The smell of smoke was on the wind. It was an old smell, the kind of smoke that seemed to linger forever on a land that had been through war.
Elias was at the top of the hill, moving with the wind. The mark under his skin was still throbbing. It had already been two days since the fire in the forest. He was back to his old self, but so were the whispers.
The beginning of the whispers was very vague. The sounds coming from behind his thoughts. A word before his own breath.
Now they were talking.
"You run from what you are".
He refused to acknowledge it.
From the hill you could see the remains of a village. The roofs had caved in a long time ago, the only things left were the ribs of the timber and the stone. Somewhere inside, a river was running black with soot. He went down the hill, the dust from his steps mixing with the stillness of the air.
The silence was eerie. The death of a village was never absolute. Even in the ruins, there were always birds, rats, or wind passing through broken doors. Here, nothing was moving.
The mark was burning again.
"They linger".
Elias came to a halt. "Who?"
"The ones your gods abandoned".
He pulled out his knife. Its edge gleamed in the weak light. "Show yourself."
The atmosphere got heavy. From the darkness of a collapsed barn-shroud, the faint figures - the people's outlines, transparent and dull - seemed to be emerging. Faceless. Eyes like hot coals.
Ghosts.
The only time he had seen them was on the night of the Citadel's fall. The Faith named them "the Unbound." The souls that were burnt by the fire of the God and could not go up.
They came closer to him. The sound of one voice formed by the many they spoke. Overlapping one another, they said,
"Marked one."
"Thief of flame."
"Bearer of ruin."
He elevated his blade. "Keep away."
The spirits stopped, their shapes changing like the smoke. One of them, a woman in a tattered habit, her voice to the point and her features faint but known, came out of the group.
"Elias of the Faith," she uttered. "Can you recall the kids you abandoned?"
His hand in the sword's grip was like a vice. "You're not real."
"Real enough to haunt you."
The mark shone brightly. Fire ran down the sword. The phantoms loosened their grip and stepped back.
The woman spoke even more clearly. "When you went against the flame, you killed them all. The temple met its end because of your disbelief."
He cut through her. The light ripped her vision into pieces. The others' screams followed as they scattered, dissolving into the mist of the air.
After silence had come back, Elias was on the floor, one hand on the ground and the other on his chest, breathing heavily. The fire calmed down, yet the whisper in his head intensified.
"They are not lies. You were the spark. The Citadel burned because you hesitated".
"Who speaks?" was his reply with a shout.
The response was like a breath right next to his ear. "You know me. You were my fire when they marked you. You asked for power. You got it."
He almost lost balance when he got up. "You are the demon they said I served," he said.
"Names are for priests. I am hunger given purpose".
The mark was throbbing, and he felt a sharp pain in his arm. The sword fell from his hand, and he grabbed his chest. The voice got even deeper. "Every fire longs to spread. You are no exception. If you deny it, you will die. If you accept it, you will be the ruler."
He was struggling against the words using his own will. "I will not be anyone's servant."
"Then burn alone".
The pain was gone. The voice was gone as well. There was only the wind.
Elias put his blade back in its place and walked away from the ruins without another glance.
South of the valley – Inquisition camp
It was a Sister Aveline writing by the flickering of the fire. Her journal was lying there with the open pages, and it seemed like the pages had been smudged with ash. What she wrote seemed to be not her own words, as if she was simply recopying somebody else's testimony.
"Third day of the hunt. The heretic's trail becomes increasingly elusive. Brother-Captain Daren is convinced that the mark allows him to go through the fire unharmed. I, however, think that he is dying by it."
She stopped writing. It was the gentle crackling of the wood in the fireplace. Across from her, Daren was methodically sharpening his sword but with very slow movement.
"When you write, you hesitate," he said, not looking up.
"I prefer to speak the truth rather than produce a lot of meaningless words," she answered.
"Truth," Daren echoed. "Truth is all there is after the lies have been burnt to ashes. You saw him using the fire. There can be no other truth besides that one."
"He looked scared," Aveline said. "If the mark is a curse, then surely he is not the one who controls it."
Daren raised his eyes. His gaze was intense, cold, and unwavering. "Do you think that pity makes him good?"
"What I think is that by understanding, it is still possible to save others."
"Being merciful is the very first step towards betraying."
Aveline put the journal away. "Then, you will be calling me a traitor very soon, won't you?"
Daren was mute. The sharpening of the blade was done with one more short stroke and then he stopped. He put his sword away.
"The Faith sent us a message," he was saying. "The Archons consider Elias's survival as a sign. They want him dead before the next moon. We are going to be leaving at dawn."
Daren left the room, entered the night, and followed a path not lit by fire or stars.
Aveline stayed there staring at the fire until it consumed itself. Her sleep was very light, and fiery images kept coming to her mind when she finally got to bed.
At dawn.
Elias traveled to the hills of Ardent Vale — lands that were once rich with crops but have since turned to barren soil. On the ridge, he discovered a tower that looked like it was abandoned for quite some time, its windows frosted over, and dust covered the floor inside, in fact, it was so thick that it muffled sound.
