Embers of the Forgotten

Azrael followed the cloaked stranger through the labyrinth of twisted trees, their skeletal branches clawing at the sky like the hands of the damned. The earth beneath his feet felt different here—alive in a way that unsettled him. Shadows moved unnaturally, shifting in the periphery of his vision as if whispering secrets he was not yet meant to hear.

"You still haven't told me your name," Azrael said, his voice cutting through the stillness.

The stranger did not stop walking but glanced over their shoulder. "Names have power. And mine is not freely given."

Azrael's jaw tightened. He had once known the weight of names, the power they carried in celestial tongues. But those days were gone.

"And yet you know mine," he said.

The stranger chuckled, the sound like dry leaves caught in the wind. "The heavens make sure your name is remembered—for now. But in time, even the stars will forget you, as they have forgotten the others."

Azrael stopped. "The others?"

The figure finally turned to face him. "Did you think you were the only one?"

A gust of wind swept through the forest, carrying with it the scent of embers and charred earth. Beyond the trees, the world opened into a vast expanse of ruins. Towering spires, long since crumbled, jutted from the ground like broken ribs. At the heart of the ruins, a massive bonfire burned with black flames, casting eerie shadows over a gathering of figures—some winged, some monstrous, all bearing the marks of exile.

Azrael's breath caught in his throat.

"Welcome," the stranger said, "to the city of the forgotten."

The figures near the fire turned, their eyes—some glowing, some hollow—fixating on him. There was no hatred, no malice, only recognition. They, too, had been cast down, stripped of their divine purpose, abandoned by the Light.

One of them, a tall figure clad in armor blackened by age and battle, stepped forward. His wings were little more than skeletal remains, burned away by whatever punishment the heavens had dealt him.

"You are new," the warrior said.

Azrael met his gaze. "I am lost."

The warrior nodded. "Then you are one of us."

The black flames flickered as the wind howled through the ruins. Azrael had fallen, but perhaps, in the ashes of the forgotten, he would find something worth rising for.