Ash watched the light of the Spire slowly fade away. They had arrived at the camp shortly before nightfall, and one of the guards there had helped clean and wrap his wounds before they showed him to a tent, telling him to go and rest.

He was now sitting behind his tent, leaning against its cloth wall as his gaze drifted off. He could hear the faint voices of the guards as they reported to Inquisitor Victor, though he couldn’t make out the words. Perhaps that was for the best – he didn’t imagine the inquisitor was receiving any good news right now.

As soon as the light of the Spire faded completely, the air began to grow colder. Ash shivered and wrapped himself in his cloak. He considered going back inside the tent to try and sleep. His eyelids were heavy, and he felt completely drained. He feared nightmares – how could he not? But somehow, he also felt calm, almost as if something was assuring him that he would sleep soundly. No nightmares, a thought drifted into his mind.

He pulled himself back on his feet, circled around to the entrance of the tent, and laid down on the fur covered bed straw, and pulled the blanket all the way to his chin before his mind drifted off into a deep sleep.

His desk was filled with reports from all the scouts he sent circling around the Shimmering Woods. He sat back on his chair, running his fingers over the letter he had just received from the Northern Gate.

‘Lord Inquisitor,

A platoon is on its way, set to arrive tomorrow afternoon, accompanied by a dozen mages, all third rank and above. My apologies for not coming personally – creatures of the dark are gathering beyond the gate, I feel my presence is needed more here.

The child is safe, she will be cared for until her mind is healed, then I am planning to personally escort her back to the capital.’

Victor breathed a sigh of relief. A dozen mages of third rank and above was going to be a formidable force. They could safely search the Shimmering Woods for more survivors and try to track down whatever the Apostle and her mad followers summoned in those burial grounds.

Afternoon was a bit late though. He and Ash needed to head out at the first light of the Spire if they wanted to pass through the Howling Valley safely. Even then, he wasn’t sure of whether Ash would be able to do it. There was a chance they’d need to circle all the way west, to where a small, treacherous mountain pass allowed passage on the warmest days.

He paced the tent, well aware that such a delay would be unforgivable. He couldn’t waste weeks like that. Ash needed to brave the Howling Valley no matter what. But seeing how broken the child was, Victor couldn’t help but have his doubts. Even for those with a healthy, strong mind, the Valley was a danger. Ash was far from both at the moment.

With a sigh, he left the tent. The campsite was quiet now. Most guards had gone to sleep, and only those who were on lookout remained awake. He could see them quietly sitting or pacing just outside the camp.

His gaze turned towards the Valley – its entrance, covered by that unnatural veil was still visible even from so far away. He shook his head, knowing he had no choice but to try. The Emperor and the other inquisitors, as well as the Oracle needed to know what had transpired here. Since Theresa’s mind was broken completely, that only left Ash for a witness.

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As such thoughts passed through his mind, he glanced at the young man’s tent.

Ash was sitting atop a rock his tent was built next to. The cold evening breeze pulled at his long hair. The braid he always wore had unravelled, making his hair look like a waterfall of gold, glimmering as the light of the torches and the campfire shone on it. He was pale as always and covered in bandages.

He looked more like a ghost than human.

Victor pursed his lips. How he could deny being a twilit was beyond him. He could more easily convince Victor that a cat was a dog than denying such an obvious truth.

He let out another sigh before approaching the young man. “I understand that it’s difficult,” He spoke up with a gentle voice, “But you should try to get some rest. We’ll pass through the Valley tomorrow, I need you to be rested enough to handle the journey.”

The young man visibly flinched. His head jerked towards Victor, his bright blue eyes glared at him with surprise. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped himself, nodding instead. Without a word, he jumped down the rock and hurried back to his tent, though his balance seemed somewhat off as he stumbled the few steps he took.

Victor shook his head as he pressed his palm against his forehead. It was understandable that he was shaken up, but still… he didn’t act like himself at all.

A disturbing thought passed through his mind, but he quickly pushed it away.

“How are you feeling?” Inquisitor Victor asked as they arrived at the entrance to the Howling Valley. They had ridden here on horseback, leaving just as the Spire began to shine. Since they couldn’t bring horses through the Valley, a guard had accompanied them to take the horses back.

“I’m fine,” Ash replied softly. “I suppose I really needed to get some sleep.”

He couldn’t describe with words how thankful he was that no nightmares plagued him. He slept like a log, waking up only when a guard came to his tent to wake him up. He felt well rested, though his wounds still hurt a bit, and closing his eyes now only summoned those horrifying images – the pile of dead bodies, and the lid of the sarcophagus closing over him, trapping him in there with that dead body of a demon.

“Is that so…?” Inquisitor Victor shot him an odd look. He turned his gaze towards the Howling Valley. “Remember, don’t use mana, don’t speak unless you must, and don’t stray from the path, alright?”

They stepped through the veil, into the Valley. The air grew cold all of a sudden, the light of the Spire dimmed, and a distant whisper reached his ears, sending shivers down his spine.

He closed his eyes for a moment as a sharp pain struck him.

Then he opened them to a beautiful view. A large tree stood atop a hill, surrounded by crimson flowers blooming under its shadow. With a reddish-brown bark and white-pink flowery leaves, the tree towered above the surrounding landscape.

A pale hand – his hand – rested on the bark of the tree. Mana flowed towards him, nourishing, empowering.

“Again?” A woman’s voice reached his ears. “You’ll drain the spirits dry, father.”

He heard a chuckle. He felt his own mouth curl up, then he turned to face the woman. The same woman he saw in his other dreams. “Ha, as if I could ever.”

“If anyone could, it’d be you.”

His smile vanished, and emotions that didn’t belong to Ash filled his heart. He grimaced as he turned his gaze to the Spire of Kindling, standing tall beyond the crimson sands. “No, I don’t think so.” His voice was but a whisper, speaking these unfamiliar words. “But I will take what I can from them.”

“As you should, father…” Her voice faded as she approached the Tree of Spirits. “But… isn’t this enough?” She pointed all around them, at the vast world illuminated by the Spire. “Our world is vast, and we live good lives. We will ascend, both of us. We will find Mom, we have enough time. So… isn’t this enough?” She asked with a catch in her voice.

“I don’t think we have enough time.” He replied with a heavy heart. “But you’re right – we will ascend, we will find your mother. I promise you that.” His gaze was fixed on the Spire, and his heart burned with defiance and determination.

He stumbled, slipping out of the dream. The Spire’s light was low.

“You did well,” The Inquisitor’s voice reached him. “Let’s rest for the night – we’ll reach Bhaile-Morn tomorrow.”

Bewildered, Ash looked around. The Valley was behind them, and he could see the distant walls of the capital ahead of them.

…When had they passed through the Valley?