"They weren't always like this," he said, gesturing to the ashes. "What you saw tonight is a shadow—a fragment of what they once were. Long ago, they were the guardians of the ghostflame, a fire that purified the dead and guided their souls to the Spirit World."
"The Spirit World?" Nyra echoed skeptically.
He nodded. "A realm beyond this one. When someone died, their body was burned in the ghostflame, and their soul was sent there—a place of rest, away from the chaos of this world. The Deathbirds were the keepers of that fire. They ensured that death was respected, and the dead were properly guided to their final destination."
Nyra frowned, her fingers drumming against her arm. "So, what changed?"
"The Erdtree," he said simply. "When the Greater Will established the Golden Order, it took control of the cycle of life and death. The ghostflame was replaced by the light of the Erdtree, and souls were no longer sent to the Spirit World. Instead, they were recycled—reborn into servitude to the Erdtree's purpose."
Nyra's gaze darkened. "And the Deathbirds?"
"They were cast aside," he continued, his tone colder now. "Without their purpose, they decayed—physically, spiritually. Their connection to the ghostflame weakened, and they became the skeletal, vengeful creatures you see now. But even in their diminished state, they still hold fragments of their old power. That's what I've been trying to harness."
She gestured to the Misbegotten hovering nearby. "And what about these things? Are they part of this... cycle of death?"
"In a way," he replied. "Creatures like the Misbegotten are trapped in their rage and suffering. Their deaths leave behind echoes—fragments of their pain and anger. By burning their remains in the ghostflame, I can release those echoes and give them form. They're not alive, but they're not entirely dead, either. They're something... in between."
Nyra shook her head, her veil shifting slightly. "And you think playing with this kind of power is a good idea?"
He met her gaze, his expression unreadable. "The Erdtree's cycle is flawed. It leaves too many souls in limbo, too many lives wasted. If we're going to change that, we need to understand what came before—what was lost when the Deathbirds fell."
She let out a long breath, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "You're walking a fine line," she muttered.
"I know," he replied, his voice steady. "But it's a line worth walking."
The faint sound of the wind rustling through the ruins filled the silence between them. The Deathbird's ashes still faintly glowed.
"So," Nyra said, breaking the quiet. "What's next? Another Deathbird?"
He stood, brushing the dust from his coat. "Not yet. There's still more to learn from the dead we have here. But soon... yes, there will be others."
Nyra nodded, though her unease lingered. "Just don't let your 'knowledge' get us both killed."
He smirked faintly, the skeletal Misbegotten falling into formation behind him as he began walking back toward the castle. "That's the plan."
The faint glow of the Deathbird's ashes flickered in his mind as he sat in the castle's crumbling hall, the skeletal Misbegotten standing guard near the cold hearth.
Nyra stood by the doorway, leaning against the stone wall, her arms crossed. She watched him in silence, her wariness tempered by curiosity. "You've been staring at those ashes like they're about to sprout wings again. What's your next move?"
He glanced at her briefly before turning back to the remnants of ghostflame that flickered faintly in his palm. "Figuring out how to wield it," he said plainly.
Nyra frowned. "Wield it? You mean like the Deathbirds did? This isn't some weapon you can just pick up and swing around."
"No," he replied, his voice calm but resolute. "It's not. That's why it's worth understanding. The ghostflame isn't just fire—it's tied to death itself. If only I can learn how to command it fully."
He extended his hand, the ghostflame crackling weakly as it danced across his palm. It was cold, yet its presence carried an unnatural weight. The energy within it felt alive, almost sentient, resisting his control like a feral beast.
Nyra stepped closer, her gaze fixed on the flame. "And how exactly are you going to do that? The Deathbirds were... whatever they were. You're not one of them."
"I don't need to be," he said, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the flame. "The ghostflame doesn't belong to the Deathbirds alone. They were its keepers, not its masters. The power is there—waiting. It just needs to be harnessed."
He closed his hand around the flame, his brow furrowing as he felt its resistance push back. His breathing slowed, his mind honing in on the sensation.
Suddenly, the flame surged, flaring up in his grip before sputtering out, leaving his hand numb and trembling. He let out a slow breath, his jaw tightening.
Nyra arched an eyebrow. "Well, that looked promising."
"Control doesn't happen overnight. This isn't something brute force can tame. It's... more delicate."
She folded her arms. "So, what? You're going to keep burning bones until it listens to you?"
"Not just bones," he said, standing and pacing toward the skeletal Misbegotten. "The ghostflame reacts to death, to the energy left behind by those who lived and suffered. The Misbegotten are a start, but their rage is... unrefined. If I can find stronger remnants—those tied to more focused deaths—I might learn to shape it properly."
Nyra's gaze darkened. "You're talking about experimenting with people now, aren't you?"
"Only those already lost," he replied, his tone unapologetic. "The Erdtree's cycle abandoned them long ago. If their deaths can teach us how to break that cycle, then their suffering won't have been for nothing."