It was a weatherworn tavern on the northernmost fringes of the country. A rough place, a harsh place. No one came here except outlaws, frontiersmen and adventurers pitting their hopes of glory and lost plunder against merciless tundra and mountains. A wooden sign hung over the entrance. It read "The Last Reprieve."

Lucius and Sulyvahn had passed many inns and taverns on their journey. This was their last stop before passing out of civilization and into the lands where once stood the Profaned Capital. Many had passed this way before in pursuit of the same goal. Most never made it back, and the few who did had little to share but stories of monsters and nights of hunger. But one or two made a living selling maps and information to those following in their footsteps. Lucius spoke with one of them now.

The Last Reprieve had other uses, as well. The owner made a profitable side business selling supplies to errant travelers. Lucius had just enough money left in his pocket to restock food and trade in their old horses for fresh ones. It was the last of their finances. They were on their own now.

While Lucius tended to this business, he had suggested that Sulyvahn mingle. Sulyvahn did not care for the activity, but accepted that it was necessary to understand the ways of this world if he was to survive in it. He sat alone and quietly observed the rowdy individuals around him. A waitress stepped up to him and deposited a mug of beer.

"There you are, handsome."

"Thank … you."

Sulyvahn's face, though it wore a human guise, was not capable of emotion. The spell Lucius had taught him – Chameleon, he called it – had been invented to disguise magic users as all manner of objects and animals, but it fell just short of human-shaped illusions. He had a false face that could not emote nor duplicate the subtle imperfections in skin and facial shape. Sulyvahn stuck to the shadows where nobody could see him clearly.

The waitress nodded, a little put off by his stiff demeanor, and walked away. Sulyvahn dipped a finger in the drink and swirled the liquid. He couldn't eat or drink as the humans did, either. His skin absorbed nutrients, a heritage of his witch tree ancestry. Nor could he taste. Though, given that this drink seemed little good except for making bestial ruffians of men and women, perhaps that was for the best.

At last, Lucius looked ready. Money changed hands between him and the vendor. Sulyvahn rose quickly from his seat in anticipation of leaving this place.

His chair careened into someone behind him who nearly tumbled over it. It was a tall, lean man with a crooked scar over his right eye. The man cast his gaze on Sulyvahn with a snarl.

"You blind, mate?" he growled. "You stupid, hey?"

"I meant no offense."

"Oh, he meant no offense! Well, now, a true gentleman this one. A true noble's son!" A hand shot out and gripped Sulyvahn by the arm. "You need teaching in the ways of real manners, boy."

"Unhand me. Now."

The man smiled, baring rotten teeth. His breath stank of beer. "You're ugly, you know that? Need to fix that ugly face."

He drew a knife.

Lucius suddenly appeared between the two of them, a friendly, disarming smile on his face.

"Gentlemen! Let's not upset the jolly atmosphere, shall we?"

"Butt out, little man!" The thug knocked Lucius away with a shoulder. But he had taken his gaze off Sulyvahn for a moment, and the knife was pointed away from him. Sulyvahn took the man by the arm and lifted him overhead like a rag doll. The man swung through the air and landed on the table. A leg buckled and broke, and the man slide off onto the dirty floor.

The tavern went silent. Then, as if a signal had been given, as if by some unspoken rule of conduct, there was a whoop of exhilaration and men and women began beating each other senseless. Lucius and Sulyvahn swiftly departed from the erupting brawl and left the tavern.

"You know how to have a good time, don't you, Sulyvahn?" Lucius said cheerfully.

"Strange creatures, you humans."

"It's a cultural tradition in these parts to prove one's chops with feats of strength and violence. Ah, here are our horses. Thank you, good stableman. Here is your coin. Shall we be away, then?"

Sulyvahn shook his head and lowered his shoulders. If he could have smiled at his friend's casual cheerfulness, he would have. The stableman did. Everyone did when they spoke with Lucius.

He really did need to improve that Chameleon spell someday

It was quiet on the country road. The cloudy sky cast everything in the same shade of pale blue. Sulyvahn sat awkwardly on his horse. The past few weeks had offered little progress in his lessons in horsemanship, try as his comrade might to teach him. He tugged sharply on the reins, causing the mare to snort and shake her head contemptibly.

"Woah, there," Lucius assuaged the horse as he pulled up alongside. "Easy, girl."

The mare calmed down. Sulyvahn bit back a curse. He didn't care for a beast of burden as willful as a horse. What was the point of an instrument that could resist its owner's will? He could have walked this far on his own two legs, but then, he did not tire as quickly as humans. Lucius certainly couldn't have made it this far without the aid of these animals, and Sulyvahn silently confessed to himself that he had grown fond of the sorcerer's company. Besides, he was useful in instructing him in the ways of the world.

