Xereth screams as the Eternal Fire wraps around him.
Not in pain.
But in remembrance.
Because the Eternal Flame does not kill.
It forces truth.
The battlefield splits open.
Not by blade.
But by memory.
And I see them moments I never lived.
Futures that never happened.
Versions of myself rewritten by hands that were not mine.
Visions burn into the sky:
A throne room where I never returned.
A Sanctuary buried in silence.
A Cael… holding a blade that drips with my blood.
A hand.
Ashen's hand reaching for Aveline behind my back.
"No," I breathe.
"It wasn't just her."
Xereth collapses to one knee, consumed by my fire, truth spilling from his eyes like ink.
"You're not angry because I lied," he says, voice breaking like shattered glass.
"You're angry because I showed you what you refused to see."
Ashen.
My loyal sword. My shadow.
The only one who never knelt… because he said he was already mine.
But now I see it.
Not hatred.
Not love.
Obsession.
The kind that waits quietly for the god it worships to fall just low enough to be claimed.
"He knew," Xereth gasps.
"Ashen knew what I was. He helped Aveline awaken me."
I don't scream.
I don't weep.
I burn colder.
Because fire, real fire, doesn't rage.
It remembers.
And now I do.
"Thank you, Xereth," I say, stepping forward, hand raised.
"You were never my ending."
"You were my mirror."
And with one final breath, I do what no god has done in a thousand ages.
I unmake one of my own creations.
Not with hate.
But with choice.
Xereth fades.
Not in agony.
But in peace.
"You finally chose to live," he whispers.
But as the void collapses…
Ashen watches from the shadows.
Hand still on his blade.
Eyes not filled with guilt.
But with plans.