In the depths of the northern continent,
at the edge of the Korvel'tha Kingdom,
beneath the shadows of towering pine trees
a man walked.
His name was Vaelir.
A lone wanderer, his face marked with the traces of old gods.
He carried a broken sword upon his left shoulder.
A sword that had never been drawn in battle
it existed only to remember the names of the dead.
Vaelir was searching for meaning, for purpose.
In his eyes burned only the Grey Flame.
Not hope, not hatred only the ashes of memory.
That morning, Vaelir was woken by a dream.
A whisper had reached him:
"Go to the Valley of Limhar.
The tomb of a fallen god has been opened."
To someone who had lost their way,
these were among the heaviest words one could hear.
The Valley of Limhar was a place the living prayed to forget.
Once, a god had dwelled there.
But even his name had been cursed.
Only madmen dared whisper it: Zahrhael.
When Vaelir reached the valley's entrance,
the sky smelled of rotting flesh.
The trees had lost their shadows.
And the soil had dried, as though it had drunk the dark.
But they were there.
"The Walkers."
Those who returned when Zahrhael's tomb was opened.
They were not dead.
But they were not truly alive either.
Vaelir saw them yet did not reach for his sword.
For the Grey Flame does not burn the living...
it burns memory.
And these creatures were unremembered deaths.
Vaelir leaned against an old gravestone.
His breath was heavy, knees sinking into the earth.
The Grey Flame in his eyes had lost its fire
no longer fear, but quiet acceptance.
He was surrounded by the rotted dead,
seeped from the broken tomb of Zahrhael.
Each of them, once soldiers from different lands, different ages.
Now, they all shared the same decayed silence.
As their footsteps echoed,
they carried with them the names Vaelir had once lost.
Each step another memory haunting the air.
He took one final breath.
And raised his sword.
"At least I'll die with memories," he whispered.
The sword belonged to an ancient legend.
But time rots all things.
Even memories... can fade.
His first strike aimed for a creature's neck.
But steel met not flesh
only bone, long decayed by time.
And in that moment,
like a scream… the sword shattered.
Half remained in Vaelir's hand.
The other half sank into the muddy soil.
The world went still.
He closed his eyes.
Then
a tremendous sound tore the sky.
Something fell, ripping through the clouds,
a kaleidoscope of light crashing toward the earth.
But it did not fall
the world bent to her arrival.
She landed.
Clothing like it was spun from another realm.
A circular sigil, woven of magic, glowed upon her back,
its colors shifting in endless motion.
Her hair shimmered like stardust.
And her eyes…
Vaelir saw, for the first time eyes that held no fear.
As she touched the ground, she thrust her hand forward.
A wind erupted.
But it was not air
it was a blast of memory.
Each of the dead was thrown back into the moment of their own death.
Screaming, splintering, fading.
Not their bodies
but their deaths were relived.
Vaelir's knees threatened to give way.
She turned to him, her voice urgent:
"Stand. Not now."
He couldn't speak.
She stepped closer, offered her hand.
"More are coming.
And if we stay here…
we won't survive."
Vaelir was still breathing
but his soul was drifting further away.
"Who… who are you?" he managed.
She whispered, her voice laced with fury and grief:
"I am Elandra.
The one who killed Zahrhael's daughter."
Elandra led him away.
They crossed into the darkest forest on the planet.
Pinewood Forest hated the daylight.
Its trees leaned into one another like skeletal pillars.
Leaves did not fall because they had never bloomed.
And at its heart stood a forgotten ruin
an abandoned train station from a lost age.
Even if people knew it still stood,
none dared approach.
Vaelir and Elandra arrived in silence.
The rails were rusted,
benches overgrown with moss,
and the clock had died long ago
forever frozen at 03:11.
Elandra sat on a wooden bench.
Silence stretched long.
Only distant owls and coughing winds haunted the air.
Vaelir remained standing,
the broken half of his sword still resting on his shoulder.
Not like a man who had lost something,
but like one who still had to carry it.
Elandra spoke softly,
her voice dissolving into the fog:
"There's a grey shimmer in your eyes.
That's the color of waiting.
A spark ready to burn
but still flickering like smoke."
Vaelir turned.
His voice hollow:
"The fire has already burned.
You were just speaking to my ashes, Elandra."
She laughed, softly.
But it was a laugh full of sorrow,
like someone who had seen too much.
"Then let me reignite them." she said.
"I can help you claim the Fire's Essence.
You'll burn like a true flame."
Vaelir answered, without hope:
"The ashes are better left cold.
Even if I burn…
it won't bring him back."
He looked into the dark where the rails ended.
He had once walked there with his brother.
But time… had stolen even that.
Elandra leaned in her voice now just a breath,
drifting from Vaelir's ear to his heart:
"Your brother is alive."
Vaelir's body tensed.
His breath changed.
Something cracked in his chest,
something long locked away.
He turned to her this time, truly looking.
"How do you know him?"
Elandra didn't answer.
She only tilted her head:
"Come with me."
"Why are you helping me?" Vaelir asked.
Elandra stood, her shape a silhouette in the mist:
"Because once...
I killed Zahrhael's daughter.
And now…
every step I take is a penance.
If we find your brother…
perhaps I'll have paid mine."
Vaelir bowed his head.
Something inside him began to burn.
Thin. Warm. Terrifying.
A whisper of flame.
"Where will we find the Fire's Essence?" he asked.
Elandra replied:
"In the lava craters beneath the southern continent.
An ancient tribe lives there
the Solren.
To them, fire is sacred.
But the Essence reveals itself to none.
They will test you.
And… if needed, you will fight."
Together, they vanished into the station's shadows.
The rails echoed their footsteps,
and Pinewood Forest fell silent once more.