In the silence of darkness, a heart beat once more. The soft gasping breath echoed loudly against the desolate walls. A stone slab moved on its own, ancient runic markings on its surface lit up as it sensed movement. The noise of it sliding across was grating to the ear, yet to the only one who could hear it, it might as well be as soft as a whisper.

Dull eyes opened in the depths of darkness as a deep breath was finally drawn. The damp and mouldy air was torture to the nose, but better that than nothing at all. It took a while for whoever it was to finally gain a semblance of life in them, calming down as they tried to understand what was happening.

It was dark, but not completely pitch black. There was a pale white light in the distance, a candlestick that was nearing its end. The flame was too weak to even shine beyond a few feet of itself. But that was all they needed to know where to go. A weak and trembling hand rose up and clasped onto the edge of the stone bed they were in. Soon, the body followed as they weakly rose to their feet and slowly making their way to the light.

With every step they took, life slowly trickled into them from somewhere. It flooded through every open pore on their skin, flowing through every vein in their body and feeding every cell in their being. With every step, the footfalls grew louder and steadier. By the time they reached the candlelight, they were already standing tall with measured steps. And as they stepped into the light, the darkness before them gave way to more light.

A stone wall slid open before them to reveal a woman in a servant's attire waiting for them. The servant's appearance was peculiar as their eyes were covered by cloth. How could they serve with such a handicap, they wondered. But it did not matter. Faint recollections of this strange custom was already resurfacing in their mind, enough for them to understand that it was better not to question it. They walked forward with unassuming grace, but with each step came a glaring question that was slowly gnawing at their mind.

Who were they?

As they approached the open door, the servant bowed to them and gestured for them to follow. They were led down a silent corridor and into a room where four more servants were waiting having already prepared for their arrival. They were given a bath to cleanse the dirt and grime on their body. They were then dressed in a dark grey ceremonial robe with little to no adornments before being pushed to a different corridor. This time, what awaited them at the end were large double doors made of stone. These too opened on their own as they approached, an ancient aged man's voice resounding in the hall beyond.

"Arise, ye who walks in the Final Slumber! Stand before the Silent Cross! Be it in pride or in disgrace, ye shall be judged!"

Following the voice's words, they stepped into the massive hall and stood at its centre. Before them was a literal field of stone crosses planted onto the very floor. It was then that they realised what they were seeing. These were tombstones and they were in a crypt of some kind. The stone bed they rose from was their own grave. Were they dead? Or were they still living? They found that the answer hardly mattered anymore.

The stone crosses began lighting up one after the other, bathing them in their baleful light. And yet it was not death that they felt, but rather the breath of life. Whoever were in these tombs were very much alive. So why were they there? To stand witness to the unliving breath of another? Or to listen to the words of silence that even now ring in their ears?

Their mind plunged into the depths of the murky waters of their consciousness. Everything had seemingly sunk to the bottom and must be dredged out. The precious jewels that glittered in the dark, the fragments of their memories that never disappeared and were only asleep, they slowly floated to the surface of the waters, one by one. It was a slow process, but it had to be done. The baleful light of the crosses seemed to aid in this as well.

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They remembered what this place was, the enduring legacy of one who chased after the flames. Even as the Final Slumber took him, his will remained, chasing after that which cannot be obtained. This world was a testament to his deeds. And the stone crosses that filled this very hall were followers of his will, advocating the tireless chase even beyond the sleepless horizon. They have yet to even glimpse upon the flames that he sought, yet they still wished to tread the same path.

But the one who walks in the Final Slumber, they were different. The Final Slumber was an ultimacy, an inviolable law of the universe. Yet they walk still, much like the flame-chaser. Perhaps the walker would be able to achieve that which they could only hope for, but the walker was slowly recalling their... his life.

In this world of cold stone, silence was law. But he could not remain here for his home still awaited his return. There was danger looming in the horizon. There were lives he needed to keep. And more he needed to reap. There was a lot he must do and time was not on his side. Impatience threatened to rise, but was soon shackled into the abyss of his heart once more as he understood the gravity of his situation. Even in his muddled mind, he recognised the significance of this ritual he was undergoing.

This was a judgment. Whether he would be buried once more in the depths of the earth or be able to leave would be decided here. He had long heard tales of this. He just never expected he would be experiencing it for himself. In this silent and cold world of Lombros, walking was a sin... unless you prove your purpose.

From his eyes, a faint light flickered. It was dim and seemingly fractured, but it was there, trying desperately to piece itself back together. It was hazy and cloudy like an unfocused lens, but the light was undeniable. Its source was none other than a tiny spark that could barely light a kindling. Its colour was all but drained as it waved weakly within his gaze, yet still it stood, braving the tempest of his splintered mind.

The flame-chaser chased after a flame that was not meant to be grasped. He would be different, for within him was a flame that would let him reach across the impossible. It may only be a tiny spark now, but it was sure to be a grand blaze that spanned entire universes. Even now, it spoke to him. Despite being its creator, he was also learning more about it. For now, it bore no name. But in time, it would be the object of worship of countless beings.

What did he expect of it? To raze down entire worlds and reduce them to mere cinders? To enchant the deluded fools who seek a greater power beyond them? To rule upon those too fearful of death to even resist the oppression of flames? No, none of these. Such paltry ambitions were beneath him. To destroy had always been the easiest thing to accomplish. Wanton destruction and violation of creation can never be the answer to anything. There is no freedom in desolation.

What he sought was the light of tomorrow, the braziers burning with pride and glory as they welcomed the dawn of a new day. What he sought was the blazing will within the hearts of all that yearn for something, anything. He would not chase the unreachable flames. He would bring his flame and set alight the whole universe for them to chase. For it is not the flames in his grasp that matters, it is the chase itself.

If one obtains the unreachable, would they continue to chase for something else or be content with what they have? He did not wish to learn the answer. For is purpose was merely to...

"Dream."

The silent stone crosses that continued bathing him in their baleful light shuddered at the sound of his voice. It was deep and seemed lost in a winding trail of thoughts and memories. But to the stone crosses, it mattered little what he was doing. One of them began to flicker. And like a wildfire, it spread across the field of crosses. Their lights flickered in and out of existence. It was impossible to tell what this meant, but he remained still, assured in whatever fate awaited him. And before long, the lights finally died down. Silence returned in full. And the aged man's voice resounded once more.

"The Silent Cross has given their verdict. Ye who walks in the Final Slumber, tread upon the path denied to us. Seek the heart of the Crucible! And Dream for us all! We hail ye, our Graven Lord!"

The words resounded not only within the hall, but even across worlds. It reverberated in everyone's minds as they learned of the birth of a new addition to the long line of 'those who walked in the Final Slumber'. The cold and silent world was lit dimly, but it shone across the expansive universe like a beacon. A tale as old as time, the legend of the Slumbering Flame-Chaser, first of the Graven Lords, would soon be surmounted. And one name would reach across the universe, spoken by every tongue in both fear and worship.

Uriah, Lord of All Flames