Chapter 6: The City of Ash and Secrets
The sun hung low in the bruised sky as Dorian and Lyra approached the outskirts of Valmire. Once a city of grandeur and light, Valmire now sat like a corpse dressed in old finery—shrouded in grey fog, its buildings bowed beneath the weight of forgotten prayers. The air was sharp with the scent of soot, mildew, and wilted roses, as if the city itself were mourning something long lost.
No birds flew over the crumbling rooftops. No footsteps echoed in the streets paved with ash. It was said that Valmire never truly woke from its nightmares; it merely wore daylight like a mask, pretending to be alive.
Dorian's boots crunched against the gravel of a collapsed archway as they entered the dead city's heart. Beside him, Lyra tightened her grip on her cloak, her other hand resting over the soft curve of her belly.
"We shouldn't be here," she whispered, her voice barely rising above the wind. "The energy here… it's not just death. It's despair."
Dorian nodded slowly, eyes sweeping the derelict buildings, their windows like hollow eyes. "This is where Evelyn's blood was spilled. Where her soul was severed from peace. Whatever happened here—it left a scar on this place."
They passed a fallen statue of some forgotten saint, its face eroded, weeping streaks of moss. The deeper they walked into Valmire, the more the silence pressed in—thick and claustrophobic, like something watching them just beyond the veil of fog.
Lyra hesitated. "Do you still think she can be… saved?"
Dorian didn't speak for a moment. His jaw tightened, and when he finally replied, his voice was barely a whisper. "She's dead. I know that now. But her ghost… her soul… it hasn't moved on. It's chained here. Twisted by something ancient and cruel. And I can't leave her like that. Not after everything."
She looked at him carefully. "Even after what she did to you?"
His eyes flicked to hers, haunted but resolute. "It wasn't her. Not truly. The thing that attacked us—it was what the cult made of her. But I saw it… for just a moment. Her eyes. Not the hatred, not the rage—but the fear. The part of her that remembers who she was… who we were."
They had reached the heart of the city now. The cathedral loomed ahead like a wounded beast. Its once-grand towers jutted into the sky like broken ribs. The great wooden doors hung ajar, one scorched, the other covered in cryptic symbols long faded into decay. This had once been a place of faith, where children were baptized, vows spoken, songs sung. Now, it stood as a mausoleum to the city's sins.
Then, a flicker.
Dorian froze.
A figure stood near the ruined altar inside the cathedral. Tall. Cloaked. Motionless. Watching.
Before he could call out, the figure raised a hand—and a blade of black light ripped through the air, striking a stone column beside them. The ancient pillar cracked, stone crumbling.
"Down!" Dorian shouted, shoving Lyra aside just as another blast came hurtling toward them.
The cloaked man moved like smoke, gliding down the aisle with speed and purpose. Dorian barely managed to draw his dagger in time to block the first blow. Steel met shadowed steel. Sparks flew.
"You should have died with her!" the attacker snarled, voice raw and brittle. "You left her to rot!"
Dorian staggered back. "Who are you?!"
The figure lunged again, blade flashing. The strikes came fast, ruthless, fueled by fury sharpened over years of grief. Dorian parried desperately, his breath ragged.
Then, from behind, Lyra's voice cut through the chaos.
"Adrian…?"
The cloaked man hesitated, his blade pausing inches from Dorian's throat.
She stepped forward, eyes wide. "You're Adrian… Evelyn's childhood friend. The one who vanished after the fire. She spoke of you… once."
Slowly, the hood slipped back. A man stood beneath it—mid-thirties, face worn by sorrow and scarred by time. A deep gash ran along his jaw, and his eyes—once perhaps warm—now gleamed with bitterness and bone-deep ache.
"She was mine," Adrian said, voice cracking. "Before he ever touched her heart. She was mine. And I wasn't there to save her."
"She's not gone," Dorian said, lowering his blade but keeping it ready. "Not fully. She haunts us now… not out of vengeance. Out of pain. Out of fear."
"You think I don't know what she's become?" Adrian hissed. "I've seen the signs. I followed the deaths. The shadows. The frost. I saw the village she destroyed in her torment. You call that Evelyn?"
Dorian's gaze didn't waver. "I call it suffering."
"She begged us," Lyra said softly, stepping beside Dorian. "Right before she vanished, she begged us to help her. She cried. She remembered him. Remembered you."
Adrian faltered. His weapon dropped slightly.
"She cried?"
Dorian nodded. "The real Evelyn. The part of her that's still human."
The blade fell from Adrian's fingers, clattering to the stone floor. He sank to his knees, hands trembling.
"I searched for her… for years," he whispered. "I blamed you. I hunted the cult. Killed their scouts. But I never once stopped to wonder… if she still lingered. If she suffered."
Silence fell again—thick, mournful.
Lyra stepped closer. "Then help us now. The Zeolat cult—they did this to her. They used her death, her grief, her soul. They bound it to some ancient rite. She's trapped. Tormented. We need to find the one who performed the ritual. The one who still controls her."
Adrian looked up, a shadow of hope flickering in his eyes.
"There is a name," he said slowly. "A man who walked away from them. A defector. A heretic even to the cult. He knows their secrets… but he's dangerous."
"Who is he?" Dorian asked.
Adrian's expression darkened like thunderclouds forming behind his eyes.
"Malrick," he said. "Once their priest. Now something worse. He lives in the Dead Hollow. They say he speaks to ghosts. That his tongue can call storms and bend the dead to his will."
"Then he's our only hope," Dorian said.
Adrian met his eyes. "Hope and damnation often wear the same face."
The three of them stood in the cathedral's ruins—beneath a sky bleeding twilight and ash.
And somewhere, far beyond the veil, Evelyn watched.
Her soul wept.
And waited.