After the flames died and the smoke drifted away, the group returned to the Market of Fractured Light. It was still damaged, but quieter now — as if the fire in the Old District had drained all the energy from the city.
Soryn ordered the enforcers to start rescue operations. Kethra returned to her smithing stall to repair burnt tools. Sable paced in circles like a hunted animal.
But Lyria, Garron, Maera, Halik, and Riko gathered near the fountain, talking in low voices.
Trying to Understand the Enemy
Garron leaned against the cracked stone, rubbing his metal arm. "So… this Ashborn Sovereign. Anyone heard the name before?"
"No," Lyria said. "But power like that doesn't come out of nowhere."
Maera flicked her tail. "What if he's not from Vaeroth? Or even this region?"
"Or this world," Halik said quietly.
Everyone turned to him.
Halik shrugged. "The way she moved… the way she shaped fire… it didn't feel like magic or elemental power. It felt like something older."
Riko hugged his toy dragon. "Do you think he's coming here?"
"Not yet," Lyria said. "But the Cinder-Eyed woman said he's waking."
"Waking from what?" Maera asked.
Garron frowned. "Sleep? Prison? Death?"
Soryn approached them, her face grave. "Whatever he's waking from, we need answers before he finishes waking up."
A Strange Visitor
A small shadow darted across the ground.
Then a voice whispered from behind them, soft but clear:
"I may have those answers."
Everyone turned.
A young man stood in front of them — thin, pale, wearing a simple traveler's cloak. His eyes were bright silver, glowing faintly like moonlit water. He looked nervous, almost fragile.
Maera stepped forward, knives ready. "Who are you?"
The young man held up both hands. "My name is Aeron. I mean no harm."
Soryn crossed her arms. "And why should we trust you?"
Aeron took a shaky breath.
"Because I brought this."
He pulled a small, sealed envelope from his cloak, its surface marked with the same ash-colored symbol that appeared on the cube and the Cinder-Eyed woman's robe.
Lyria's eyes narrowed. "Where did you get that?"
Aeron swallowed hard.
"It was left on my bed last night."
The Letter of Ash
Soryn carefully took the envelope and broke the seal. Inside was a single piece of parchment, covered not with ink, but with burnt markings — writing created by controlled fire.
Maera leaned over her shoulder. "Spooky."
Soryn read aloud:
"To those who interfere:
Let the embers warn you.
Let the ruins teach you.
The Sovereign rises.
You cannot stop a world born of ash."
A shiver ran down everyone's spine.
Garron let out a low whistle. "Someone really likes dramatic threats."
Lyria didn't smile. "This is more than drama."
Aeron pointed nervously to the letter. "I didn't want to come, but… when I woke up, the letter was burning without burning the bed."
Riko blinked. "How?"
Aeron murmured, "Because the flames didn't burn me."
The group stared.
Lyria stepped closer. "Aeron… why didn't they burn you?"
Aeron lowered his gaze, his voice trembling slightly.
"Because I think… I think I'm connected to all of this."
Halik leaned in. "Connected how?"
Aeron looked up, and for a moment, his silver eyes flickered with ash-colored light.
"Because," he whispered,
"the Sovereign isn't waking alone."
Everyone fell silent.
And in the quiet of Vaeroth, the air grew colder — like the world itself was listening.