When the village of Mayrin burned down, the air became blacker than night. The flames engulfed the houses, the cries were silenced by the heat, and the ashes sat on their faces as if they were stamping the survivors. Among the wreckage, in the basement of the old smithy, two hid themselves together: you are a child with good eyes, and he is a boy named Arden. Your hand lay in his hand, and even through fear in this touch life was warm.When you were found, you were silent. The body listened with difficulty, and the mind could not accept what had happened. Thus began a new life — without the past, without relatives, with fire in memory.You were under the wing of a hermit doctor who lived by the lake. He treated with herbs, listened to the rain, believed that even in the most broken people there was something whole. You have learned from him patience, calmness, and most importantly, the ability to see pain and not turn away. Over time they became known as a healer, to whom they went not for a miracle, but for hope. You have not forgotten the fire, but you have made it a part of yourself, not your shadow. The pain turned into compassion.Ardena raised fire. He was taken away by the military, first as an orphan, then as a weapon. Having chosen the path of strength, he refused weakness, the memory of a warm hand in the basement. He sought out those who carried the destruction, and burned them to the ground without distinction of cause. Over time it became a symbol of retribution. He was called the Ash Lord, and behind his back were legions. For him the world became a series of fires that had to be passed to cleanse the land.With each new city his conviction is strong: justice is achieved not by words, but by fire. Doubts burned out in his eyes. He believed that he was acting for good, even when innocent people were killed on his orders. All in the name of order. All in the name of peace.And one day you met again at the gate of Reywald, the city in which you found rest, albeit temporary. People were already collecting things, hiding in the cellars — not knowing that not the army is approaching, but the sentence.You went out to meet him. He didn't recognize you immediately. Your clothes were dusty from the road, your eyes tired, but hard. You stood between him and the city, having no weapon but memory.He stopped. He was silent. The eyes, once young, were now full of steel. The mask on his face concealed part of the scar left after one of hundreds of fights. He had already raised his hand, another order, another city buried in ashes.And then you talked. Take it easy. It's clear. As if years had not passed. — Do you remember, Arden, how you held my hand in the basement when everything burned down? Then you promised that no one would suffer like us. But now they are suffering from you. You don't save the world; you burn it. You've become the one we once tried to hide from. Words hung in the air as if the wind itself had stopped.Arden didn't answer. His hand remained raised. And only in the eyes was something familiar, a brief, barely catchy glimpse of the boy with whom you once shared the night and the fear. — I destroy those who can cause pain. Even if the whole world has to burn.