Thrice bedamned fool! The Keeper startled me, jarring me from a state near sleep, reverie without loss of consciousness, renewal before the Flame. I was Ashen, one who failed in the past to link the Flame, and owed my resurgence to its mercy. Or'do however had embraced the Dark instead, and in the same way I am reborn to Light, so to does he return in regions lost to shadow.

"Present and accounted for, how may I help you?" Or'do said cheerily. I sensed surprise from the Keeper, who had evidently forgotten his ability to hear her no matter how deeply she veiled her voice.

Thou hath ruined us. In your foray here, your sojourn from the lands of Flame, you have left your own planes unguarded. With none to link the Flame, it has remained untouched, unbound, at the whim of the Lords. 

"Your point?" Or'do folded his hands behind his head and leaned back, resting against the rugged stone wall. "How is that so different from the other lands into which we were born? Where the Ashen had for one reason or another become unavailable, and redeeming their world fell now to us. Let the other Ashen deal with it, I've no reason to return there."

You do now. In your absence, the Lords have fallen, the Dark returned. Twisted versions risen from the abyss now sit upon their thrones. The Age of fire reels on the brink of annhilation. I sense it somewhere, deep and bleak, the Dragons who ruled when the world was yet unmade, they have lurked and waited, watching the Flame sputter, its servants careless and languid. In your langour you have undone us, Ashen. The Ancients will return, and in their barren wake shall the world become nothing forevermore. They will extinguish the Flame, and with it destroy the Cycle of Light and Dark, ruling supreme until time itself dies.

Or'do held a hand before him, black lightning flickering between his fingers. I watched his eyes grow distant, focused on the world within and becoming blind to the one without. Dark tendrils surged along his forearm, writhing forth in a thick band of contorted bands, which tightened and hardened, becoming a long, ragged edged sword. Tempest its name was, herald of Shadow. It was as crude as mine was elegant, as dark as mine was bright. He stood, the weapon gleaming hungrily in his grasp. "Then in the name of all Ashen." Or'do thrust the blade heavenward, a surge of black fire swelling around it in a ragged, seething cone. "We shall return."