The rain had finally stopped when they found it.

Mira’s voice was weak as she pointed ahead.

“Eiden… look.”

Through the mist, the mountains parted — revealing a valley sunken between cliffs, where faint lights flickered beneath the fog. Wooden roofs half-buried under moss. Smoke rising from quiet chimneys. And carved into the side of the cliff, a symbol — a circle of light crossed by three shadows.

Eiden froze.

He’d seen that mark before — in Solane’s vision. The mark of the Ashlight Order.

They descended the narrow trail cautiously.

When they reached the edge of the settlement, figures appeared — cloaked, silent, faces hidden by wooden masks. They surrounded the two travelers without a sound.

Eiden lifted his hands. “We mean no harm.”

One of the figures stepped forward, removing their mask.

A woman — older, scarred, her eyes pale silver.

“Then you’ve already done better than most who come from the east,” she said quietly.

“You carry Lumenfire, don’t you?”

Eiden hesitated. “I… don’t know what I carry anymore.”

The woman studied the faint glow under his sleeve, then nodded once.

“Come. The storm won’t stay gone for long.”

---

Ashlight Refuge was unlike any village he’d seen. The homes were built into the cliff itself, walls glowing faintly from crystals embedded in stone. The air was warm, carrying the scent of smoke and medicine. People moved quietly — children with burns, soldiers missing limbs, and old men with eyes that glowed faintly gold.

It wasn’t a town.

It was a sanctuary — a graveyard that refused to die.

Inside one of the stone halls, Mira slept again, wrapped in clean blankets. Eiden sat beside her, staring at the crystal flames that burned without heat.

The woman from before entered.

She removed her cloak, revealing a brand over her heart — a mark shaped like a broken sun.

“My name is Eira,” she said. “I once served the Order of Lumen. Before the Purge.”

“The Purge…” Eiden repeated, voice low. “When the Empire destroyed the temples?”

Eira’s jaw tightened. “They said the light had become heresy. That those who carried it would bring the world’s end. So they hunted us. Burned the archives. Shattered the Suns.”

She knelt, tracing a pattern in the ash on the floor — a spiral within a circle.

“But some of us refused to let it die. We built this refuge for the lost. For those who still remember what the light truly meant.”

Eiden looked down at his glowing arm. “And what does it mean?”

Eira’s eyes met his.

“It means mercy — and memory. The light remembers everything it touches. That’s why it burns.”

For a moment, silence hung between them — soft, heavy, alive.

Then Eira rose. “Rest, Eiden Vale. Tomorrow, we will see if the flame within you is gift or curse.”

---

That night, he dreamed again.

He stood on a shore of black sand, the sea glowing gold. Across the water, towers of light rose into the sky — reflections of another world.

In the waves, he saw faces — those who had died in Vale, those who had burned in the mill.

They whispered one name: Heretic.

When he woke, dawn had come — but the sky was still gray.

Outside, children laughed faintly, their voices echoing through the stone corridors.

For the first time in what felt like years, Eiden almost smiled.

But deep in his chest, the light pulsed again — faster this time, like a heartbeat running toward something inevitable.

---

Meanwhile, beyond the cliffs of Ashlight, an Imperial skiff hovered above the fog.

A woman in white armor stood at its prow, wind whipping through her silver hair.

Lady Kael watched the valley below, her voice sharp and quiet.

“So this is where the heretic hides.”

Behind her, a soldier hesitated. “Orders, Inquisitor?”

Kael’s eyes narrowed.

“None yet. He’s not ready to die.”

Her gaze softened — almost imperceptibly.

“But when he learns what he truly is… he’ll wish he had.”

The wind carried her words down into the valley, like a whisper of storm.

And far below, in the heart of the refuge, the light in Eiden’s chest burned — answering something unseen.

---