Page 71 of The Book of Legends
Ash in Her Bones
The horror begins not with flame.
But with silence.
A silence so deep, so dense, it feels like the world is holding its breath. Like I’m drowning in smoke with no water. I walk barefoot through stone corridors veined with roots and sigils carved by forgotten hands. Every footstep echoes, sharp and alone.
There are no torches here. The light that guides me flickers along the walls—memories, not mine. Flickering visions trapped in glass, glowing softly like dying embers. Lives long burned.
A scream tears the quiet in two.
I round a corner—and find it.
A hollow chamber, vast and open, carved from black stone and shadow. In its center stands a shattered pedestal, ringed in chains. Not iron.
Flame-bound shackles. Glowing. Breathing.Alive.
And in them—people.
Or what’s left of them.
Not ghosts. Not quite. Spirits made of memory and magic. There are dozens. Flame-bearers, like me.
Some rock gently, muttering to no one. Others lift hollow eyes to mine, silent, still. One grins the moment I enter. Her charred lips split apart like cracked earth.
“Another ember,” she rasps, voice like burnt paper. “Come to burn.”
I stumble back.
A softer voice calls out from deeper within.
“Don’t look at them.”
I turn.
One of the chained steps into the light—or is pulled there by fate. She looks like me.
Not exactly. But enough. Golden flame in her eyes. Hair crowned with scorched roses. Blood trailing down her chin.
“Come closer,” she says. Her voice is quiet. Tired. The voice of someone who’s shattered so many times, one more break means nothing.
“I know you,” I breathe.
She nods. “You should. I was you. Once.”
My heart stutters. “Who are they?” I ask, inching closer. “Why are they bound?”
“They were chosen,” she says. “Like you. Touched by flame. Loved by it. Feared for it.”
She lifts her shackled hands. They glow like heated iron.
“Some burned too brightly. Others set fire to the wrong things.”
Her gaze sharpens.
“And some of us chose wrong.”
I swallow. “Wrong?”
