The valley faded behind them like a dream never meant to last.
Eren looked back only once.
The stones still glowed faintly, even in daylight. Not from magic. Not from ritual.
From memory.
And it was enough.
They headed east.
The scouts had reported strange activity near the ruined outposts of Valheren fires without smoke, trails that looped back upon themselves, and whispers in languages no one had spoken in generations.
It wasn't the Circle.
It wasn't the Covenant.
It was something older.
Syra rode ahead, eyes scanning the horizon. She hadn't spoken much since they left the Valley of Names. Her expression had tightened. Her instincts, sharper than any blade, told her the air was wrong.
"It's not just embers," she said one evening. "It's preparation."
Elira frowned.
"For what?"
"For someone who wants to strike without warning."
Eren stood nearby, watching the clouds roll unnaturally over the ridges.
"They don't want to challenge us."
"They want to erase us," he said.
By the fifth day of travel, they reached the outskirts of Valheren.
It had once been a city of towers, known for its songsmiths and mirror-makers. Now, only broken spires and half-sunken bridges remained. The wind carried the scent of metal and something sharper.
Ash.
But not fire ash.
Something deeper.
Varn stepped through the crumbled gate and knelt, brushing his fingers along the stone.
"These glyphs aren't of the Circle," he murmured. "They're not even of the Seers."
Eren crouched beside him.
The markings were spirals, yes but twisted. As if made by a hand that remembered the shape, but not the purpose.
Then came the sound.
Low.
Hollow.
A hum, echoing through the bones of the city.
Syra drew her blade.
"That's not wind."
Figures emerged from the mist.
Hooded. Armored not in steel, but in layered cloth stitched with old runes. Their hands glowed faintly, palms covered with ink rather than power.
They did not speak.
They simply stopped.
And knelt.
Elira stepped forward, hand on her staff.
"What is this?"
One figure raised their head.
Their voice was soft. Almost reverent.
"You are the one who remembered flame."
Eren stayed still.
"And you are?"
"We are the Ashbound. Born of what the world left behind."
Varn's voice tightened.
"I thought the Ashbound were a myth."
The kneeling figure smiled.
"We were. Until your flame gave us permission to be real again."
Syra muttered,
"I hate prophetic types."
Eren stepped forward.
"What do you want?"
The Ashbound rose slowly.
"We seek sanctuary. And warning. The eastern ridges burn. Not with fire but with something worse."
"What?"
"The Hollow Flame. The one that consumes without memory."
A chill spread through the group.
Eren's voice was quiet.
"I thought that name was buried."
The Ashbound speaker nodded.
"Buried. But not dead. It has found a body."
Syra lowered her blade slightly.
"Whose?"
The answer came like a whisper from the ruins.
"Yureth."
Elira's eyes widened.
"That's not possible."
Eren turned to her.
"Who is Yureth?"
Elira looked pale.
"She was a bearer. One of the first. She tried to split Akreth in two. She thought it would end the war. But the sword shattered her instead."
Syra added,
"They said she walked into the void. That her soul was lost."
The Ashbound replied,
"It was not lost. It was preserved. And now, it burns."
Eren's grip on Akreth tightened.
"What does she want?"
"To finish what she started."
The Ashbound gestured toward the eastern sky, where strange light flickered beyond the cliffs.
"To cleanse the world of all flame true or false."
Varn stepped forward, voice low.
"If she succeeds, not even memory will remain."
The camp was silent that night.
Even the fire seemed to burn more cautiously.
Eren stood at the edge of the cliff, Akreth drawn, its silver light steady.
Elira approached.
"You're thinking of going alone, aren't you?"
He didn't answer.
She stepped beside him.
"Don't."
He looked at her.
"I don't want to bring them into this."
"You already have," she said. "You led them here. And they chose to follow. Let them choose again."
He looked at the firelight behind them.
At the people who had carried their truths this far.
He sheathed the blade.
"Then we go east."