Fading Cinders
Adren felt vomit crawl up his throat as he stumbled out of the tree he had ripped open with the last bit of magic left after the fight. The swamp welcomed him with wet open arms and a stench he thought he would have already gotten used to by now. His vision blurred, the air stung his nose and lungs, and one of his hands slipped from the tree where he had grabbed for support. The skin on his palm tore on the rough bark and he barely found the strength in his battered body to keep from falling into the stinking water at his feet.
As the black wood stitched itself back together behind him, Adren’s eyes landed on the twisted nest of roots that covered most of his surroundings. Most of them were already rotting, falling apart into colorless lumps of sludge and moss. He had to press his bleeding hand to his mouth to keep the rot from overwhelming him before he continued to stagger his way forward.
The metal latch to the cave beneath the dying tree was easy to find for anyone who knew what to look for. Adren knew. He had spent the better part of a year in this area, back when the swamp’s rot had still been kept tame by knowing hands. Now it was just him. His connection to nature had long been lost. There was nothing left but rot.
Blood dripped after his footsteps, and Adren let flames lick around his fingers as he dug under his clothes to find skin. The heat made him shiver, pain piercing his body. He drew the flames over the wounds the fight had left on him, found the gravest of them and pressed down.
Skin sizzled and blistered as it melted back together and Adren gritted his teeth together to keep himself from screaming. He squeezed his eyes shut and reached for a few potions left in the hideout. They helped, not much, never enough, but they made the heat running through his veins feel less feverish. The dizziness remained, the nausea still biting at the back of his throat. All Adren could do was breathe through it.
The Angels worked faster than he had expected. He didn’t have the time to figure out how Yucca had managed to slither her way into their good graces, but he went after them as soon as he found out. He thought he had been quick enough, assumed the bodyguards they sent after them would be too slow at best or, too weak at worst, to be much of a hindrance.
Adren cursed and slammed the empty vial against a wall. Failure laughed in his face and all he could see was Garcius’ ugly, wide, blood-dripping grin. Garcius’ legacy lived on, it lived in every word his subjects, his clients, spoke, in every action they took, every single day, and Garcius lived on. They stood before him, a thousand grinning faces, among them Yucca with determination in her eyes, determination to survive, to protect.
Protect what?
She didn’t burn.
She was supposed to burn. How was she allowed to escape her end again and again, when she deserved nothing but death and ruin, when the people around her were dying like moths flying to the light, losing everything, dying, dying, dying.
Flames came out as desperate screeches rang through his head, there were children screaming and crying in agony as his flames burned through homes, trees. The devil’s legacy will destroy all of it, only his own fight is righteous, only his own fight will save them all. He will burn to make it right.
Suddenly he felt a horrible heat surge within and around him. Fire crawled up his arms and clawed at his face. The screams grew louder as his skin burst apart, his hair whirled and pulled by the burning air. His throat felt raw, his lips cracked and bloody. The blaze continued to grow and consume. It had taken so much already. He had taken too much.
No, no, no, he didn’t want this.
Petir had seen it. During their fight he had looked at Adren and he had pitied him. How could it have been pity? Why? Why did it all fall apart? Why?
No.
They are to blame.
Him. Garcius.
The devil.
Worldbreaker, fatestealer, demon.
He will burn, he must. They all must burn.
Adren raised his face from where he had curled up on the floor. The smell of blood surrounded him and there were flames. Small ones, but growing as if they had noticed Adren‘s attention.
“I know you,“ he whispered to no one. A shape formed and he thought he recognized faces. Petir stood before him. His eyes were downcast, so Adren avoided them. Instead he looked at his boots as Petir turned around. Always walking away, always following in the footsteps of another. Adren wondered if he ever thought he would be able to fill them, if anyone would ever be able to fill Petir’s.
Toad stood before him. He didn’t dare look into her eyes, but she still held out a hand. Her hands were always so soft. Asger stood before him as well, smoke rising and the whisper of an old promise. A warm meal, a place to rest.
How many more turns would he be allowed before their hearts had no more room for him, before they demanded an end? After his victory over Petir, that thought had invaded his nightmares more often than not. How much longer would he have until they met at the crossroads?
A warm hand settled on his head, and even though its smoke, only a memory, he couldn‘t bring himself to push it away. They must know he was justified, that if he didn’t do it, no one would. Would it be enough? And if it wasn‘t, could he harm them? Could he truly? Could it be.
This world deserves better. They deserve better. Hesitate and die. Adren would, wouldn’t he. If they decided his time had come, his transgressions too many, if they came for him, he would die.
Adren leaned his face against the hand of smoke. The touch was barely there, a tender breathy caress.
The cold satisfaction he had felt after Petir had long since burned to ashes. They would be able to finish it. Out of pity, out of a sense of duty perhaps. Maybe it wouldn’t be too late. Maybe their fight would be just, righteous, while he would lose.
A high-pitched giggle disturbed the growing silence around him. The stench of the swamp outside crawled its way into the small hidden cave and Adren’s senses sharpened. The flames receded and the shadows grew. You long for rest, said a voice, deep and gurgling. It wasn’t a question. You don’t deserve it.
Adren stared at nothing. The shadows moved around him, dancing and laughing, mocking him.
There’s still work to be done, the voice said. It sounded like himself, then like Garcius, then like shadows. There are still so many more names. So many more ashes.
The smoke had completely cleared, and while the flames still simmered, warmth had already left the room.
The next one was easy again. It took Adren a day to find her. He had checked the crowds for faces, but they hadn’t come.
Adren ambushed her in her office on a moonless night. It was easy. Again. She died without recognizing him, without understanding why she had to burn, and he didn’t say a word.
As he stood behind her charred body, slumped over a desk, his eyes wandered to a picture. It showed a group of people, smiling, their cheeks red with excitement. Among them was a girl, white haired, young, an elf.
He had seen her before, but what caught his attention was the banner they were standing in front of. His hand with the golden gauntlet clenched into a fist as he stared at the head of a lion.