over Aiysara, or I guess he is called Vasilios now, and that’s where he is. There’s not much work out there for a Lower Syl woman, and it’s the best I can do at the moment, at least until he comes back to me, to us,” She stared off in the direction of her home in The River Woods, a melancholy smile gracing her lips. “We need him, the Fae, the Divine, me,” she whispered, clutching the necklace to her chest. On it was a golden ring and a feather. She played with the ring subconsciously. The smooth golden surface was tarnished from years of handling. She ran her finger over it, feeling the script that was etched into it. ‘Ty al vas As’an Diel.’ For all the years she had had it in her possession, Tsyra had memorized the words written on it. ‘You will always have my heart.’ The last gift from Aiysara to Kaami, before his death at the hands of The Serpent.

“I have to make sure I am there for him every step of the way, even if he doesn’t know or remember me. He made me, he made Kaami, promise that when the world was broken, and I have no intention of breaking that promise. Not now, not ever. I’ll see you tomorrow Harron,” She patted his head and scratched under his chin and departed.

“Be safe, Lady Tsyra, and please, Gani, is fine. I’ve given up the name Harron. If you can accept your path, then so can I.” He laid his head back down, resting his gaze on the black box. She smiled at him and began her walk back to the Red House, hoping she wouldn’t have to be there much longer now that Vas had finally arrived in Elmora.

A warm gust of wind blew past Vas, winding and constricting around his body like a great serpent. “Follow,” It hissed in his ear. Vas felt something slithering and curling around his neck and torso. As the voice urged him onwards, he felt the hair on his arms and back of his neck twitch and stand on end, as if he were lost in the freezing, snow-covered wastes of North Umber without a cloak or a flame. He knew this place, and he feared it. Vas never wanted to return here. It was the same empty void he had traversed, had been burned alive in before leaving the Capital all those weeks ago. A seething burning hatred filled his corporeal form. ‘Not again, never again.’ He was afraid. He didn’t want to go through it again. The fires, the feeling of his flesh melting. He started heaving as if the memory alone were enough to insight repetition.

He collapsed to his knees with all the weight of inescapable doom, as the memories burned in him vividly. ‘How was this possible? It was just a dream, right?’ His arms and body looked normal, but he still felt the searing heat of the embers engulfing him. The shirt he wore was still new, unmarred by flames. It was made of coarse, white linen, a prisoner’s smock. Even including the frayed, hemp rope used to hold his pants up. Stand up. Rise. Follow. Vas continued down the path the black wind urged him towards. He felt as if he had been walking for years without rest. He was exhausted, he felt his legs would give way in an instant, sending him into the black pit below.

The shapes and clouds around him shifted and morphed, blurring everything together. Vas stood in a grove that was mostly obscured in shadow, surrounded by a dense forest. The trees were covered in shadow, arching upwards towards the heavens, or Hell, again he wasn’t sure where he stood. The tops were jagged against the blackness overhead, cutting into it like serrated blades. Vas looked up from inside the maw of a great beast. The teeth, leaving barely enough space for the moon to shine through the darkness that flooded the area. The moon was partially veiled by a thin blanket of gray clouds, ghostly in appearance. As he stepped forward, his toe hit something round and hard, yet the only pain he felt was the burning. Tears welled up, resting on the edges of his eyes, frozen in a perpetual state. The pain wouldn’t subside. It wouldn’t end. ‘Please, I don’t want to die!’ he begged. He heard the crunching of the object as it rolled across the dirt and pebbles. It sounded almost metallic. Vas watched the object disappear into the void. Debris and decay of fallen trees littered the area, the land was decimated and gutted. Gashes and burn marks painted the canvas of what was once a beautiful forest floor, a battle had been fought and lost here. The smell of decay and blood filtered through his nose, he keeled over emptying the contents of his stomach in what he hoped was a nearby bush. When he got back up, his eyes were drawn to the only other source of light in this tomb. He didn’t recall there being anything there earlier.

