he streets of Greyhill were quiet.
Too quiet.
Ashen and Ravel moved quickly, slipping through the alleys behind the tavern. The girl's warning echoed in Ashen's mind—The Ashen Prince is here. And if what Ravel had said about the Flamebound Knights was true, then the Prince was no ordinary enemy.
"He's not someone we can fight head-on," Ravel muttered as they ducked behind an old barrel. "If we're lucky, he hasn't sensed you yet."
Ashen's flame stirred inside his chest, but it wasn't reacting violently.
Not yet.
"What do you know about him?" Ashen asked.
Ravel looked at him grimly. "The Ashen Prince was once a nobleman. One of the first humans to survive binding with a divine fire. But his soul broke under the pressure. Now, he's nothing more than a weapon wearing a man's skin."
Ashen clenched his fists. "And he's hunting me?"
"He's hunting anything that could challenge the Ashen Crown," Ravel said. "But yes… he's here for you."
They turned a corner—only to stop dead.
A man stood at the end of the alley, his back to them.
He wore a long cloak made of smoke and embers, and his hair was ash white. His body radiated heat like a furnace. Around him, the walls cracked and blackened just from his presence.
The Ashen Prince had found them.
---
For a long second, no one moved.
Then the Prince slowly turned his head. His eyes were molten gold—glowing, hollow, and full of power.
"I smell it," he said softly. His voice was calm, almost gentle. "The Forgotten Flame… How long it has been."
Ravel stepped in front of Ashen. "He's not ready to face you."
The Prince tilted his head. "Then he dies unworthy."
He raised a hand, and a wave of fire burst toward them—blinding, overwhelming, fast.
But Ashen's instincts kicked in.
The fire within him surged forward, not to attack—but to protect.
A barrier of golden flame formed in front of him and Ravel, absorbing the blast. It didn't block the heat entirely, but it kept them alive.
Ashen dropped to one knee, breathing hard. "He's… too strong…"
"Then we don't fight," Ravel growled. "We run."
He grabbed Ashen's arm, and they bolted down the side alley as the wall behind them exploded in flame.
The Ashen Prince followed without hurry—walking, not running—his power warping the air around him.
---
They dashed through Greyhill, weaving through panicked townspeople and crashing through market stalls. The Prince never chased in a rush. He didn't need to.
The flame was his leash. And Ashen was already burning.
They finally reached the edge of town, where the stone walls gave way to the highlands beyond.
"We have to climb," Ravel said.
Ashen nodded and followed him up the rocky slope. Behind them, fire spread across Greyhill, slow and hungry.
But then, just before they reached the ridge, the air shimmered—and the Prince appeared before them again.
"I tire of this game," he said. "Submit, and I may let you burn with dignity."
Ashen raised his hands, flame building again.
But this time, it wasn't wild. It was focused.
He struck with a blast of golden fire, aimed at the Prince's face.
The Prince blocked it with ease—but it bought them a second.
Just one.
Ravel threw a flash crystal at the ground—blinding light erupted—and they dove behind the ridge and into a narrow cave entrance below.
The Prince didn't follow.
Not yet.
---
The cave was damp and cold. A sharp contrast from the fire above.
They dropped to the ground, breathing hard.
"That was too close," Ravel said, wiping sweat from his brow. "He's faster than before. Stronger."
Ashen leaned back against the stone wall. "I couldn't stop him. Not even slow him down."
"You're not supposed to—not yet," Ravel replied. "But you hurt him. You resisted. That means more than you know."
Ashen looked down at his hands, still glowing faintly with golden light.
"If he's this strong… how do we even stand a chance?"
Ravel pulled out an old, torn map. "There's one place left that might give us the edge we need. An ancient ruin, hidden beneath the Ashfall Mountains."
Ashen narrowed his eyes. "What's there?"
Ravel looked at him.
"Answers."