"You still have too harsh a touch, Sulyvahn" Lucius instructed him. "She doesn't like feeling used. She needs respect and kindness, and if given it, will return the favor. As do all who are shown compassion."

"You make horsemanship sound like philosophy."

"Call it a bad habit picked up from pretentious teachers. I had a professor in the academy who saw profound truths in the simplest, most inane of things. He once used a pear as the basis for a lecture in ethics. But, I suppose our teachers' ways rub off on us, eh?

"Mine didn't, truth be told."

"Yes, you never told me much of your mentor in sorcery. Quite skillful, I imagine. You are no mediocre mage, after all."

"He was old and tired. Wise, in his way, but his wisdom was for those who acceded to a life of stagnation. I am meant for more. I learned much from him, but not all lessons apply to the student."

Lucius considered this for a moment. "Boldly spoken. Perhaps it is the fire of our youth. We must act, we must accomplish great things. Short as our existences are, we must reach out and seize our destiny."

Sulyvahn laughed. Lucius stared at him. He had never heard Sulyvahn laugh before.

"You should become a poet, Lucius," Sulyvahn explained. "You use twenty words when two will do."

"Ha! And you use two words where forty are needed. And your spell needs work. You laugh, but your lips don't seem to follow. You look rather the fright when you show emotions."

"It's your spell, Lucius. How you humans manage with so many twisting muscles in your face is beyond me."

"Practice. But I imagine there will be few on the road ahead for you to frighten. Adventurers, maybe. Perhaps a few outlaws."

"A lovely journey, to be sure."

Sulyvahn looked ahead. The hills of the frontier country were giving way to open steppes. Rimming the horizon between sky and land was a jagged row of mountains. Beyond that, Lucius claimed, was the Boreal Valley, where the Profaned Capital once stood. Many had travelled there, only to return disappointed, if they lived to walk away at all. Scavenging animals and scattered piles of broken stones, they said, were all that was to be found in the valley. But Lucius was optimistic. He believed that the city had somehow been hidden by its original builders.

Sulyvahn asked him again why he was so certain of this.

"The ancients were a cunning race. Much is lost to history of their skill, but stories agree that they were capable of feats beyond our modern knowledge. Not only magic, but engineering as well. Based on my studies, I believe that the people of the city utilized architectural techniques now lost to us. Camouflage, you see. Much like the Chameleon spell you are using."

"I find it curious," Sulyvahn said, "that any race would desire to live in such desolation. My people inhabited a world of ice because that was the entirety of the world they hid in. In this vast world we now walk, why would any choose to live in such a place?"

"Maybe it was once a verdant land. The world is old. Continents shift, climates change. No one knows how old the Profaned Capital truly is. Maybe as old as Anor Londo."

"And if it was not? If this land was always ice and cold. What then would motivate the construction of a city?"

"Exile? Desire? Perhaps mere human nature," Lucius mused. "Strange creatures, we are. When told that a thing is impossible, we strive to accomplish it all the more. Perhaps there was an element of spite as well."

"Spite?"

"Spite against nature and against the naysayers. Maybe one day, someone pointed to the north and said, 'Never can a man build a city in that place.' So someone did merely to prove them wrong."

Sulyvahn rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"I would admire one who did such a thing."

"Yes, I think I understand what you mean. This homeland of yours, Arendelle …"

"Ariandel."

"Yes, pardon me. You truly did not care for it, did you?"

"I …" Sulyvahn paused. His feelings on his homeland were a complex weaving of emotions that he didn't fully understand. He had despised it as a prison, but looking back on it now, a painful nostalgia came over him.

"I left because I had to. Because no one had tried before. As you said, when one is told not to do a thing, one must do it."

"Was it desire," Lucius asked with a raised eyebrow, "or spite?"

"That is a cruel question, Lucius."

"Forgive me. I could not resist. This is why I left the academy. I have a terrible nature, an urge to pry."

"We all wrestle with our natures, I suppose." He turned in the saddle to look at his comrade. "Why did you leave the academy?"

Lucius laughed lightly. "Vinheim is a fine place, a fine school, but its traditions are stifling. Certain things are forbidden for no adequate reason. I dabbled in pyromancy, and then had to escape when my teachers found out. That place has no desire to expand and grow. It is the same lessons year after year."

"So, it is the desire to lean new things that motivates you?"

"Yes, I suppose so. Not for my own gain, mind you. I believe the ancients held much that we today can profit from. These are dark times, Sulyvahn. Wars and conflicts. Rumors, even, that the Curse is returning."

"The Curse. The Darksign, you mean?"

Lucius had spoken of the Darksign before, always with a fleck of fear in his voice. He had mentioned it offhand first when they passed by a row of gallows with peculiarly shriveled and gaunt bodies hanging from them. He had wondered aloud if they were Hollows. Sulyvahn had not understood, and so Lucius explained it.