In the middle of the Grove was an overhanging ledge, center stage. Resting at its peak was a small cottage with a thatched roof. Its image tickled Vas’ memory. On it stood two specters in the form of tall, slim people, but he didn’t recognize them despite their familiarity tugging in the back of his head, calling to him. One looked mal-nourished as he struggled to stand, making the other look bigger and more muscular, by comparison. As he walked towards the ghastly forms, he could begin to make out details. They were both people, or rather, had been people at least at one point in time. They were both thin and wiry; however, the one on the left at least looked vastly older than his counterpart. There was a bright green flash as the younger one struck at the other. He collapsed to his knees. He was wounded, a silver liquid poured from the specter’s chest. Another flash, this one was red. The younger one struck again, an overhead swing as if he was holding something with significant weight and heft. A maul? It came down again. An ax? And again. What was it? The one kneeling on the ground fell prone, struggling to get back up.

“Stand,” Vas heard himself say, but his voice was alien to him. It was more profound, more commanding. It wasn’t his. “I said, stand!” he boomed, his voice shattering the emptiness of the night. Another flash of red, Vas was standing opposite the man on the ground, peering down at him. He couldn’t explain the hate and sickness he felt for this person. Who was this decrepit figure sprawled out before him? There was some masculinity to his face, despite the length of hair. His body was thin and curved outwards at the hips. Despite everything, though, the person was mostly androgynous. An Ancient, the word echoed in Vas’s mind. That’s what you are, but the stories say they were ageless. Vas was confused, but before he could investigate his other consciousness arose.

“Aiysara,” he spoke. “I have been looking for you for years, and at last I have found you! And in the World Grove of all places! How fitting…” Vas picked up the man’s head and helped him to his knees. “Oh, how I have missed you dearly, my old friend,” Vas smiled, although he felt no joy emanating from this shell.

“And so here I am, you malicious serpent,” Aiysara said, struggling to return to his knees. They glared at Vas. The Ancient’s hatred, pain, and spite burned through Vas’s entire soul and being. “Now, what do you intend of me? To murder me like the rest of the sages?” Vas’ body lifted its booted leg and sent his friend spiraling onto the ground below.

“I was your friend. Your brother! Where were you when I needed you?!” Vas felt tears again, but these weren’t his this time, and they held more than just pain. They held rage, betrayal, love, and sorrow. “Trapped in the hollows of that bastard’s mind for hundreds of years! Only able to watch as he lived MY life! Kissed and buried, MY wife! Hugged and buried, MY children!” He kicked the wounded man, knocking him down again. “You said you would always be there for me! That we were family! You said you would always be there to help me when I needed it!” He swung the maul down on Aiysara’s shoulders, tears streaming down his dirt-ridden and blood-stained face. “And yet you did nothing! You did NOTHING as they sealed me away. You watched them do it, and when they were done, you ran and hid!” Vas cried. His prison’s pain was immense, dwarfing that of the flames that had previously wrapped Vas in a cocoon of agony.

“You’re right, and I’m sorry. I should have been there for you, and I wasn’t, but murdering the other five? Imprisoning their souls? What they did to you was undoubtedly wrong. I tried stopping them, but they were scared. Just like you are now. You didn’t have to follow their path. You are better than this, Malyfus!” Aiysara pleaded. A silvery-blue trickle of blood dripped from his mouth onto the ground in front of him. It looked like liquid glass.

Vas waltzed over to his friend and grabbed a fistful of his hair and whispered, “I wish I was.” He let go of Aiysara’s mane and threw his head on the ground. With all the calmness of taking a breath, Vas lifted the maul again and swung with all the force he could muster. The executioner’s tool felt light in his hands as he brought it down. There was a loud crack as it made contact with Aiysara’s head. His body went limp as it crashed onto the carpet of the World Grove. Up and down. Again and again, Vas tried fighting it, he tried breaking out of his bodily prison but to no avail. He was stuck. Vas lifted up the maul again and slammed it down, chunks of Aiysara’s flesh shot from his head like a Scattershroom as another loud crack echoed in the area when it connected. The ground shook beneath his feet, fracturing the spot Aiysara’s head had been.

’ No, please, please! I don’t want to do this! Let me go! Please let me wake up!’ Vas begged as he lifted the maul up again. A stream of the silvery-blue liquid trickled down the hammer, coursing its way through the obsidian canyons of studs and spikes. With one final blow, the man’s body violently jerked and then went limp.

