Ash on the Horizon

The morning arrived with an unusual crispness for Pyrrhion.

The heat remained, of course, but it was gentler somehow  as if the flames had melted lower into the dirt, speaking instead of roaring.

Arion sat next to Michael on the garden steps just outside the training hall, nursing bruises and half-empty bowls of flamefruit porridge. Beyond them, the city stirred, but their little corner of it felt almost still.

"It's kind of funny," Arion said, chewing thoughtfully. "I don't really miss being a prodigy.

Michael raised an eyebrow. "You were a prodigy?"

Arion shrugged. "Sort of. Quickest to clasp a mirrored spirit in my order. They all would say I'd change how light Threads were studied."

He flung a small ember seed toward a fire basin. It landed, flared for half a second, then dimmed.

"Then the Span happened. So… here we are."

Michael nodded. "You at least remember who you were."

Arion hesitated, then glanced over at him not pity, just quiet respect.

"I think I like who you are now better."

Michael blinked.

It was said plainly. No weight. No apology.

And somehow it felt more important that way.

They sat silent for a little longer, not because they had nothing to say but because they didn't need to fill the silence.

Inside The Letter

Anna stood at the table with a folded scroll in her hands. A different seal this time postmarked, run in silver.

Kael was next to her, arms crossed. "Northrealm?"

Anna nodded. "Iceward capital. A Threadwarden named Ysala."

"Big name."

"Bigger concern," Anna said.

Kael watched her for a beat. "You look worried."

"I'm not."

"Good. Because I am."

Anna unfolded the scroll.

"We've felt something slip. Not enter but drift. Something ancient, serpentine, not tied to the Realms. Last week we lost another Recollection Chamber memories that were cut off before they could be read. The fracture patterns are consistent with what you reported.'"

"And the name was whispered in the burn marks."

Eidara. But with that two words we haven't seen since the Cycle War."

"The Merciless Saint."

Kael's face darkened. "She's claiming a title?"

Anna was silent for a moment.

Then she said it out loud, syllables unfamiliar in her mouth.

"The Merciless Saint."

And, for the first time since Span, she had.

Not fear.

Not panic.

Just urgency.

Something was moving.

The garden was quiet again.

Training had ended hours ago. Kael had gone to cool off half limping, half smiling. Arion was on the inside, mumbling sigil structures to himself and gnawing on half a slice of amber fruit.

Michael drifted toward the far end of the courtyard, allowing the silence to draw him in.

He paused beside the ancient stone marker embedded in the wall—a decorative post incised with ceremonial Pyrrhion flame runes. It pulsed weakly with ancient power, barely alive.

But one of the characters struck him.

A spiral torn four ways serrated on one edge. That shouldn't have meant anything. And yet

For a moment he couldn't breathe.

His heart beat faster — not out of panic, but pressure. Like a hand coming up through the foul of his chest and clutching his spine.

Images didn't flash. Not clearly. But feelings did.

A hallway of ash.

A voice saying, "You weren't strong enough and you knew it."

A memory of leaning over someone who had whispered his name not Michael and then had stopped breathing.

His knees buckled. Not from pain. From weight.

His hand trembled against the wall.

"Which one of me did that?"

"Am I him? Am I always going to be him?"

He didn't hear her approach from behind.

But thena hand.

Pressed gently to his chest.

Not grabbing, not bracing. Just there. Steady.

Anna.

She stood without saying anything, her palm warm where it cupped his heart.

And just like that, the storm was still there. But it slowed.

His breath came back, not deep, but possible.

He leaned slightly forward not crumpling, just … letting himself stand up again.

Anna still didn't speak.

She didn't need to.

Her presence was not a solution.

It was an answer to the question he hadn't voiced.

You don't need to know which "you" is the real one, not yet.

But you are still here. And that matters.

He closed his eyes.

And allow himself to believe it  for now.