I Will Carry Your Ashes

Trigger Warnings: Death, Grief, Violence, Gore

I could only remember the moments before the end. Saela, my love, standing atop the spire. The first to ever recognize my flame, now standing alone – shadows lurking all around her. Her white gown tattered and flowering in the wind, in stark contrast to the obsidian facets of the rock behind her. Strands of her raven hair catching in the breeze and pulling loose from her braids. Her chin raised defiantly, proudly displaying her stitched neck for the heavens to witness. The dark has tried to take her once before, but she no longer cowered away from it.

The cacophony of the battle faded. No longer could I hear the clanging of blades, the cries of my friends, or the shrieks from the Wraiths. I could no longer smell the acrid sweat or the metallic blood that stained the earth. The scent of her perfume filled my nostrils, despite the distance between us. My wounds ceased to ache. The feel of her calloused hands brushed against my face. Not the hands of some fair noblewoman – this was the caress of a battle maiden. Tender, yet rough. Soft, yet steady. In that moment, the world, filled with all of its death and horror, had faded away. Only she and I existed – and the creeping darkness.

I remember the moment she let her power flare. I found myself once again enchanted by the iridescent black and blue of the scales that crept up her arms. Her claws, dark as midnight and dripping with malice. The way her pupils had slit in her ever-watchful storm-grey eyes. She pushed the limits of her control. The scales encroached upon her neck, the stitching of her scar fading into their pattern. I knew in that moment that she teetered on madness. The Wraith bound to her soul would feast on it. She had never looked so fierce, so terrifying. She had never looked so beautiful.

This was the Saela that haunted my dreams every night – stoic, powerful, deadly. She was my queen, my love, my flame; standing atop the world in quiet defiance to the inevitable. Her light pierced through the bruised sky of dusk in that moment. And then, the night came in full.

The hulking form of the Ancient One marched from the shadows behind her. Its body a muscled mass of bone and leather. Fangs protruded from its curled lips. Its green eyes glowed like hellfire. Saela turned to attack, teeth bared and claws arched. The Ancient One brushed aside her onslaught, and grabbed her by the throat. Its fingers dug into her skin, threatening to crush her esophagus. He lifted her off the ground. A porcelain doll in the hands of the devil. Her claws raked at the Wraith’s arms in desperation – razors slicing through its toughened skin. Smoke and ash gushed from the wounds, but still the beast marched forward.

He held her over the edge. Her feet dangled in nothing – flailing limbs searching the sky for safety. She grasped the arm and dug her claws in deep. The Ancient One turned from her and looked down – looked at me. He let go then. Saela ripped his arm to shreds as her body plummeted. Still, he looked at me.

As she fell, so did we all. The silence broke. The roar of the Wraiths closing in echoed in my head. Torren’s massive frame streaked across my vision. His maul arched out. I remember the sickening crunch as his maul found its target, bone and flesh collapsing in on itself. I saw Veyra’s blades flashing in the distance. She danced in the chaos to a routine that only she knew. Saela’s perfume was gone, replaced by the stench of spilled blood. The night had come in full, and it was cold. Empty. Lonely. The world had seen my Saela. And now her flame was gone.

I don’t remember running through the masses. Or claws tearing through my armor and blackened maws ripping my flesh. I don’t remember climbing the spire. Neither do I remember how the Ancient One fell. But I do remember my fists – as they beat down upon the slush that had once been its skull. Again. And again. And again.

I drifted through the days that followed. Or perhaps it was months. My mortal shell hidden away in a darkened room. My flame had turned to embers – no tinder left to fuel it.

A log cracks and falls in the hearth and I am pulled back into the present. The Ancient One is a memory now, a specter that haunts the edges of my vision. Years have passed, yet it still feels as if it was only yesterday. Some wounds strike so deep that not even time can escape their pull. I let my gaze drift down to the scars on my arms, long healed. But the one on my heart? Still fresh. Still raw. Still bleeding.

I stare back into the fire of the hearth. A single, lonely flame dancing against cold stone. It reminded me of Veyra – the graceful movements of her deadly dance. For years I believed if I just burned bright enough, my glow would stave off the shadows. That all of us should aspire to burn so bright – solitary lights destined to flicker and fade against an oppressive dark. Hopeless. Futile. Alone.

I regret that I was so blind. I was never alone – they had always been there beside me. Torren, my brother in arms. Veyra, ever the source of joy and hope. And Saela…She had known the truth all along. She knew that a single flame was nothing against the overwhelming void of infinity. Even atop the spire, she had never been alone. She defied the inevitable because she trusted the rest of us. Even in the end she was showing me that I was never alone. True strength wasn’t about how brightly one flame burned. It was about the warmth we could create when we all stood together.

I walk to the window and look up into the night sky. The moon hangs there, a pale lonely spark in a vast sea of nothing. As my eyes adjust, millions of pinpricks of light emerge into existence – scattered across the black tapestry of the night. The moon had never been alone. And neither was I.

I remember Saela. And I remember what she taught me. Her flame is gone, but I will forever carry her ashes. She is always with me. And I am never alone.