The harsh sun cooked the common folk living within Hearthgrind, the capital of Flamespire, though the palace of their king shone ever-so brightly amidst the summer heat. The shiny marble white walls seeming glowed as they basked in the hot sunlight, giving the structure its domineering aura and presence.

A young boy dressed in light clothing, malnourished and thirsty, trudged through the palace halls at the tall imposing guards around him stood unnaturally still.

He finally reached this arched room, filled with tapestries and floating lanterns as the sunlight pierced through the dome-like glass built above the ceiling.

"Speak your business." a loud, booming voice rang out the silent and vast hall.

In front of the massive staircase leading up to the gold-forged throne, the boy groveled and prostrated himself before the crown. He trembled beneath his broken lines of words, as he stared at the dark silhouette of the king above him. The count's red eyes bore rings around the pupil, as he leaned on his hand... waiting for his subject's reply.

"My lord, o great king of Flame––"

"Cut the theatrics, boy. Tell me what you want, or leave."

He was surprised at the king's straightforwardness, but complied, fearing for his life of course.

"My village... about thirty miles from the capital is suffering a great drought. We are in need of water, and supplies."

The count raised his brow, intrigued by the story.

"It may not be my place to request this, however, I beg of you to send us supplies and give aid to those in our village that is sickly"

The boy was bent so far down, that his spiky auburn hair completely covered his face, closing his eyes tightly as he prayed to every god he knew of.

"My subject, rise" Count Ashborne ordered, raising his golden gauntlet and bringing it out of the shadow he sat in.

"Your words have warmed my heart... and as your king, it is my duty to bring salvation to all my subjects."

Ashborne stood up, coming out of the shade of his throne which revealed the tall and old king. His eyes were sunken, despite the fierce eyes, as his blonde hair parted at the center of his face. A coat of fur was wrapped around his neck, along with a serene and pure white cape that covered his body which donned golden armor.

"Thank you! Praise be to the king––"

"The only way to free your village from suffering... is through eradication"

His words left the messenger silent, as he stared in disbelief at the count who smiled with grace as if expecting praise.

"W-What..?"

"The nobles of Hearthgrind are far too important to waste their resources on the poor squabble such as yourself... so I'll simply send them to our gods, and together they will sing my praises even in the heavens."

"My lord... this... this is madness!" he screamed out, stepping forward as he glared at the king furiously.

"Oh...? But I am simply trying to help your people, don't you see? I'm ending their suffering."

The king walks down his grand staircase, extending a hand towards the furious young man.

"You're murdering them! Have you gone mad?"

His voiced echoed against the walls of the throne room, but the kind voice of the king did not reply.

Instead, he went silent, as the room began to tremble and shake. White flames burst from and around Ashborne as he cringed towards the peasant in front of him.

"Insolent little worm... a peaceful and quick death is a luxury for those of your kind, and yet you dare raise your voice at the hand that feeds you?"

The young man slowly stammered backwards, as sweat beaded down his body and face from the rising heat.

"You're village... will burn! I'll create a pyre so painful that by the time you get back to save your little town..." The king raised his hand, as fire swirled around it forming a sphere.

"You'll still hear their sorry cries as they squirm like maggots...".

The wind rippled around his arm, as the strong gusts knocked the boy backwards as a horrifying creature made of blazes shoots up towards the sky, breaking open the roof as it flies away.

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Ashborne sits back down, laughing at his work, satisfied.

"I suggest you take the desert route, you might be able to catch your village a little while before it starts to smolder."

With tears flowing down his face, the boy hurriedly leaves the palace yelling curses as the apostle retreats back into the shadows "Next."

*****

The scent of burnt flesh reeked in the small village he had stumbled upon. Everything was reduced to ash or a charred mess, including the stone and citizens.

He finally returned... but was too late. The man took panicked breaths, overwhelmed by the sight of everything he knew growing up now eviscerated.

His face contorted with utter anguish, as he ran to his house... desperately clinging on to the hope of his family alive.

The smoldering corpses of its townsfolk lay dead on the floor, and he puked at every corner upon seeing the charred remains of those he once knew. A ghostly echo rings across the settlement, or at least what remains of it, every time a post falls or crumbles, as the only other noise was the cracking of gravel beneath his feet.

However, the solemn silence is broken by soft muffled weeping. In the distance, the cozy home he had built with his father... the home that housed the person he loved now lay in ruin. Kneeling in front of a line of corpses, he sat their, sobbing uncontrollably. His eyes were puffy and the soil beneath wet from his tears. Blood trickled down his palms as they scraped endlessly against the rough sand below.

His cries echoed across the empty town, visceral as they were.

