Serve Her

Her last words still echo in my mind.

Go forth to the Flamepool. What you seek lies beyond.

Her voice floods my thoughts, and a vision strikes me: a great castle wreathed in darkness that swirls as if alive, moving against the wind. It rises from the mountain’s depths and coils around the keep like a living curse.

My chest tightens. I know this place.

Not from memory, but from dread.

The wind returns to my face, steady at first, then flickering, circling. A warmth brushes my cheek, as if the wind itself reaches out with an open hand to comfort me.

Then I hear her voice again. A whisper on the wind:

What you seek lies beyond the Flamepool. Find me.

And in that moment, clarity ripples through the confusion, just for a second. As if I am no longer blind in the dark. My goal is clear. My reason is sound.

It is Her. The harmony and power in her voice are bound to my soul, through oath… through love. It lasts only a moment, but her voice carries a strength, words of power endowed upon her by the Goddess herself. The gift of restoration magic. Its power crackles beneath my skin like fire. The falchion slung over my shoulder stirs, as if woken from its slumber.

I will follow your command, my Lady. Your vision. I will find the Flamepool. I will find you.

The castle wreathed in darkness must be close. I can feel it. And somehow, I know the Flamepool burns within its depths, a truth I’ve always known, though I cannot remember why.

I swallow the lump rising in my throat and draw a deep breath, pushing down what doubts still linger. Then I lift my gaze to the world ahead.

The inferno that once devoured the forest like dry kindling has passed. What remains is barren. Quiet. The trees still standing are scorched black, their trunks cracked with glowing veins, slow-burning embers flowing like molten rivers.

But between the smouldering trees, I see an old cobblestone road, tracing a path through the destruction. I follow it with my eyes, and then I realise the stones already lie beneath my feet.

As if they were placed here for me to follow.

I lift my head and watch the last smouldering clumps of ash drift down from the sky. The smoke and dust begin to clear, and for the first time in hours, I can breathe without choking. The cool air cuts through the heat, a bitter kind of relief.

My vision sharpens, and with it comes the full weight of what’s been lost. The inferno’s scars stretch far beyond the horizon. Flames still devour the distant treeline, flickering like dying torches. What was once fertile woodland and wildflower fields now sows a harvest of ash and ruin, reaped by Death’s own hand.

His touch is upon the land. Final. Unforgiving. The devastation is complete.

There is but one option left.

Follow the path laid beneath my feet.

I raise my eyes, tracing the trail ahead, searching for any sign of where it might lead. But the cobblestones vanish into a valley below, only to snake upward once more, cresting a distant hill and disappearing from sight.

I draw a long breath, savouring the clarity of the air. With each inhale, my purpose sharpens. I feel the falchion release a faint pulse against my back. I reach for it, and as my hand closes around the hilt, the weapon begins to shift.

Its steel melts away like wax beneath a flame, the final remnants of the Blade of Mimic’s magic departing in silence. Sparks fly from the dissolving metal, bright and fleeting: red, green, blue, gold. Fireworks in my palm. A parting gesture. A final breath.

The blade lies quiet in my hand, still once more. The last embers of warmth leave the blade’s steel. Yet I still feel the mimic enchantment within, dormant, but waiting.

I sheath the Blade of Mimic beneath my cloak, my grip firm around the hilt. I dare not let go. I don’t know what lies ahead, but I cannot fail. Not now. Not her.

Her face returns to me, and with it, my resolve.

I grit my teeth and begin my long march toward the castle wreathed in darkness.

As I crest the first hill, the cobblestone path stretches into the distance, winding through a landscape choked by ruin. Charred trees claw at the sky like blackened bones. The air carries no birdsong, no breeze, only the crackle of far-off fire.

Then, movement.

A figure. Human-shaped. Walking the path, toward me.

My nerves jolt. I tighten my grip around the dagger, my breathing shallow.

Hide? But where ash and ruin stretch in every direction.

No. My path lies forward. If I must fight, I will.

Instinct flares. I glance behind me, half-expecting an ambush, but the road lies empty. Just scorched silence.

I turn back and stop cold.

He no longer walks in the distance.

He stands directly before me, within arm’s reach.

I don’t think. I move.

The Blade of Mimic sings from its sheath. I pivot and strike in one motion, a backward slash, swift and precise. The steel cuts the air with a sound like an arrow loosed, but no resistance is met. No flesh.

My blade passes clean through him.

His form wavers, flickering like smoke torn by the wind.

His torso splits… then reforms. Whole. Untouched.

He stands atop the cobblestone road, still as stone.

Armour blackened by time clings to his body.

His eyes are not alive, but they still see.

He speaks.

“I walked this path once,” he says, his voice echoing like a memory.

“And I failed. My end need not be yours.”

My grip on the dagger softens. I straighten slowly.

The ghostly figure watches me, noting the shift in my stance.

“Good,” he says. “I am not your enemy.”

His voice is calmer now, less an echo, more a presence.

“I am bound to guide you to the Cracked Fortress, where your fate awaits. Follow me, and I will aid you as best as I can. For oath binds me to this path, as it now binds you.”

I say nothing at first. The silence between us stretches, not heavy, but reverent. I study him more closely: the ancient armour etched with time, the eyes that do not live yet still hold purpose.

He walked this path before? And still, he returned?

I lower the dagger and exhale slowly. Then I nod, not in submission, but in understanding. In shared resolve.

He watches me for a beat longer, then turns without another word. His boots make no sound on the stone, as if the earth no longer remembers him.

I follow.

The path winds ahead through the charred valley, its edges dissolving into ash. The air grows colder with each step, the firelight fading behind us. Yet something older than flame begins to stir in the distance, a darkness not born of ruin, but of purpose.

And still, I do not falter.

Her voice is with me.

So long as it calls, I will walk this road, even into darkness.