The fragrance of fresh flowers and putrid odor of rotting flesh intermingled in the air, slinking through the twin holes cut out in Feal's mask and into his nostrils. The lingering stench reminded him of a run-down funeral home, conjuring with it a number of unpleasant memories he would rather not recall..

Senator Forseti was lying on a canopied bed surrounded by a bouquet of pristine white flowers, their beauty failing to mask the horrid sight. Describing Forseti as sickly was certainly an understatement. Fealtanis began to wonder if he had come all the way here for naught, for his target already seemed to resemble a corpse. The hyrrean's skin was blackened, patches of unhealed wounds peeling away on his stubby forearm. A long tube was attached to the base of his throat, connecting it to a piece of bronze medical equipment.

Feal's ears picked up the sound of his short, ragged breathing, which was almost akin to a broken whistle — a telltale sign that his target was still, in fact, alive.

"The Black Rot. A fitting end to a rotten man like him," Magni whispered behind him, covering his nose from the awful stench. "Once the decay and rot spread to the lungs—"

"Then, you might as well pray to a deity of your choosing."

Feal's body jolted in surprise as he whipped his head towards the source of the noise, mentally cursing himself for his negligence. His eyes fell upon an old hyrrean sitting on a rather tall chair in one of the darkest corners of the room. A braided, greying beard covered his body, as if that had concealed his presence in the room. The stranger smiled, placidly, revealing a set of missing teeth.

"It's surprising, isn't it? That he managed to live with his body slowly rotting away."

The yildean instinctively unsheathed his sword and pointed it at the source of the voice. His golden eyes glimmered in the candlelight, the wrinkles around them deepening with amusement. He laughed. "Is this how youngsters like you treat your elders nowadays?"

The masked man narrowed his eyes, unsure what to make of the hyrrean's strangely calm demeanor towards them. Was he daft?

Either way, he was a witness and witnesses had to be dealt with, no matter how unfortunate it might be. Fealtanis did not relish in the thought of what he had to do next. The poor soul had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, just like all the others who had fallen that night.

Wordlessly, he raised his blade, preparing himself to cut down the old man.

The old man only just realized the malicious intention that the masked figure had. His eyes were flooded with terror and his toothy grin vanished behind his beard. "No, wait, you can't just—"

"Fealtanis, wait." Magni pulled the edge of his cloak. "I don't think we should kill him."

"Listen to your friend here. I'm just a humble caretaker of the dying senator over there," the old man said as he nervously chuckled. "Besides, I've been expecting you, and this is the greeting I get?"

"What do you mean 'waiting for me'?"

Feal moved closer towards the bearded man, the tip of his blade almost brushing against his throat. His mind raced.

This is a trap, he thought. How could he have been so stupid? There was something definitely wrong with the lack of guards, the eerie stillness of the mansion, this man who seemed able to conceal his presence from his finely-tuned senses... that accursed pale woman.

Why did he let her get to him once more? He could have seen all of this coming, could have prevented it.

The old man raised both of his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Will you please get your sword away from my throat?"

"How did you know we were coming?" Magni said, cautiously taking a step towards the two of them.

An eerie smile formed upon his cracked lips, as if the sword pointed at his neck no longer fazed him. "I have the ability to foresee things that have yet to happen, it runs in my blood. I've been waiting for you, Fealtanis, true heir of the yildean throne."

A sudden chill ran through Feal's spine. His eyes widened in surprise. He tried to say something, perhaps a smart retort towards the old man, but his voice failed to rise. The words simply curled up and died in his throat. Feal tried to glare through his mask to assert his position, hiding his apprehension.

The gold-eyed hyrrean seemed to pick up on his uncertainty, for his smile only widened. "Or perhaps should I add the 'Scarlet King' to your list of titles?"

The assassin snapped out of his confused trance and regained what remained of his dwindling composure. He pushed his blade closer toward the old man.

"The fact that you somehow managed to know all of this information only further convince me that I should dispose of you."

The old hyrrean whimpered, edging back in his seat like a cornered rat. "Wait, listen to me, I hold no ill intent towards you. I can help you win back your throne. I promise it upon my beard."

"Magni, take care of the senator. While I deal with this... old caretaker."

A deadly glint suddenly ignited within the golden eyes of the old hyrrean, betraying his frail appearance. "No, you will listen to me. You don't have a choice in the matter."

He balled his hands into angered fists and slammed them onto his armrest. The world was suddenly engulfed in light and a searing heat.

Somewhere behind him, he could hear Magni unleash a rapid curse that would've certainly made Mira proud. His knees buckled against the blast. Without thinking, Feal turned back and reached for Magni, attempting to shield his friend from the intense heat. Within the inferno and against any form of common sense, he tried to open his eyes and witness the chaos amongst them.

He was instead greeted by an intense crimson glow.

The Primeval Flames. Feal himself never laid eyes upon their continent's elusive protector, but there was no mistaking the crimson glow which currently surround him and Magni. Its searing warmth and ethereal glow perfectly matched his knowledge of it.