He created a small camp and kept his sword close to him.
The noise of the whispering spirits had almost died down, but the mark on his hand was still pulsating weakly. Out of the desperation of the cold, he took another look at it. The sides of the mark had extended. What he initially thought was a brand was now more like runes — archaic, purposeful, and looked pretty much like writing.
He put his finger on one. The sharpness of the pain was almost immediate.
Everything around him changed.
He was not in the tower but in an endless space, where the ground was made of black glass and the sky was red. The fire was moving under the glass.
Steps came the far end of the place — slow, soft, and deliberate.
From the fog, a silhouette appeared. It was tall. It had wings. Its eyes were of gold and they were shining.
An angel.
However, it was not an image he was familiar with. The wings looked like they had been burnt; feathers that resembled ashes were falling off. The cracks in the armor looked like the ones found on a piece of lava that had cooled down.
The entity talked with a voice that was a mixture of jarring and beautiful tones. "You come where the past of the Flame lies."
Elias was about to draw his sword, but it was already gone. "Where is this place?"
"The angel said it is the echo of the mark. Rites were you not meant to survive."
"Then why did I?"
"Because the flame chose to be curious rather than obey."
The angel moved trailing his foot. His face was perfect and broken at the same time, heavenly and dying. "You are both the prison and the vessel. The one inside you that was in fact, part of us."
"The demon,"
"There are no demons," the angel said in a whisper. "Only sparks of fire that will not submit."
Elias looked into the angel's eyes. "Then what does it want?"
"Coming back. Eating its maker. Ending the cycle."
He looked unpleasantly confused. "What about you?"
"I was appointed to see over the one with the mark. I was to finish him if the fire were to come."
The angel stretched out his hand. The atmosphere became pearly and a blade of white fire appeared.
Elias got ready for the impact. "Well, you better do it then."
The blade hit the ground — and the earth tore apart.
He woke in the tower, breath ragged. The mark glowed faintly red through his skin. A scar now crossed his cheek — burned into him during the vision.
He looked at his hand. The skin smoked faintly where he had touched the rune. "So it begins," he murmured.
Outside, thunder rolled.
Later that day
The Inquisition came down into the lower vale. Aveline was leading the way along with Daren. Their horses were going through the remains of the burnt land. The footprints of a solitary traveler were visible in the dirt.
"He goes through here," Daren pointed out. "We are not far."
Aveline stared the black mountain coming and spoke, "Do you ever think what happens if we catch him?"
"Then the world forgets him. As it should," he replied.
"And if the infection spreads to others?" she asked.
"Then we set fire to them too," he replied.
The iron in his voice cut her more than the cold wind.
When it was dark, they stayed at the ruins. Daren sent off two scouts. A message in their name was never received.
The third one came back yelling. His armor was on fire. The skin underneath it was melting. He dropped at Daren's side and died without uttering a word.
Aveline came down on her knees beside the dead body. The heat coming from the corpse was burning her hands. "He is near," she breathed out.
"Good," Daren said. "We put an end to it tonight."
Elias watched from the tower's roof.
He saw the torches of the Inquisition winding down the valley beneath him. He counted them — twelve riders, armored and armed.
The mark was beating to the same rhythm as each firelight that shone from below. He shut his eyes. "Not again," he uttered. "I won't be losing myself again."
"You already did", the voice said.
He rose, holding his sword tightly. "In that case, I shall lose even more."
The night wind was very strong and it sounded like it was howling. The mark set itself on fire.
They arrived around midnight. The first riders came into the tower's courtyard. Elias met them on his own. The fight was quick and brutal. Fire met steel.
Each blow sent sparks off the stones. Each scream fed the fire inside of him.
Daren broke through the smoke. His sword was dipped in holy oil and was shining. "Heretic!"
Elias looked back. They hit each other."
"You taught me faith!" Elias shouted.
"And you betrayed it!" Daren swung again, forcing him back. "You were the one to be picked to serve, not question!"
"I served. Until I saw what you served!"
They held each other's swords. The brand lit up, and the earth cracked between them. Fire shot up, scattering the two men.
Aveline was screaming from below, trying to get to them. The fire was stopping her.
Elias was the first to get up. His sword was red-hot. Daren got up as well, blood dripping from his mouth and his eyes looking mad.
"Then die as you lived — in heresy."
He attacked. Elias avoided the blow and stabbed Daren in the chest. The fire that was on him took him before he could hit the ground.
The brand faded. Everything became quiet.
Aveline was also coming up the stairs but too late. The only thing she saw was the ash of who her commander had been and Elias standing over it, his face unreadable.
"Leave," he ordered.
Her hand holding the weapon was shaking as she lifted it. "The Faith will—"
He looked at her. "Your Faith died with him."
She wavered. Her sword went down. "Then what are you now?"
Elias was already walking away. "The question your gods fear."
He vanished into the storm.