The sky was torn in hues of crimson and black, clouds swirling like wounded beasts above the shattered land. Alden Cross awoke amidst the ruin, his breath shallow, his body heavy with the residue of death. Ash clung to his skin like a lover refusing to let go, embedding itself into every crevice of his scarred flesh. The scent of smoke, blood, and charred earth invaded his senses.

He lay still, for a moment, as if listening to the whispers of the dead. Silence stretched around him, broken only by the distant crackle of dying embers. Slowly, with a groan that echoed from the pit of his soul, Alden pushed himself up. His body ached, his limbs sluggish, as though the earth itself tried to drag him back.

But it never succeeded. It never would.

He rose again, as he always did. Cursed. Bound. Reborn from the ashes of the wars he could not escape.

The ground beneath his feet was blackened, a wasteland littered with the remnants of a battle that had ended long ago—or perhaps only moments past. He couldn’t tell anymore. Time meant little when it looped endlessly, dragging him through death and life in a cycle that knew no mercy.

There were swords driven deep into the ground like forgotten gravestones, their edges dulled and their hilts wrapped in shadows. Shields lay cracked and broken, symbols of fallen legacies now nothing more than ash. Bodies, or what remained of them, dissolved beneath the weight of time, merging with the earth.

Alden’s gaze dropped to the weapon half-buried in the dirt. His sword. Its blade was dark, chipped by countless strikes, but at its core, a faint glow pulsed—like a heartbeat refusing to die. He knelt and wrapped his fingers around the hilt. The moment his skin touched the ancient metal, the mark on his forearm flared to life, searing with molten light.

A jagged line. A brand of fire. A curse and a bond.

He clenched his jaw and pulled the blade free. Ash scattered into the air, dancing like memories lost to the wind. He stood, feeling the weight of the sword in his hand, the familiar balance of it, as natural as his own heartbeat.

But this wasn't just a weapon. It was a tether. A chain. A reminder.

He had died here before. He would die here again.

A chill crept over the landscape, a shadow that moved not with the wind, but with intention. Alden turned, his eyes narrowing as the air thickened, heavy with unseen dread. The ground shivered beneath his boots, and from the mist emerged a figure. Cloaked in smoke, face hidden beneath a dark hood, it moved with the grace of a nightmare given form.

The Shadow-Walker. His curse given voice.

“You rise again, Ash-Born,” the figure said, its voice scraping against the air like steel over bone.

Alden's grip tightened around his sword. His name—no, his title—was a wound reopened every time it was spoken. “And you wait again, Shadow-Walker.”

A low chuckle echoed from beneath the hood, though no warmth touched it. “It is the nature of the curse. You rise. You fight. You fall. And you forget.”

Alden's throat tightened. The words struck deep, sharp as any blade. Forgetting—yes, that was the true enemy. Each death stripped more away. Faces, names, moments that once defined him now drifted like ash on the wind. He could feel himself unraveling, piece by piece, with every cycle.

But one thing remained. One memory that clung to his soul, refusing to fade.

A woman. Eyes soft and sad, lips whispering words he couldn’t fully grasp. A promise—one that echoed through every rebirth.

Find me.

He didn’t know who she was. He didn’t remember where or when he had known her. But the memory of her face burned brighter than any flame. It was the thread that kept him tethered to himself, to purpose, to hope.

“I’ll fight until I find her,” Alden said, his voice a rough whisper torn from his chest.

The shadow figure tilted its head, as if considering his defiance. “And if you lose yourself before you find her?”

Alden’s gaze hardened. “Then I’ll fight as the ash does. Even when it is forgotten, it shapes the land.”

For a moment, silence stretched. Then the Shadow-Walker took a step back, fading into the mist, becoming one with it. Yet its voice lingered, soft and cruel.

“The ash remembers, Ash-Born. Even when you do not.”

And then it was gone.

Alden stood alone in the ruin, his breath ragged, the weight of the curse pressing down on his shoulders. He sheathed his sword, the motion slow and deliberate. He looked to the horizon where the blackened clouds broke, allowing a single ray of light to pierce the gloom. It fell upon a path of scorched earth, winding like a scar through the wasteland.

He didn’t know where it led. But he would walk it.

He had to.

For in the ashes, he would find her. Or he would lose himself forever.

With one last glance at the battlefield—a grave for forgotten warriors and broken promises—Alden took his first step forward. His boots crushed the ash beneath, marking his passage.

The wind whispered around him, carrying voices he could almost recognize. And somewhere, deep within the earth, the embers stirred, waiting for the next battle, the next death, the next rebirth.

But Alden Cross no longer feared the cycle.

He was forged from it.

And this time, he would break it.

The path before Alden was a wound torn through the land—blackened, scorched, and silent. Each step crushed ash beneath his boots, sending whispers into the air. Whispers that almost sounded like words, like names. Names he should have remembered. Names he had lost.

He walked because standing still was death. Not the kind that claimed bodies, but the one that devoured minds. The kind that turned warriors into shadows and memories into dust.

