"Vasili Anganas?"

Dàn asked in a trembling voice, the other person curled up in the dark only breathing heavily. Dàn folded her hands on her chest, a warm current flowed out, gathering in her palm. When she opened her palm, floating above it were fragments of "Flamma Varmah", or "Flame of the God". The firelight was so dim that it could not illuminate the entire tomb, only Dàn's lower face. The orange buds jumping in the dark took away Dàn's gaze. She slowly reached out her hands, intending to put the fire in the middle of the tomb. During the process, the person sitting opposite her feet was reflected.

A wave of nausea surged up in Dàn's stomach. That foot, clearly not belonging to a living person, recoiled into the darkness like a crawling vermin as soon as it touched the light. In the darkness at the other end of the tomb, what kind of strange ritual was taking place? Flesh and blood were gradually attaching to ashes and bones, but not only that - a soul was being exiled, returning to the cage that once imprisoned it. Dàn did not know how terrible that experience was, but it made the once great warrior sob like a helpless infant.

The fear that comes with being trapped in the same cage as a beast of agony deepened Dàn's guilt, but she soon realized it was just an illusion. It was too late to turn back now, as the one responsible for imprisoning him, any warmth, embrace, or comforting words she could offer would only highlight her own insincerity. She suddenly felt a cold indifference towards Vasili's fate. Sometimes, even if two people have never met before, they are forced to regard each other as enemies by the whims of fate; Dàn knew that this was how it would be between her and Vasili. She extinguished the flame.

Amidst the cries of newborns and the groans of the dying, whether it was the gradually rising drowsiness or the thin air, Dàn's thoughts gradually ceased to function.

*

The warm sunlight shone on Dàn's pale eyelids, which trembled slightly before slowly opening. Golden dust floated in the sunlight that entered the chamber.

Dàn climbed out of the coffin and the mist on the ground dissipated, revealing a vast view. Although the wind direction was different from yesterday, it was still swift. The needle forest at the foot of the mountain rustled in the wind, producing a sound like waves. The torn clouds above her head kept moving towards the mountaintop, as if the whole sky was being summoned to somewhere, making people feel awe-inspiring.

Dàn tightened her cloak and hood and walked towards the mountaintop. The wind from behind kept blowing her white hair and clothes forward, giving a chill even though the sun was shining.

She returned to the ruins of the deteriorating Hubrey village. A man sat high on the limestone foundation of the main house, with one leg raised and the other hanging down. He was naked, with his right arm resting on his raised leg, and half of his face hidden below, looking at Dàn with a peculiar look that was both fearful and intimidating, mournful and indifferent. As Dàn approached, she felt his posture changing between a reclusive hermit, an injured beast, and a vigilant sentinel. The only thing certain was that he held a heavily rusted flame-shaped sword in his hand, with a broken tip but still a two-handed sword.

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"Great 'first of the fire thieves' Vasili Martin Anganas, I ask for forgiveness for disturbing your slumber." Dàn stopped ten steps in front of him. "As repentance for my disrespectful behavior, please accept the most precious thing in the known Nirvana." She continued to walk forward, knelt down at Vasili's feet, and, as she did last night, folded her hands over her chest, summoning a warm stream. In Vasili's dim gray eyes, the beautiful and stunning "Flamma Varmah" rekindled.

Dàn lowered her head and averted her gaze, offering the continuously jumping flame fragments with both hands. Vasili extended his trembling right hand, hovering over the warm fire. The fire spread like vines from her fingertips to his dim arms, and where the fire marked, his pale skin regained its color, and his dry curly hair regained its blackness, with sparks flying.

However, as the flame was about to take hold of his body, he pulled his hand back. The flame, no longer able to cling to him, emitted a mournful extinguishing sound and fell into Dàn's palm like a dewdrop falling from a tree.

"Why?" Vasili opened his dry mouth, his voice simultaneously carrying the hoarseness of old age and the naivety of youth. "Are you mocking me?" He lifted his gaze from the flame and stared sternly at Dàn.

"During your fifty-year slumber, the divine flame scattered. Only those who gather the divine flame can end the reign of the human king and become the next Ard Rí (high king). Please allow me to play the role of your virgin and accompany you to the Lia Fáil, the Stone of Destiny. There, I will burn for you." Dàn respectfully reported.

"Human king?" Vasili echoed the unfamiliar title.

"The 'Human King of Immortal', known as the 'Blood Eagle' by the people of the North. The Etna people call him the 'Golden Eagle,'" Dàn looked up at Vasili's face and said.

"Vitulus..." Vasili fell silent for a moment. "Is he still alive?"

"Even though his body has died, his soul still lives on," Dàn's lowered eyelashes showed no emotion. "Some say he is in great pain, while others say he is extremely calm, but the fact remains that his will is at odds with that of the beast spirits. Please seize the throne so that the era of beasts can begin."

"So you woke me up for this," Words flowed from Vasili's lips, filled with indifference. "Playing pretend to be a king."

"With all due respect, this is not your true belief. You, who have felt the warmth of the flame, no longer see becoming a king as a game. On the contrary, without the nourishment of the flame, you will soon fade away and become ashes," Dàn stepped forward, covering Vasili's feet with both hands, looking up. "You're very cold, Vasili, time is running out. I beg you, accept my flame."

"Let me go." Vasili suddenly swung his sword, pointing it straight at Dàn's slender neck. The speed of the sword was fast and the decision to stop it was resolute. The cold blade wind raised by the long-dormant iron sword rushed straight to Dàn's nose. "I should have slept forever, but you took it upon yourself to weave a destiny that had already ended."

"In my view, it never ended. The more you try to escape its grasp, the tighter it holds onto you. I have already taken responsibility for the fundamental sin, but what about you?" Dàn still had not released Vasili's foot, "There are still some unfinished matters waiting for you."

"Do you know what? I found you annoying at first glance, and now I think you sound more and more grating. You are the child of that herbalist, right?" Vasili flipped his sword and held the blade against Dàn's chin. As she remained silent, he raised the tip of the sword, lifting her chin and causing drops of blood to fall from her delicate neck like a marble pillar.

Even though her life was hanging by a thread, Dàn's eyelashes remained still, but from her downward gaze, there was a hint of desolation. "As a demi-god of fate, my soul belongs to the animal spirit Danu. But yes, my body is also a child of Luthera."