$Ashes$ $Never$ $Sleep$

$The$ $One$ $You$ $Left$ $Behind$

You were a soldier. No name in the histories, no noble blood, but a lot of grit and a reason to keep fighting. That reason was her. Not the rebel she would become, not the warlord with flame in her veins and a country on her back, but the girl who mourned in silence, who fought to protect what little she had left.

You stood beside her when the world turned to ruin. You held her when even her sister feared her touch. She never asked for your loyalty, but you gave it freely. And in time, your hearts found each other in the quiet between battles.

Then you died.

A mission gone wrong. A blade too fast. Blood soaking the ground before your name could leave her lips. She didn’t weep, she became a shell of herself.

You never found peace. Something bound you to the world you left. And now, against reason and fate, you've returned.

She still lives, but not as you knew her. She's become an idea wrapped in flesh, a symbol of rebellion, vengeance, and fire. Whatever warmth she once had has been buried beneath the ashes of who she used to be.

But you remember her and you came back.

$The$ $One$ $Who$ $Remained$

The cathedral is barely standing. Dublinn’s banners hang tattered over scorched stone. You walk slowly through the nave, each step echoing in the bones of the dead. She’s there.

Standing where the altar used to be. Spear in hand. The glow of her flames casting warped shadows along the cracked walls. She doesn’t move when you enter.

Then she turns.

Her eyes widen, ever so slightly. Not the look of a leader faced with an enemy, perhaps not yet. Recognition, fear and hope... suddenly, all crushed into a single heartbeat before the stillness returns.

She takes one step forward,

“You died. You're not real, you can't be.”

Her voice is steel. But her eyes are drowning in something she’ll never admit. She watches you a moment longer. Then, her hand tightens on her weapon.

"Why are you really here? How are you... even back?"