The Day The Ash Died

It began before the dream.

With a whisper.

So faint, I wasn't sure I heard it aloud or in my bones.

"You promised…."

Then came the darkness.

---

I stood in a corridor of carved obsidian — smooth walls veined with glowing gold, as if the structure itself bled light.

My feet were bare.

The floor was slick, warm.

The smell hit me: copper, incense, smoke… and something sweeter.

Rot.

And ahead, she knelt.

Vaerra.

Not a queen. Not a saint.

A weapon.

Her pale back arched as if she carried the world.

Her skin was lined with runes — thousands of them — each one pulsing faintly beneath her flesh like a living map.

She was breathing shallowly, eyes closed.

Waiting.

Not bound. Not struggling.

Just still.

Like she'd accepted what was coming.

---

Footsteps echoed.

From behind her.

From behind me.

I turned.

A man approached — tall, cloaked in deep crimson, his face shadowed by a heavy hood.

But I knew who he was.

The system didn't tell me.

My heart did.

"Brother."

The word left her lips — and mine — at the same time.

He knelt behind her and drew something from his sleeve.

Not a blade.

A tool. Thin. Hooked.

Like a scribe's stylus carved from bone.

He pressed it to the base of her neck and—

She flinched. Not from pain.

But from what came next.

The rune beneath the tool peeled itself up from her skin.

Like her body was made of wax.

---

I watched in paralyzed horror as he began to remove them. One by one.

Runes lifted like scabs torn from old wounds.

And with each sigil that left her body, the chamber dimmed.

The light — the gold — faded.

Vaerra trembled. But she didn't scream.

Her hands curled into fists. Her mouth bled.

Still she whispered, again and again:

"I chose this. I chose this. I chose—"

And then—

The final rune was pulled.

Her head slumped forward.

---

She died.

Not in fire.

But in betrayal.

And I knew who held the stylus.

---

I woke with blood in my mouth.

I had bitten deep into my tongue, the metallic taste flooding my throat.

My sheets were twisted, soaked.

And my back—

It burned.

But not like fire.

Like something beneath my skin was alive and trying to crawl outward.

---

Pain conversion: 70% → 72%

System: memory bleed active.

Residual identity: unstable.

Skill threshold: 78%

---

I stumbled out of bed and to the basin, pouring cold water over my shoulders.

It didn't help.

The water steamed where it touched me.

---

I was still gripping the edge of the marble sink when Clarisse entered without knocking.

She paused when she saw me.

"You've been dreaming again."

I didn't answer.

She stepped closer, narrowing her eyes.

"There's something wrong with your eyes," she said softly. "They don't reflect the same way anymore."

I looked up. Met her gaze.

She stepped back.

Not in fear. But in recognition.

---

"You're not sleeping normally," she said, arms crossed. "You murmur in your sleep. You twitch. Sometimes you… laugh."

My breath caught.

"Laugh?"

She nodded once. "Not like you. Like something inside you finds everything hilarious."

---

I sat on the bed. Quiet. Thinking.

That's when I saw it.

A parcel. Wrapped in dark rose cloth. Tied with black twine.

I hadn't brought it in.

I hadn't left my room all day.

Serel.

---

I untied it with trembling hands.

Inside: a scroll.

Old. Cracked. Dry like parchment that had been buried under a tomb.

But still… warm.

On the front, a rune drawn in what could only be blood shimmered faintly. Then faded.

Ashbind. But wrong. Sharper. Older. A version untouched by royal seals.

---

I touched it.

It bled.

Not ink — memory.

Words didn't rise so much as drip from the page.

And even with the system, I couldn't read them.

Not yet.

It was like the page was waiting for something inside me to unlock.

I wrapped it again. Buried it beneath the mattress.

But I could feel it pulsing.

Like it knew I wasn't ready.

But would be soon.

---

Clarisse returned that evening with a bowl of bitterleaf soup and a rare softness in her voice.

"You've changed," she said simply, setting it down. "You're taller than you were two weeks ago."

I looked at her. "What are you saying?"

She met my gaze without blinking.

"I think you're becoming something else."

She paused.

"And I think you know what."

---

System Alert: Residual Manifestation strengthening.

Behavioral drift at 81%

Host identity slippage: moderate.

Warning: reflective exposure is no longer advised.

That night, I avoided the mirror.

But it didn't matter.

Because when I finally closed my eyes, I didn't dream of runes or stone or blood.

I dreamt of a room made of mirrors.

Endless reflections.

And in every one — she stood behind me.

Smiling.

Not Elira.

Not Delmira.

Not even Vaerra.

Something older.

Something beneath all of them.

---