The General of Thorns
Beneath the Hollow Spire – The Awakening
The Hollow Queen stood before a vault of living roots and whispers.
It had not been opened in centuries.
Inside, bound by chains of ivy and bone, was her first war general—Malreth the Thorned, once a prince of the Verdant Realms, now a twisted relic of betrayal.
He had not aged.
His body was a grotesque fusion of man and nature: bark woven through flesh, vines replacing veins, eyes filled with green fire. A crown of thorns had grown into his skull.
When the Queen's hand brushed the lock, the roots parted.
Malreth opened his eyes.
"My Queen," he rasped, voice like wind through grave leaves.
She smiled darkly. "Wake, my blade. The ember has risen… and he burns in my name."
The Vale – Fire Learns to Breathe
Ashren hadn't spoken since the sanctuary.
The fire now lived inside him—not just in blood or magic, but in thought. It moved when he did, flickered with his emotion, and answered only to him.
Seris watched with quiet awe as he trained alone at the cliffs.
He no longer needed Nyssir to channel the flame.
His strikes cracked boulders.
His breath iced the air.
But beneath it all, there was fear.
Because when he closed his eyes, he felt something else. A presence buried in the fire's core—a will not entirely his.
"Who are you really?" Seris asked him one night.
Ashren didn't answer.
Because even he didn't know anymore.
The Arrival of Malreth
Three nights later, the mists rolled in too thick.
The southern guard tower fell silent.
Then the trees began to bleed.
Rebels rushed to the edge of the forest, only to find it moving—roots crawling like snakes, vines dragging bodies into the earth. A massive figure stepped through the fog, thorned armor glinting with sap and blood.
Malreth did not speak.
He raised a hand.
And the forest answered.
Trees twisted into monstrous beasts. The ground split open with vines as strong as iron. Nature itself became a weapon—corrupted by grief, bound by vengeance.
The Vale was under siege once more.
Ashren's Stand
Ashren reached the southern wall just as Malreth's vines shattered its foundation.
Without hesitation, he leapt down.
No sword.
Just flame.
He raised his hand, and a column of blue fire roared skyward, burning through roots, bark, and shadow-beasts.
Malreth turned—and smiled.
"You are his echo," the general said, stepping forward. "But you are not him."
Ashren didn't flinch. "No. I'm something worse."
Their clash shattered the forest line.
Frostfire against Thornfire.
Nature versus Memory.
Ashren burned, and Malreth bled green and gold, laughing all the while.
But behind his eyes… something old was watching Ashren closely.
The Thorns Retreat
The battle did not end in victory.
Nor in defeat.
Ashren wounded Malreth—badly—but the general vanished into mist before the killing blow.
The forest withdrew, leaving scars across the land and minds of those who survived.
Ashren collapsed, drained, trembling.
Seris caught him.
"You're not him," she said. "You're you. And that's the only reason we're still alive."
The Hollow Queen Watches
Far away, the Hollow Queen stood in a pool of mirror-dark water.
She touched the surface and saw Ashren's fire consume a beast of her making.
Her smile faded.
"He's adapting," she murmured.
Then, to the shadows at her back: "Send the next."
Because Malreth was only the first.
And her true general still slept.