Above him, the sky remained bruised, an endless swirl of storm clouds that refused to break. There was no sun, no moon. Only the pale, cold light that filtered through like a dying breath. The world had forgotten warmth, and Alden wondered if he had too.

The sword strapped to his back felt heavier with every step, as though it carried the weight of lifetimes. Lifetimes he couldn't recall. Yet, in its silent weight, there was a strange comfort. A reminder that even if memories failed, purpose remained.

He would find her. The woman from his dreams. The one whose voice echoed in the deepest corners of his mind, urging him onward.

Find me.

But where? Who? Why?

He didn’t know. But the questions burned brighter than any answer.

As the path curved, Alden caught sight of ruins in the distance. Broken stone walls, remnants of towers that once reached for the heavens but now clawed at the earth, pleading for release. Something about the place pulled at him, a thread woven into his soul.

He approached slowly, the air thickening with every step. The shadows grew longer, curling like serpents at the edge of his vision. It was a place of endings, of things buried and forgotten. And it was waiting for him.

A figure stood among the ruins, cloaked in tattered black, its back turned. The figure didn't move, didn't breathe. It simply was—like a monument carved from the night itself.

Alden hesitated, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “Who are you?”

The figure tilted its head, as if considering the question. Then, slowly, it turned.

Its face was hidden beneath a hood, but two eyes burned from within—eyes of ember and shadow. They pierced through Alden, cutting deeper than any blade.

“You are late,” the figure said, its voice soft but heavy, like the final toll of a bell.

Alden’s brow furrowed. “Do I know you?”

The figure chuckled, a sound like dry leaves crumbling beneath heavy boots. “You did. Once. Before the ashes.”

Alden stepped closer, his heart hammering in his chest. “Tell me. Who am I?”

The figure's head tilted again. “You are Alden Cross. Ash-Born. The one who dies and rises. The cursed. The forgotten.”

The words struck him like iron to flesh, sharp and merciless. He had heard the titles before, but never the name. Alden Cross. It felt right. It felt wrong. It felt like a lie and a truth, tangled in shadows.

“And you?” Alden demanded. “Who are you?”

The figure’s eyes flared. “I am the Keeper of Ashes. The one who remembers what you forget. The guardian of truths you refuse to face.”

Alden’s throat tightened. “Then tell me.”

The figure’s gaze drifted to the ruins. “You have stood here before. Many times. Each time, you ask the same questions. And each time, you forget the answers.”

Alden’s fingers clenched around his sword. “Then remind me.”

The Keeper’s voice dropped to a whisper. “She waits for you. Beyond the ruin. Beyond the death. Beyond yourself.”

Alden’s pulse thundered. The woman. The one he dreamed of. The one he needed to find. “Who is she?”

The Keeper shook its head. “She is the ember in the ash. The light that remains. But beware, Ash-Born. The closer you come to her, the deeper the shadows will grow. And when you find her, you may not like what you remember.”

Alden’s breath caught. Fear clawed at him, but he pushed it down. “I have to know.”

The Keeper’s gaze burned brighter. “Then step into the ruin. Face what waits. And remember… not all shadows are born from the dark.”

With that, the figure turned and vanished, dissolving into the mist like it had never been there.

Alden stood alone again, the weight of the moment pressing down. He looked to the ruins. The walls stood jagged, bones of a forgotten world. An archway waited, shadowed and dark, promising nothing but pain.

He swallowed hard and stepped forward.

The air grew colder as he passed beneath the arch. The ash beneath his feet thickened, clinging to him like a second skin. The ruins echoed with silence, a heavy, waiting stillness.

And then, a whisper. Soft and broken.

Alden.

He froze. The voice was close—too close.

Alden, find me.

The same words. The same voice. But this time, it wasn’t just in his mind. It came from deeper within the ruin.

He moved, each step heavier than the last. Stones crumbled beneath his boots. Shadows twisted, reaching for him. The ruin wasn’t dead. It watched him.

And then he saw it—a pool of black glass, resting in the center of the ruin like an open eye. Its surface rippled, though there was no wind.

He approached, his reflection wavering as he stood at its edge. His face stared back, scarred and hollow-eyed. But behind his reflection, another face appeared. A woman’s.

Her eyes were filled with sorrow. Her lips moved, but no sound came. Yet he heard her.

Find me.

Alden reached out, his fingers trembling. But as they brushed the surface, the reflection shattered, dissolving into darkness. The pool swallowed the image, and with it, the woman.

“No!” His voice echoed through the ruin, raw and broken.

But it was too late.

Only his reflection remained. And in its eyes, Alden saw something that chilled him to the bone.

Not hope. Not sorrow.

But fear.

He stumbled back, breath ragged, heart pounding. The pool’s surface stilled, dark and empty. But something beneath it stirred. Watching. Waiting.

Alden turned, leaving the ruin behind. But he knew he had not escaped it.

The shadows had seen him.

And they would not let him go.

