He didn't ask her to wait. She wouldn't have, anyway. So he stood up and followed her.
The swordswoman moved fast, one step and she was gone, boots soft against the broken ground, cloak brushing past hanging vines and twisted bark. The fog parted around her like it was used to her presence.
He limped after her, slower, every step dragging pain up his leg. His ankle was worse now, swollen, tight but he didn't stop moving. Not yet. Something about her made the pain quieter. Not less, just... easier to ignore.
They traveled without words, and the silence was strange. Not empty, not tense either. Just quiet. Like the empty woods he found himself in, unsure if he was worth watching.
Eventually, the trees thinned again, and the path opened into a forgotten glade, stone ruins peeking from beneath ash-covered weeds.
Broken columns leaned sideways like old giants. A crumbling arch stood at the far end, half-swallowed by roots. The air was heavy here, but still.
She stopped in the center, glancing back at him once. Then she sat on a chunk of moss-covered stone, sword balanced across her knees.
He sat opposite her, knees weak, hands trembling slightly as they rested in his lap. He exhaled slowly.
"That was new," he said, finally.
She looked up, silent.
"The wolves," he added. "I've seen Spectral Wolves before. They're fast, quiet, tough. But those… weren't the same."
"They weren't," she said. "What you fought weren't true specters."
He frowned. "Then what were they?"
"Things that should be dead, but aren't. Specters left behind when the change came… twisted by it."
"Change?"
She didn't answer at first. She just stared past him, into the fog, like she was remembering something distant.
"You've seen it already, haven't you?" she finally said. "The land cracking. The trees turning. The shrines... failing."
He nodded.
"That's the change."
He shivered a little, not from cold, but from the weight in her voice. Like the word carried more than it should.
"You knew they'd come?"
"I knew something would." She paused. "I felt it in the ash.
That didn't really explain anything, but he didn't press.
She looked down at the sword in her lap, tracing the dull edge with a gloved finger. Her voice came softer now.
"My name is Veyla."
He opened his mouth to respond and paused.
Her eyes lifted, waiting for response. But the words didn't come.
His name, it was right there, just out of reach. Like a word on the tip of your tongue. He felt the shape of it. The weight. But not the sound, or the letters.
He swallowed hard.
"I… don't remember mine."
Her head tilted slightly. "You don't want to share it?"
"No, I mean.....I can't."
He turned his hand over. The mark on his palm still pulsed faintly. The same ember-red glow. A reminder.
"After I touched this," he said, "everything went quiet. I woke up here. I had a name. I'm sure of it. I just… it's gone."
She narrowed her eyes, gaze flicking to the rune.
"That's not normal," she said under her breath.
"No shit."
"Did you speak with a Keeper?"
He shook his head. "I'm without a Flame Keeper."
Veyla stiffened slightly at that.
"I tried to rest at a shrine," he continued. "One of the Sites. It fizzled out. Like it saw me but didn't care."
"That's not supposed to happen," she said.
He gave her a flat look. "Starting to get the feeling none of this is supposed to happen."
She leaned back slightly, arms crossing over her chest, face unreadable.
"You're not supposed to be here," she said finally. "You wear the mark, but you don't belong to any Flame. You weren't born in this cycle. You weren't Called."
"Okay," he muttered. "So what am I then?"
"That's what I'm trying to decide."
He laughed dryly. "Helpful."
"You said you knew Spectral Wolves. Then you weren't raised here."
He hesitated. "I played the game."
She blinked in confusion.
"This world," he said slowly, "was just a game to me. I played it. Knew the names of the monsters, the classes, the lore. But that's all it was, names on a wiki. A build guide. Bits of story stitched into boss fights."
Veyla didn't speak, she didn't blink either, just stared at him.
He laughed again, more out of breath than humor. "And then I woke up here. Wearing wearing this symbol, holding this rune in my hand like it meant something."
He looked down again at the ember-mark. The pulsing had slowed.
"I thought I was dreaming, or dead maybe but then I bled. Then I ran, then those wolves came and tried to rip me apart."
She studied him for a while, as if trying to decide whether he was lying or he was mad. Maybe both.
"And you still followed me," she said.
"Didn't have a lot of options," he muttered.
"You don't belong by the Emberlight," she said finally, like a fact. "You weren't called by it. You weren't even chosen by one of its enemies."
She stood, her cloak shifting with the fog.
"You're a crack in the pattern. A tear in the cycle."
He stood too, slower, his ankle screaming again. "So what does that make me?"
Her eyes met his. Sharp, cold and honest. She replied
"Unwritten."
He blinked. "What?"
"That's what I'll call you until you remember," she said. "You're not a Cinder. Not yet. You haven't earned it."
He didn't argue. He didn't have the strength or the words.
The silence stretched between them again. Softer now.
Then she turned. "Come. We don't stay in one place after dusk. Not out here."
He limped after her, the ruins fading behind them. Ash fell like slow snow through the fog.
"Veyla," he said as they walked.
She glanced back at him.
"Why help me?"
She faced forward again. "Because you're not the only thing that doesn't belong."
She replied as they walked away together.