And there was a sense of familiarity to be found amidst the inferno.

The yildean turned his gaze towards where the old man had sat, squinting his eyes to combat the divine light. He attempted to stand up, though his attempts were rendered futile when the flames suddenly intensified in its heat. He raised his sword against the pillars of flame, but the blazing gale snapped the previously-dependable blade like a twig. Against all odds, his eyes managed to get a glimpse of the flame's source.

What used to be a normal scraggly old man sitting on an old oaken chair was now standing proudly in front of him. His golden eyes were blazing like molten iron, his previously grey beard now engulfed in blood red flames. Though he still had a rather diminutive stature comparable to most other hyrreans he met throughout his travels, there was a certain aura of divinity present in the flaming figure.

A great warhammer almost thrice as tall as him materialized within his right hand. With a loud cry, he slammed it on the scorched marble floor, dispelling the inferno around them, leaving behind the scorched remains of what used to be a grand master bedroom.

The room's walls had all been blasted away, revealing the mansion's back garden. A rain of ash had descended over the foliage, like a thin blanket of gray snow. Considering the scale of the blast, it would be safe to assume that everyone who had been asleep were now probably awake, suffering from ringing ears and headaches. Fealtanis glanced towards where the bed used to bed. A single shrunken and charred corpse was the only thing that remained of Forseti's miserable existence.

Strangely, the floor on which Feal and his partner stood upon were left in its pristine state, quite a contrast in comparison to the charred remains of the bedroom. A thick cloud of smog lingered in the air, obstructing most of his view.

Fealtanis wildly looked around for his companion. Magni's eyes were wide open, his mouth was left gaping like a fish gasping for air. He sustained no injuries, though the same could not be said of his beard. The majority of his great, majestic beard was left tragically singed by the great flame, along with his mask. An outline of soot on his face marked where his mask had been, though his skin itself seemed untouched by the flames. He began to cough wildly.

"What in the blazes... What in the— What."

"Magni, you are... We are..."

Fealtanis touched his face. His iconic horned mask had all but been scorched away in the blast, yet he, too, suffered no burns. His clothes were warm, its edges slightly singed by the flames, but otherwise remaining intact.

It defied logical explanation.

"...unharmed." A voice finished his sentence for him. "Burning you to cinders would be quite... detrimental to our future partnership."

The yildean looked back at the source of the voice, unable to disguise his shock and terror. He felt almost naked without his mask comfortably sitting in front of his face. The bearded figure stared down at his kneeling figure, with an almost condescending look. Red flames lapped around his chin area, its corners lashing around the air like the forked tongue of a viper.

"Hyrresh's flaming beard...?" Magni asked, his voice reduced to a hush.

Something resembling a smirk emerged behind the figure's beard of Primeval Flames.

"Yes, I am."

"Hyrresh...?" Feal murmured.

The look of pride seemed to intensify even further. "The very same Hyrresh that gifted this continent with my flames."

"Your flames? Last I read, the flames came from Solaith and Lucanor." Feal stood, brushing away the layers of ash away from his shoulders and hair. His pluck felt like the only thing anchoring his mind right now, preventing it from imploding from the sheer insanity of his situation.

The flame god's expression darkened. "Don't test me boy. The flames may have come from them, but it was I who taught you mortals how to use it properly."

"I-it can't be. Are... are you claiming to be the god of flames?"

Common sense told him that it was impossible. Why would one of the oh-so-revered gods of the continent, who in his long years of living had remained relatively silent, to suddenly descend into the mortal plane in this way? For the longest time, Fealtanis had even started to doubt their existence and wonder if they had been mere myths to be told to children.

Yet the evidence stood right in front of him, in the form of the crimson flames and the figure's uncanny resemblance to the statues that dotted Vielarsburg's landscape. It was somehow easier to believe this rather than to remain faithless.

"Please forgive my friend's insolence," Magni said, prostrating himself in front of the flaming figure. "He didn't know better."

"Why are you waiting for us?" Feal asked, trying to make himself sound imposing to hide the fact that his courage was crumbling like ashes in the wind.

"Waiting for you."

"E-excuse me?"

"I've been waiting for you," Hyrresh repeated, exasperated, jabbing a finger towards the yildean man before him.

"Why?"

Hyrresh's lips morphed into a far-too-wide grin. "Have you heard of the Day of the Lightless?"

The better question would have been: who hadn't? There was nary a soul on the continent that had not been told of this story at least once. The coming of the second World's End, when Hyrresh's gift to mortals would sputter and die. On that day, the world would be plunged into darkness, engulfed by the cold Mist.

In short, a story told to scare children.

"The embers fade, and the Day of the Lightless shall be upon us," Hyrresh quoted. There was almost a miserable timbre in his voice. For a single second, Fealtanis thought he could see the weight of centuries gaining onto him. The blobs of molten gold encased in his eyes seemed to lose their luster.