The ruin lingered behind Alden like a wound that refused to close. Though his feet carried him forward, his mind remained trapped—haunted by the reflection, the woman's sorrowful eyes, and the fear that had stared back at him from the pool's depths.

Night pressed closer, though it was hard to tell in this world where twilight reigned eternal. Shadows lengthened and twisted, creeping like dark fingers across the ground. They reached for him, but he refused to falter. He could not.

Find me.

The words still echoed in his mind, soft and fragile like a dying ember, but filled with unbearable weight.

He would find her. No matter the cost.

The path ahead was uncertain, winding between jagged rocks and skeletal trees, their branches clawing at the sky. Yet Alden pressed on. His sword was a steady weight against his back, a silent companion, though he wondered if it, too, remembered more of his past than he did.

Soon, the path opened into a narrow clearing, shrouded in mist. The air turned colder, heavy with the scent of iron and ash. There, in the center of the clearing, stood a stone monolith—tall, cracked, and veined with ancient symbols glowing faintly beneath the moss.

A presence lingered there. Watching. Waiting.

Alden’s hand instinctively went to his sword hilt, though he did not draw it. Steel alone could not cut through shadows.

As he stepped closer, the mist coiled tighter, and a figure emerged from the haze. Not the Keeper. Not a shadow. Something… worse.

It was shaped like a man but wrong in every way. Its body was draped in tattered cloth, black as pitch. Its face was featureless, except for a single, gaping mouth that stretched from ear to ear. And from that maw, a chorus of whispers poured out—voices that were not its own.

Alden stopped, his heart hammering. The whispers clawed at the edge of his mind, digging deep, threading through old wounds.

“Who… are you?” Alden’s voice was hoarse, uncertain.

The creature’s head tilted, like a beast scenting prey. And then, the whispers shaped into words.

“We are your shadow,” it hissed. “We are what you left behind.”

Alden’s hand tightened on his sword. “I left nothing behind.”

The creature laughed, a sound like bone grinding against stone. “You forget because you fear. But fear does not change the truth. It only buries it.”

Alden shook his head. “I don’t care about truth. I only care about finding her.”

The creature’s mouth split wider, as if in mockery. “You cannot find her. Not while you carry the shadow beneath your skin.”

Alden drew his sword, its steel gleaming dull in the mist. “Then I’ll cut it free.”

The shadow did not move, did not flinch. “You cannot kill what you refuse to face.”

And then it lunged.

Alden swung, but the blade passed through mist and shadow. The creature dissolved and reformed behind him, laughter echoing from its hollow throat. Claws of darkness lashed out, scraping across Alden’s shoulder. Fire lanced through his flesh, but he refused to fall.

He spun, striking again. The blade met resistance, slicing through shadow, and the creature shrieked—an unholy sound that rattled the earth. Black mist spilled from the wound, but it did not fall.

“You are weak,” it spat. “You cannot kill us. You are us.”

Alden’s grip faltered. The words coiled around him, sharp and cold. Was it true? Was this thing a part of him? The fear, the darkness he refused to face?

The shadow struck again, knocking him to the ground. Pain lanced through his ribs, and the sword clattered from his grasp.

The creature loomed over him. “You can only destroy me by accepting me. By facing the truth you fear most.”

Its hand reached for him, black mist swirling around its fingers.

But Alden wasn’t ready to surrender.

With a growl, he snatched up a shard of stone and drove it into the creature’s chest. Light flared, blinding, and the shadow screamed—its form unraveling into mist and ash.

And then, it was gone.

Alden lay gasping, the stone shard still clenched in his hand. The clearing was silent once more. The mist retreated, as though fearing his defiance.

But though the shadow had fallen, its words lingered.

You are us. You are weak.

Alden rose, his breath ragged. He pressed a hand to his wounded shoulder, wincing as his fingers brushed raw skin. The wound burned, but it was more than physical. It felt deeper, like something buried within him had been torn open.

He turned back to the monolith, its surface still glowing faintly. His reflection stared back at him from the stone’s slick surface, but it was wrong—eyes too dark, mouth too grim. A stranger’s face.

Or perhaps his own.

A memory flickered at the edge of his mind, sharp and painful. A woman’s face, half-shrouded in shadow. Her voice, soft and broken.

"You promised me."

Alden staggered back. The pain in his head grew sharper, a vice closing around his thoughts. But the memory refused to come fully into focus. It stayed just beyond reach.

Frustration burned. He wanted to remember. He needed to remember.

But the shadow’s words echoed louder than his resolve.

"You cannot kill what you refuse to face."

Gritting his teeth, Alden turned away from the monolith. There would be no answers here. Only more questions. Only more darkness.

And yet, the path forward wasn’t clearer. It was darker than ever.

But he would walk it still. Because in the distance, beyond the ruin and shadow, something waited.

Her.

The one who whispered in his dreams. The one whose face stirred memories he could barely grasp.

And though the shadow inside him stirred and whispered, though fear burned beneath his skin, Alden would not stop.

Not until he knew the truth.