“We’re done here,” Malyfus said. His voice void of all empathy and emotion. A cold, vast, empty hollow. “Rest now, my friend,” and Malyfus and his army faded from view into the surrounding darkness.

Vas was finally free, back in his own body, and he was alone with the corpse. Chunks of flesh, bone, and brain-matter littered the area around him. The pulpy mess pulsed as if the heart was still beating, and the mind was still capable of thought. Vas sat there, paralyzed from fear and sickness. Around the body, a pool was forming from Aiysara’s silvery-blue blood, staining Vas’s clothing and skin, he was wearing his regular clothes again. ‘Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.’ Vas said as he fumbled his way through his pockets, looking for the piece of malachite.

‘Inhale. Exhale. Inhale.’ Vas clasped his head in a fit. Trying to block the mess from his mind. Trying to forget what he had done. He rubbed his eyes hard enough to see stars dancing around him. ‘Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.’ Tears finally poured from his eyes. He slapped his face, pinched his arm. Anything to cause him to wake up. He had his sword, he picked it up in an attempt to run it through his stomach. It fell apart in his hands like sand. “Wake up. Wake up. WAKE UP!” He screamed. He laid on the forest floor weeping. “Please let me wake up. It’s just a dream. It’s just a dream.”

Through his tears, a glimmer in the body’s hand caught Vas’ attention. Hoping that would be his way out, Vas cautiously got on all fours and crawled over to the object and picked it up. It looked like a crystal seed. The shape, the feel. It was smooth for the most part. He felt the tiny ridges and cuts in its shell. It began burning his hand, causing him to drop it on to the body.

A flash of blue light. The clouds swirled violently again, forming the silhouette of a man with arms outstretched, framed by the moon. Blue and white flames shot from Aiysara’s body, wrapping around Vas’s boots. The thin, spindly flames rose slowly, twisting and turning, and then began encompassing his legs like Stranglevines and taking root into the ground around him. The fire grew hotter as it climbed higher, squeezing tighter. As the flames rose, they enveloped his torso, coiling like a serpent of flame starved for its meal. A sapling began to grow atop Aiysara. Like Vas, the body became encompassed in the fire. Vas screamed in agony. Throwing his head back and turning his eyes to the light of the harrowing moon, in hopes, the heavens would save him. The silhouette in the moon started shifting and dividing the golden sphere, becoming eyes, narrow and wise, focused only on him. There was no sign of sorrow and remorse as the eyes observed.

“Everything is in motion. Flame breeds growth and from ash grows life,” a shapeless voice boomed. The clouds vibrated and shook violently, bringing Vas to his knees, feeling every bone in his body shatter. Around him, the trees had caught fire as well, instead of burning to ash though they evolved. They grew new limbs and leaves, growing taller and broader, swallowing the moonlight, absorbing the Ancient’s blood. Within moments they began to glow the same ethereal light Vas had seen from the trees in the Plane of Transference. Reka’karn Sylvara, The World Grove.

The heavens echoed with the voice as the flames leaped higher and danced on Vas’s broken body. His armor, enflamed as he tried patting it out. The fire only grew hotter, as if it was feeding off the very energy Vas was using to extinguish them. ‘Not again, please, not again!’ He cried to the silent heavens.

Around him, the shapes of the stones and logs became people, corpses all wearing the armor of the Imperial Legion. He recognized their faces, Joris, Dallion, Karson, as well as the other Spectres. In the middle of it laid the body of Lance Belmont. His friends were all dead, and he would be joining them. Vas watched in horror as his flesh melted away as the flames kept burning hotter and brighter. His desperate, pleading gaze returned to the moon, expecting a devil to be grinning wickedly and laughing back at him as it tortured its new toy. There was nothing there but a single star. He screamed out to The Watcher for help as his body withered under the ghostly blue flames. Vas screamed louder and louder as he felt his lungs bursting, silence still. The fire crawled higher and higher, covering his face as it crumbled to ash. Vas continued to scream out from the pain and the sensation of the burning. The flames crawled their serpentine way down his throat, searing his insides and smothering his screaming, altogether.

“From ash, you were made, and from ash, you will be reborn.”