Story 1130: Dance of the Bound Flame

They lit the pyres at dusk, twelve flames dancing along the edges of the stone circle deep within the Griefmoor Marsh. Each fire was a soul, bound by oath and seared by sacrifice.

And in the center stood Elias Varn, once a scholar, now a vessel.

His skin was marked with runes that pulsed like embers under the surface. Chains of brass hung from his limbs, anchored to twelve obsidian pillars. He did not resist. Resistance had long since burned away.

The Masked Circle surrounded him—reduced now to ten since the death of their Prophet. But the ritual would not wait. The Hollow One demanded penance. And Elias Varn had volunteered.

No—he had been chosen.

A bell rang once.

The fires flared.

A voice, not quite human, emerged from the mouths of the ten masked cultists. One voice, one will:

“In ash, we bind. In flame, we forget. In the dance, we offer all that remains.”

Elias’s body arched. The chains pulled taut, not to restrain him—but to conduct him.