Epilogue

The Flame Beckons.
Aleorn rose smoothly, ash cascading from him in dark rivulets. Another Flame to link, another world to conquer! He turned to the First Flame, then paused, noticing the blood on his palm. "How did I get here?" Aleorn murmured. A tear slid along his cheek, fell into his palm like a solemn raindrop. "Am I crying?" His legs trembled, and he fell to his ironclad knees with a low, mournful note as memory smote him like a bolt of lightning. He buried his face in his hands, yet neither closing his eyes nor pressing upon them would banish the image of Or'do's cold, lifeless features; eyes cold as marble, skin pale as ivory.

His scream of despair was muffled by his palms, yet its pain was keen and deep, a cold blade ripping him apart from within. The Flame had once again tried to make of him a mindless slave, yet this time it had sought something more precious than anything in this foul world: his memories of Or'do. Fury clawed at his chest, igniting ragged streams of fire that glowed through his skin; he felt the Cinder within blaze again, burning with ferocious light. Aleorn roared, ash swirling around him like a mantle of ragged cloth as he surged to his feet, and strode toward the First Flame.

Or'do's features softened with death, his kind eyes dark, his warmth rapidly ebbing. Aleorn took another step toward the Flame, his hands clenched at his sides.

Or'do laughing, his infectious mirth lightening Aleorn's heart. Tears burned at the edges of his vision, a weak pain compared to the gaping wound in his soul. Strength fled him, and Aleorn collapsed before the First Flame, the traitorous Flame, the cruel master that stripped away his purpose without pause or remorse. His arms felt cold and heavy as lead, his body distant as he reached up, fingers crooked like those of a strangler crushing the life from his victim.

Or'do screaming in anger and sorrow as Aleorn lay in his arms, weeping tears of fire as his veins filled with ice. 

He wrapped his hands around the coiled sword, and felt within it the thousand thousand Flames he had linked in each of a thousand thousand worlds. A breath, and their warmth began to flow into him, burning him like a belly full of molten iron, yet all he felt was the hollow agony of a life without joy.

Behind him, ash swirled, slowly forming into a prone figure, shaping the hand splayed out like drowning man reaching for salvation, face pressed into the dirt. From within the tempest glinted iron dark and cold, then within, light.

Aleorn reached out, losing himself in the warmth, feeling the First Flame quiver and writhe before him, the coiled sword melting into slag that scorched his fingers, yet he simply thrust his hands into the smouldering bones, teeth gritted, eyes closed, tears glimmering upon his cheeks.

Hissing in the ash, fingers scraping stone, bones clattering in armour.

Deaf, blind, adrift in a void of his own making, Aleorn widened his perception, seeing in his mind's eye the thousand crimson stars of just so many worlds conquered over the decades. He gazed on not with avarice, but hate. It was not greed but spite that closed his fingers tighter around those plaintive coals. Steam veiled the lower half of his face as a shaking breath clawed from this throat, staining his lips with teardrops of blood. The Flame glowed, its light flowing into his veins like rivers of molten glass. His body seethed with hateful fire, and across the sky, the stars dimmed.

Ash swirling as a figure stood, whirling around him with each haggard step.

The Traitorous Flame darkened, the stars flickered rapidly; a tempest of razor edges shredded him from within, lightning curling out from his body, scorching a blackened halo around his kneeling form.

I could let him. Flame or Dark matters not to the Void. Or'do burst from the nebulous ashes, arm outstretched, fingers half formed wisps that curled around dark, rough, gnarled bone. Why should I care if he destroys himself? Another stride, his left leg vanishing as his right became solid. Why do I press on?

Ahead, Aleorn wept, lightning flashing over the ridges in his armour, digging its radiant talons into his crumbling flesh and tearing away large swathes that flowed like benighted rivers to pool around him. 

Because despite my purpose. Agony flared as his leg shattered beneath him, regenerating a half second before he collapsed. Despite his. Another step, another tidal wave of horrible pain. I am the only friend he has ever had, the only ally in this fight. Only one more pace now. And he is mine. 

Aleorn felt a hand on his shoulder, familiar strength flooding through him. At once he released the traitorous Flame, feeling it gasp like a drowning man thrust to the surface, its weak light slowly strengthening.

Because no matter how desperately my Voidsign demands his death, I know. "You would regret that, my friend." That his death would be mine too. "As would I."

Aleorn turned tearful eyes over his shoulder, hesitant, fearful perhaps that his comrade would vanish beneath the weight of his stare. "Or'do?" His voice was weak, and each syllable dredged up blood from deep within, yet he found strength enough to return Or'do's familiar, infectious grin.

"Come," Or'do rasped. "We've a great many adventures ahead of us."