The halls of Hal'Zirath trembled with heat. The stone was not stone at all, but a blackened flesh-like surface that throbbed faintly as if alive, feeding on the eternal fire that had been born in its depths. Velgrin stood at the center of a vast amphitheater carved from the bones of something greater than mountains, his head lowered, his voice silent.
Before him burned the First Flame of Ascension.
It did not flicker like any fire known to mortals. It writhed, twisted, folded into shapes that should not exist—columns of white and crimson light spiraling together, tongues of shadow searing into the air, each lick of fire warping the very fabric of Hal'Zirath. The seven Demon Lords stood scattered along the rim of the amphitheater, their gazes fixed on the fire in cautious silence. Even they, devourers of empires and drinkers of blood, did not step closer.
Only Velgrin dared.
His expression was serene, as though beholding a god, though his silence spoke louder than any worship. The Silent One extended a hand. The Flame bowed. The fire leaned toward him like a loyal beast, and for a heartbeat, all of Hal'Zirath seemed to breathe in rhythm with it.
A ripple of voices echoed in the abyss. Some demon lords snarled their suspicion. Others muttered approval. But Azareth, the calm leader draped in his silver crown of horns, watched Velgrin with a gaze colder than ice. He did not speak, but his fingers clenched the stone rail before him. He knew—this flame was not theirs to command. Not truly.
Velgrin, however, smiled faintly. He had kindled the impossible. And somewhere beyond this world, the vessel would feel it.
---
In Sid's dream,
Sid's breath hitched as darkness collapsed around him.
At first there was nothing—only the endless void that had haunted his sleep since the day he awakened in the organization. Then came the sound. A low crackle, like kindling catching flame, swelling louder and louder until it was not flame but laughter.
"Finally."
The voice was no longer in his mind alone.
Sid turned sharply. Behind him stood a figure.
Ravh'Zereth.
The demon did not hide in the shadows now. He stepped forward, tall and impossibly imposing, his form sheathed in black fire. His eyes gleamed like shattered suns, gold laced with veins of crimson. The grin he wore was not cruel in the way Sid expected—it was worse. It was satisfied.
One flame down.
The words struck Sid like a hammer. Ravh'Zereth didn't shout them, didn't roar. He spoke them quietly, almost gently, and yet the world itself seemed to ripple at the sound. The black fire spilled from him, snaking across the ground, burning patterns into the void.
Sid staggered back. "What… what do you mean?"
The demon tilted his head, amused. "Velgrin. That clever little whisperer. He has done it. He has taken the First Flame. The first step toward Ascension has been lit."
Images burned across the darkness. Sid saw Drelith consumed again, the same crimson fire that had warped Hollow and human alike, swallowing the city whole. He saw Velgrin's silhouette standing before it, his arms open in welcome, his silence speaking louder than a thousand screams.
And then—Sid saw himself.
In the fire.
His own body standing in the middle of the flames, his veins glowing black-red, his hands wreathed in shadow. The demon's laughter filled his skull as the vision branded itself into his mind.
"No—no, that isn't me!" Sid's voice cracked.
Ravh'Zereth's grin widened. "Not yet."
---
The demon stepped closer, and though Sid braced himself, his body wouldn't move. He was locked in place, chained by something unseen. Ravh'Zereth crouched, bringing his face level with Sid's, the fire burning off him like a storm.
"You are not ready, vessel. But you are learning." His tone was almost indulgent, like a teacher correcting a student. "When the Second Flame burns, you will understand. And when the Third ignites, you will not resist me anymore."
Sid tried to shout, to fight, to summon even a spark of his power—but nothing came. His voice was a whisper swallowed by fire.
The demon leaned closer still, lips nearly at his ear.
"One flame down."
The smile spread wider, sharper, until it looked less like a grin and more like a wound across his face.
The void shook. Sid's chest heaved, his heart pounding so hard it hurt. His thoughts screamed to wake, to break free. But Ravh'Zereth's laughter drowned everything out.
The last thing Sid saw before the dream shattered was the daemon's hand—black fire curling around it—resting gently on his shoulder, as though claiming him.
And the smile. Always the smile.
---
Back in Hal'Zirath
The Flame roared higher, and Velgrin finally lowered his hand. His work was complete. He did not gloat. He did not speak. He merely turned his head slightly toward Azareth, as if acknowledging the leader's unspoken hostility.
Azareth's frown deepened.
The Demon Lords retreated, their interest waning, their schemes already shifting. But Velgrin remained standing before the Flame, silent as ever, his gaze locked into its impossible depths.
In the fire's twisting light, if one looked closely enough, one could almost see it.
A face.
A smile.
The smile of Ravh'Zereth.
---
And far away, Sid woke in his bed, drenched in sweat, his hand clutching his shoulder where the daemon's fire had touched him.
The echo of that smile still burned in his mind.