Sitting by the small campfire Inquisitor Victor had created using his mana, Ash watched the dancing flames. They had just finished eating their rations, and the Inquisitor had gone for a walk to check the perimeter of their small campsite.

The Howling Valley’s entrance was just a few dozen steps away. The veil covering its entrance fluctuated from time to time, making it seem like reality itself was bending and moving. It was a very unsettling sight to gaze upon.

Yet somehow, Ash couldn’t take his eyes off of it. Worry ate away at his heart as he watched the veil. How come didn’t he remember walking through the Valley at all? Had something happened? Was it the Inquisitor’s doing, or had those whispers he heard before somehow done something to him?

He massaged his feet as he pondered. They hurt from all the walking he had done, so it wasn’t like the Inquisitor just knocked him out and carried him. Besides, he was on his feet when he came to. None of this made any sense.

He let out a sigh and shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind. Prying his eyes off of the veil, he turned his back to it and pushed away the small stones and twigs behind him to prepare to sleep.

Footsteps startled him, but soon the Inquisitor stepped out of the shadows. “We’re safe for the night,” He stated, his mana slowly dissipating around his hand. The crimson strands slowly vanished before Ash could try and figure out what kind of a spell he had cast. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m…” his voice faded. He had almost said fine. He wasn’t fine though. He had gaps in memory, and emotions that made no sense. He was far from fine. “I’m tired,” Were the words that left his lips. He scowled as nearly all of his instincts screamed at him to keep it to himself.

“That’s a given,” Inquisitor Victor sat down. “I’m talking about what happened in the cave.” He paused, as if he was trying to find the right words. “Have you remembered anything more, Ash? You don’t need to push yourself – but if there’s anything that comes to mind, I need to know.”

He didn’t just sound like he was probing for more information. This wasn’t the inquisitor speaking – not just that part of him, at least. He saw genuine worry in his dark green eyes.

Ash bit his lips. “I don’t know,” He admitted. “My memory is a mess.” He hesitated. The more he thought about what happened in the burial grounds, the more he felt sorrow and anger, hatred, regret, confusion… He clenched his fist and pressed it against his chest. “I wish I could tell you more.” He muttered as something beneath his shirt distracted him.

He felt something between his fist and his chest. A moment’s confusion almost immediately turned into horror as his heart sank. “I… think I should try to sleep.” He muttered, unable to fully hide his emotions.

Inquisitor Victor nodded in understanding. Though he seemed worried, he remained silent, his gaze cast far away, towards Bhaile-Morn.

Why was it here? Why was he wearing it? Ash looked at the pendant hanging from his chest. He had turned his back to the Inquisitor and covered himself with his blanket before looking at the pendant hanging from his neck.

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How had it even come here? Last he saw, the Apostle was wearing it. A tinge of hatred rose from the depths of his heart. His fingers clenched around the pendant. The dark coloured gem, surrounded by delicate silver was dull, its lustre was lost.

He saw no swirling mana within. There was no soul magic remaining in this pendant. The evil that it hosted had been released, probably during that ritual. Ash hid it back under his shirt, then pulled the blanket up to his chin.

Worries clouded his mind. What if the Inquisitor noticed what he was wearing? What if the fact that he hadn’t been fully honest came out? He wanted to be honest – he trusted the Inquisitor after all, he owed his life to him, twice, probably. But something didn’t let him speak. Something planted these seeds of distrust that grew so very rapidly.

He felt cold, and tired. His eyelids were heavy as he tried to think, but soon his min drifted off into a dreamless slumber.

They reached Bhaile-Morn before the light of the Spire began to dim. Victor greeted the guards at the gates, then requested a carriage to take them to the High Tower, since Ash was clearly too exhausted to go on. Besides, it would be best to keep their presence low for now – while the Apostle was dead and gone, who knew how many of her lackeys still survived, continuing to carry out her plan.

He folded his arms as the carriage arrived. What if the Apostle wasn’t the leader of these cultists? It was possible – though he had no information to confirm that assumption. He shot a glance at Ash. If only the boy remembered more.

He climbed into the carriage, and Victor followed.

Their short journey passed in silence. Ash seemed worried, was constantly fiddling with his hair, looking out the window impatiently, and scowling of biting his lips.

It wasn’t all that surprising. He had gone through a lot. Too much, for someone so young. Life had been unkind to him.

Once again, regret surfaced, but he quickly suppressed it. The past was the past and there was no point dwelling on it. It wasn’t like he could somehow change things. Kira was right, he needed to focus on the living, and the present. The past and the dead could wait.

The carriage stopped at the High Tower’s grand entrance. “Come on,” he said as he climbed down. Ash followed quietly. He was scowling still as he looked at the entrance.

As much as he wanted to let the young man go to his room and rest, he couldn’t. They still didn’t know what had happened to him. If he had been infected with soul magic, if he had somehow been subject to the terrible ritual. “Come,” He said.

The tower was gigantic. It was so tall, it looked like it tried to rival the Spire of Kindling. It couldn’t, of course, such a thing was impossible, but it tried. It was a testament to the greed and vanity of humanity.

He scowled as he glanced around. Guards stood at every entrance, and they patrolled the tower’s surroundings. There weren’t many people around, certainly no one young, and even the older mages weren’t out and about.

“Come,” the man he was walking next to said. He was powerful, albeit somewhat naïve, and he lacked the ability to properly see mana as most humans did. “I know you’re exhausted, but there are a few things that must be done before you can rest. The Oracle will surely want to see you.” He gestured towards his bandaged arms. “You could use some proper healing.”

He nodded. He knew of the Oracle, and he was well aware that standing before her as he was now would be a death sentence for the both of them. He couldn’t let that happen. He pressed his hand against his chest, feeling the pendant beneath his shirt. There was no mana left within it. That woman had wasted it all. But he could still use it.

He hugged his cloak, covering his torso completely as he followed the man called Victor. He reached under his shirt and grasped the pendant. His fingers caressed the silver inlaid metal frame holding the gem. A single drop of mana was all he needed.

Ash stumbled on the stairs. Bewildered, he looked around. When had they arrived in the High tower?!