Suddenly, he swiftly rises and points his blade towards a figure standing behind him, who is slowly approaching the young man.

"Who the hell are you... are you with that bastard of a king!".

He flung his sword around senselessly, tears still dripping and teeth grit hard. His mind was filled with anger... sorrow... hatred. The man's head was brimming with pent up rage, and he felt his mind slowly go mad from the absolute resentment he felt.

But, the sword fell onto the ground as his savage yells and cries ceased.

He fell before them, looking towards... or straight through the strange figure rather... with soulless eyes. "I've... lost... everything".

Black feathers cascaded onto the ground gracefully, as the figure bent down in front of the man.

"You desire... revenge".

The person puts their thin, supple-skinned hands around the young man's face, raising it so as their eyes could meet.

"I feel it. Your anger is restless, your soul without purpose... I can help with that".

Eldritch markings start to tattoo into the man's head, the strange markings glowing a weird yellow color. His eyes flashed purple, changing from the usual black as he felt a surge of warmth overflow inside his body and soul.

"Go on. Butcher those you despise".

----------------------------------------

Three days have passed since Ash and Damian left for Coalslum, the terrain transforming from gentle plains to a harsh and humid dry forest. As Asher led the way, his companion gulped down their water supply like his life depended on it.

"Say..." Damian panted "How much longer 'til we arrive at this Coalslum place. The heat is killing me!".

"Maybe if you didn't finish our water every two hours, we wouldn't have to keep resupplying."

"Hey man, try being left in a dirty cell with barely any food and water... see how needy your body becomes for this... this sweet nectar."

A few more hours pass, and the pair are once again drained of their water supply. However, in the blistering heat of the sun, they decide to rest for now at a nearby oasis. After finding a lush pool of water to rest by, Damian quickly falls asleep, loudly snoring as Asher refills their water skins.

However, as he does so, he notices his reflection––clear as day–– staring right back at him. His eyes were tired, and deep bags had formed under them. Though Sylf barely noticed, he hasn't been getting much sleep as the anguished pangs of sorrow are too loud within his head.

The tired Ash continues stocking up on water, as he looks up and into the distance.

A fresh breath calms down the young man, as both his eyes and heart feels heavy from the past couple of years.

However, this wouldn't last long as his gut seared with pain. Sweat trickled down his nose and cheek as he felt a familiar heat soar above.

He looked up, and saw it.

Immediately, Asher's heart raced with excitement and rage, as he recognized the flaming wyrm above.

"Fucking bastard of a father!"

He grabbed his sword off of the ground, dropping the water skin as he chased after the flaming dragon at top speed.

Clouds of dust formed behind him as he ran across the dry soil, as the intense heat emitting from the dragon burnt everything below it but Ash to a crisp.

Asher drew his blade, and sliced open his arm as blood flew out rapidly from the wound, once again surrounding the blade.

"Guillotine!" he yelled out, flinging an enormous slash of blood towards the flying mass.

In a single second, the winds blew a large gust of dirt and dust around as the hurling slash landed on its underbelly. However, as Ash panted on the ground, the dust settled and he saw the drake unfazed by his attack.

He cursed his father beneath his breath, as he prepared to send another towards it.

However, Asher froze.

His heart quivered and skipped a beat from fear, as he looked up yet again at the flying pyre. The feeling... the dread of his father's presence he had felt long ago that still tingled within the scar he bore, it was like an ocean crushing down on him.

Asher looked up and saw a familiar figure, standing atop. In the blink of an eye, it was gone, but the feeling lingered.

Suddenly he hear a call from behind.

"Ash!" Damian called out from the distance.

"What the hell did you run off for? You didn't even wake me–... well gods be damned what happened here?"

He looked around and saw the countless trees in cinders as Ash was covered in sweat, panting with a slowly closing gash on his arm.

"Just tried to settle some business... though looks like someone else is too..." He looked towards the fiery construct.

"What is that thing?"

"I don't like the idea of finding that out... get your stuff, we're getting on the move".

The sun began to set, as finally, in the distance was the tall sandstone walls of Coalslum. Damian noticed the soil turned to soot-covered gravel as ash fell from the sky, coating the sky in a gloomy black.

"Don't inhale the ash, a couple whiffs is fine for people like us. Too much though, and it'll kill you".

"Thanks for the warning now... it's not like I was whiffing this thing up by looking upwards right?" .

In front of the pair was a large wall, about a hundred feet high. Though, despite the impressive wall that was constructed, trash and garbage slid down the walls and piled around it as graffiti filled up the entrance leading into the city, with vulgar messages directed to the count along with the rest of the noblemen.

"What is this place..." Damian gandered at the sight to behold.

"Welcome to Coalslum".