The light that forms the glitterfly twinkled before me, its delicate wings sending motes of sparkling wonder into the Weave. I watch it drift down onto the outstretched Witch-staff of my friend Y’irison, as he sings The Blissful Regret, a lament to Ynnead. He finishes his dirge with a thump of his staff, scattering the glitter-fly into a puff of light before pointing his sword into the gloom. His golden cape flutters behind him in a breeze I cannot feel as I turn my sight to the prickle of the enemy’s psychic presence.

I begin to walk, my movements heavy, and I look down to see a bright yellow wraith-bone leg, the footstep thumping into the broken soil of a foreign battlefield. It is my leg, but it does not belong to me. I feel a surge of swirling unease as I raise my hand to my face, seeing a monstrous heavy flamer fitted to the wrist of my wraith-bone arm. My soul lurches as I realise I am dead, a lost warrior haunting a borrowed skin. As my mind sinks into the welcoming mire of lost memories, the glitterfly twirls past my vision, and I feel the resolve of Y’irison shake me from my remorse. 

I miss you, my old friend. Our need is dire. You are Illar’Jai, great and noble warrior, defender of Iyanden. Fire Dragon.

I remember. My soul steadies. I look down at the dragon’s breath flamers fitting to my forearms and grin. I have been granted the tendril of fate to avenge my own death. 

A ripple of anger travels across the surface of my mind as I finally focus on them. The writhing sea of psychic smoke parts and flashes of vermilion lances through the air as claws and carapace pierce the gloom. Fanged jaws snap shut as The Hunger from the Void claws over each other in a blur of limbs to reach me, the numberless darkness of the hive-mind taints my vision and twists the weave. 

I feel the fire of revenge surge through my being as I ignite the flames, ancient memories of the glory of an aspect warrior bubbling through my wraithsight as I incinerate them, snuffing their essence into smoky patches on the ether. The darkness of their psychic mind prickles and burns my soul as I scorch their bodies into blackened bones and wisps of ash. Even as they writhe and die, I do not turn the flame aside, the smouldering ruin of their twisted skeletons my revenge made whole.

I am lost in the swirling fire when her whisper-song called to me. My witchsight shifts through the warp to see her, although …it wasn’t her. The Wraithlord glides through the carnage, the twin wraithswords sliding through chitin and bone in a graceful pirouette, fountains of crimson ink staining the parchment of reality. I feel her close then, the shimmering apparition of her warrior form rippling over the Wraithlord as she carves her way to an immense hulking foe.

I turn and walk towards her, my anger igniting the flames as I scorch the horde scrambling between us. I feel the singe of pain as their dying minds winked out of existence, and I burn for many moments, the caustic touch of stronger minds searing the edge of sanity. As I incinerate the horde, my soul alone in the swirling ocean of violence and flames, I can feel my mind teetering on the edge of darkness before the sparkling glitterfly dances before my eyes, gently teasing me back to this plane.

Y’irison points his Witch-staff towards her, and I watch her stride towards a towering beast, its massive talons clawing the air as it screeches unspoken commands to the swirling mass. I look up and call out, my voice an echo of a rumour as the hulking monstrosity raises its weapon to fire, a blast of crystals crashing against her. I yell her name as I watch a blossom of pain bloom up her torso before she shrieks again and slices the cannon clean off, parrying the swipe of a monstrous talon. I turn and cast my fury across the lumbering monsters surging to defend the huge fiend from her attacks, my flames bubbling flesh from bones even as they moved in defence.

A haunting laugh undercut the gloom as she spins on her heels, the Wraithsword leaving a glittering trail of white petals in the Weave as it thumps into the beast, smiting its head from its shoulders. As the monster falls, the smoke of the hive mind bubbles into nothingness, small pockets of darkness all that remains. 

I neither know nor care how long I roam the battlefield in a maelstrom of flames as the whispered curses of She Who Thirsts taunt my being until Y’irison saved me, his soft voice an echo on the breeze as he untethers me from my borrowed skin and guides me home. 

I whispered into the mist, swirling through time and the Infinity Circuit to stand beneath a Pine-mist Tree. I watch her stride towards me, her Howling Banshee uniform pale beneath the dappled shade. 

‘The fleet is swept aside by The Hunger. They will assault Iyanden soon, and I am called to defend this Forest.’

 I nod as she puts on her helmet, the large red plume spilling down her back.

‘I would fight alongside you, forever,’ I say, my voice low and soft. She laughs, a beautiful, haunting sound.

‘Your flames are unlikely to be welcome here, Fire Dragon,’ she says as she gestures to the Forest of Silence, and I could feel the humour in her voice. ‘But no, Illar, once we defend Iyanden, we will set aside our Aspects. I would raise a family with you.’

I smile and nod, the soft memory a balm to my aching mind, and I crush her against me in a bitter-sweet embrace as a Glitterfly skips through the evening air to settle on one of the delicate blossoms.