A curse of Fire, a ringed brand marking the accursed, the loss of self and memory. The ever-present fear of the mad beings known as Hollows. It was strange to Sulyvahn. Fire was a gift of life in this world, and yet it also brought fear and suffering.

"And the people of the world accept this?" he had asked Lucius during that first discussion.

"We have no choice. The Darksign strikes where it may." Lucius's face darkened. "It's a scourge, and there's naught we can do about it. Only the holy rite of Kindling the First Flame can stave it off. For a time."

"And no one has sought to destroy the Curse?"

"Of course they have. The history books are filled with their names. And the legends are filled with more. Gods have tried to break the Curse. None have succeeded."

Sulyvahn pondered these words again as he now rode into the steppe with his guide. In Lucius's voice he heard the same tone of surrender that had marked his old mentor. The malaise of submission. Painted World or no, it dogged Sulyvahn everywhere he went. A few pithy words, a simple shrug of the shoulders, and carry on as always.

No, Sulyvahn thought. I cannot accept that. I will never submit.

And that same nameless feeling that had driven him to leave his home and people behind swelled up again in his chest. He hated it. He had hoped that escape from the Painted World would cure him of the feeling, but it had merely grown stronger. He wanted … what? Something. Something more.

Perhaps he would find an answer in the Profaned Capital.

Seven days later, they both stood on a ledge overlooking the Boreal Valley. It had not been an easy journey. The steppe was buffeted by severe winds and the mountain pass had been treacherously narrow and filled with rockslides that blocked its many winding passages. But they had overcome and now stood at the entrance to the valley.

A long, narrow river wound through the valley and terminated in a glistening blue lake. Beyond, sparse trees dotted the flatlands and circled a hill of black stone at its center. Lucius pointed to it.

"That is our destination. The ruins of the Profaned Capital."

Sulyvahn shook his head. "The Profaned Hamlet, perhaps. That is no city, even if its buildings still stood. You couldn't fit the occupants of The Last Reprieve in there."

"Bah!" Lucius waved him off and moved his horse forward. "If we hold to that sort of attitude, we'll never accomplish anything! Follow me, Sulyvahn, and we'll see for ourselves what sort of land this is!"

The steep escarpment down into the valley was hard on their mounts. They whinnied and slid on the rocky soil and frosty ground. Sulyvahn didn't know horses well, but he sensed their fear. And it was not only of the uncertain ground. Bestial fear, the extra sense that all animals possess in places of a dark nature. But Lucius would not be dissuaded. And they so they continued forward.

The river was shallow, as was the lake. Little more than a trickle really, dotted with sheets of ice floating lazily in the water. They crossed the river and dismounted to enter the site. The gangly spruces scattered here and there were sickly and bent. And the ruins they found were crumbled nearly to dust. A few walls still stood, but otherwise the "city" was little more than a bare hill.

After a few hours of fruitless investigation, Lucius sat on the remnants of a foundation and shook his head. "How did they do it? Every city leaves remnants. And this … You are right, Sulyvahn, this is no city, it is far too small. But the legends spoke of the Capital as a vast metropolis. Where is it? Where is it hidden?"

"Stories lie," Sulyvahn replied. "Sometimes what we seek, what we yearn for, disappoints."

"I don't understand. The ancients had building techniques. I've read the texts."

"More lies."

Lucius stood up. "There is a piece of the puzzle that we are missing. What do we have? We have this hill. Rock and stone. A river runs past it." Lucius peered over the edge to look at the river. He started and suddenly grabbed Sulyvahn to turn him to face the water.

"Look! Do you see it?"

"What?"

"The current! Of course, so obvious!"

Lucius leapt down the hill and splashed into the cold water. Sulyvahn followed at a more leisurely pace, watching in confusion and no small measure of amusement as Lucius ripped a small branch from a spruce and dropped it in the water, then watched intensely.

"Do you see it now?"

"I see a branch floating."

"Yes, but which way is it floating?"

"Away from us. Toward the … hill?"

Lucius smiled in utter triumph. "The hill is hollow. There is something beneath."

"It could be nothing more than a stream," Sulyvahn replied, but his voice was trembling, too.

Lucius inspected the hillside.

"Ah ha! Here, there is an opening for the water to flow through. Too small for us, I'm afraid. But … mm hmm."

"What is it?"

"Barely visible." Lucius summoned a light spell and inspected more closely. "Markings. Carved stone. A waterway perhaps, once upon a time. Much wider than it is now, collapsed. Yes, and here, you can just make it out. Etchings, symbols."

"Too old to decipher, I wager?"

"Yes, unfortunately. But we know now that there is construction beneath the hill. Ah, I think I see. Like Lost Izalith. The city is beneath us."

"An underground city? Is such a thing possible?"