"Perhaps to you mortals it might seem like a distant, if not mythical, future. But I assure you, it is very much a future that will inevitably come to pass," he continued. "And it is much closer than you might think."

"I'm just an assassin. You'd be better off revealing this to your acolytes," Feal said.

At that, Hyrresh chuckled. "Just an assassin? Oh, dear child, you give yourself too low a credit."

The man drew closer to Feal. The air grew hotter around him. "They often omit the next part of this prophecy: for only the heir of cinders will inherit the world when the embers finally fade."

Hyrresh then raised his war-hammer then pointed it at him, like a king about to ordain a knight.

"You are the one destined to dispel this world from the Mist. The flames are your birthright, Fealtanis of the Eighth House."

Fealtanis stared blankly at the deity. "You are making absolutely no sense."

The flame god laughed. "You will come to understand, in time."

He placed his palm upon his chest, a bright red glow emanating from it. He pulled it away from him as if he was dragging something out of the cavity of his chest, revealing a dancing ball of crimson fire sitting atop his palm.

"This flame is but an extension of its source here deep within the mountains. I fear it is far too deeply rooted within these lands. Should the Heir of Cinders seek the flame—" Hyrresh then clenched his fist, putting out the flame. From it, he produced a bright red gem, which he threw at Feal. "—then bring this to Steinberg's descendant. He will understand and he will lead you to the Heart."

Feal caught the gemstone from the air and observed it. It radiated a warm scarlet glow. While it would certainly make for a beautiful piece of jewelry, something about the stone felt oddly familiar to him — almost as if he'd seen its glow and felt its warmth time and time again.

Hyrresh glanced to his side. "As much as I'd like to chat further, I think it'd be best if the both of you take your leave. Your friend ran all the way from the garden back to the mansion. The heir of cinders getting captured by the authorities would certainly be an unfavorable circumstance." The flame god turned his back to them. "There's a limit to what this mortal body can do."

That and the explosion of divine flame probably alerted everyone in the district at this point, Feal internally mused.

"Magni, it's time." He turned towards the scorched wooden door. It was a miracle that some semblance of it hadn't burned down to cinders.

"Fealtanis. Wait."

The yildean assassin turned back towards Hyrresh one last time.

"Even the dimmest of embers will banish even the palest of nightmares."

Feal said nothing, turning away from the flame god. He tightened his fist around the bright red jewel. "Magni."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm getting there, damn it. And uh, thank you for gracing us with your presence, Lord Hyrresh."

The yildean assassin walked away. His talons tightly gripped the peculiar gem.

A small part of his soul wished that he could just swallow what Hyrresh told him, from him being the prophesied Heir of Cinders to being able to purge the Pale Lady with the power of the Primeval Flames. That would mean there would be a way to bring an end to that faceless terror's torment... and maybe — just maybe — it would mean that he had some sort of purpose in this world other than to serve as a bloodied tool for the schemes of others.

Maybe, if all of this were true, his existence might not be so repugnant after all.

But everyone with a sane mind would doubt the validity of Hyrresh's words — if that man really was Hyrresh in the first place. The concept was absolutely preposterous from start to finish. Him being hailed as some kind of a prophesied hero would certainly be the greatest insult there would for his victims.

He hoped that something would happen to prove him wrong. Perhaps, somewhere in this continent, miracles do exist.

The moment he stepped out of the charred bedroom, a sense of dread suddenly gripped his heart tightly and his knees suddenly felt weak at the sight of a familiar emotionless, immaculate white face.

Much to his relief, it was only Nadrien.

    "What the hell happened?!" the sniper half-shouted, seemingly not caring anymore about blowing their cover. "Where are your masks? Did you need to blow up half of the mansion to kill one old man? And— what in the world—"

She had caught glimpse of the hyrreans' patron god just standing menacingly, complete with his flaming beard and war hammer, behind him.

"Long story. We need to get out of here. Don't attack the flaming beard man. He means no harm... yet."

"Magni?"

"I'm fine. Just lost my beard."

Nadrien breathed a loud sigh of relief. "Oh, praise be the stars. We need to find another way out."

"What?"

"The guards were all alarmed in the back garden. I could barely made it here."

"Then, the main gate would most likely look the same..."

"The waterways?"

Fealtanis scrunched his nose, forgetting for a moment that he did not have his mask on to hide his emotional cues. He hated the cramped and humid waterways. "Seems to be the most favorable option out of the three."

Nadrien groaned, seemingly sharing his sentiment.

"Then, back to the sewers we go."

—————
Chapter Writer: AFilthyCasul

AN: [From VeryBigMess] Man, don't you just hate it when a cryptic person suddenly drops a prophecy onto you, talks about "destiny", and then leave you with an existential crisis? XD What do you think of the revelations in this chapter? It feels like all the arcs are gaining some momentum. But not everything they learn is the absolute truth... after all, contradictions exist XD