"Yes. Izalith is an ancient ruin in Lordran built entirely beneath the earth. This waterway we see here, it could have fed into a natural aqueduct or cistern within the city. But the main entrance would be much larger, a gate or a stairway leading down, large enough to accommodate large crowds."

"But not here. Not anywhere on the hill, or else it would have been found by now."

"Yes, you're right. Even an illusion couldn't hold for that long. It's elsewhere."

"Not on the hill. But near it."

"Built into rock, collapsed possibly. Or merely well hidden."

They climbed back up and surveyed the valley. On three sides the mountains embraced it. But to the east, the valley dipped suddenly into a foggy crevasse. It looked to be a dangerous trek, with a single misstep meaning a long fall and possible death.

But curiosity is a powerful motivator.

There was a route downwards. A narrow path that looked far too convenient and ordered to be a mere natural formation.

Lucius ran his hand along the cliff face. When the route terminated in a blank cliff wall and a pile of rocks left over from some long ago avalanche, he did not waver. He did as he always did, and inspected closely. And he found a narrow passage behind the rockslide.

"This is it. It must be."

"Rather small," Sulyvahn observed.

"Help me move these rocks."

With Sulyvahn's powerful limbs, they were able to uncover enough of the passage for the two of them to clamber through. They were standing in a narrow corridor composed of stone that was clearly once hewn.

"The entrance to the Profaned Capital," Lucius mused out loud.

"A dungeon, more like," Sulyvahn said.

"Yes, perhaps."

"It seems I owe you an apology. There is more to this valley than meets the eye."

"There is no need for apology. Let us not disrupt this momentous occasion with apologies. Onward. Secrets await!"

They journeyed down through the underground corridors. The farther in they went, the more clearly they could make out the architecture that had been carved into solid stone. Winding stairways led them deeper into the earth. The cold air turned warm and humid. Sulyvahn felt something stirring in him. Anticipation? Fear? He steadied himself and pressed on.

Carved stone gave way to a natural cavern. The ceiling stretched above them so high they lost sight of it, save for the strands of sunlight piercing through openings somewhere above. Below was a sight to end all sights: a city of towers and bridges rising from the darkness. The hollow of the mountain contained a metropolis the likes of which Sulyvahn could barely comprehend. Hundreds, nay, thousands of people must have lived here once. The towers were but crumbling skeletons now, but in its heyday the city must have been a magnificent sight, a testament to the skill and tenacity of man to construct such a wonder here in the unseen depths.

Somewhere in the distance, below their vantage point, Sulyvahn saw a light glowing a brilliant orange. Fire. A massive fire within a stone brazier large enough to hold a full-grown man. Its hot light radiated out like a star in the dark. And within the light cast by its flame, he thought he saw movement. Something tall and humanoid flitted in the shadows, then disappeared from sight.

"What is that?" he pointed.

"It … it must be the Flame. The profanity that doomed this city." Lucius sucked in a deep breath. "Powerful magicks still lurk in this place. Come, let us discover them for ourselves."

"You are not afraid?"

"Perhaps an inkling. But we cannot let us that stop us, can we?"

The grim halls of the dead city were worn and dry. The whole city was a parched ruin. Sulyvahn thought of the tundra and lake aboveground, and wondered at the dryness. It was as if all moisture had been burned away, as if the city had been baked alive in an oven.

Lucius stepped forward, and his foot kicked something. They looked down and saw a horde littering the ground. Goblets, amulets, coronets and bracelets were scattered about carelessly, as if someone had poured them out all over the floor. Lucius picked one up.

"Gold. A fortune is down here."

"Well, at least we will be recompensed for our travels."

"Untouched. Don't you see? The Profaned Capital was destroyed by fire. A fire that violated nature. Stone, wood, metal, all left intact. But the people …"

Sulyvahn walked ahead. He turned a corner into an alcove and stopped. He regarded the sight before him calmly, then turned and called over Lucius.

"Was this their fate, Lucius?"

A pile of broken, charred bodies lay in a corner. They were ancient and dryer than paper. One carcass could not be distinguished from another. Their flesh was melted together like hot wax.

Lucius looked at the bodies. His face paled. Abruptly, he turned and retched.

He looked apologetically at Sulyvahn.

"I was not prepared. I knew the tales, but I wasn't prepared for such a spectacle."

"I hope you are not losing your courage, my friend. You've dealt with bandits and wild beasts. We've come this far, haven't we?"

"No, not at all. But you must admit, this is a far cry from simple highwaymen."

"Death is death, as I see it."

They continued through the hall and emerged out into what appeared to be some sort of plaza. Crumbling towers loomed over their heads. A statue of a cloaked figure holding an ornate staff stood at the plaza's center. And most notable of all, a figure, a living figure, knelt before the statue.

It was muttering something to itself, a prayer perhaps. The two sorcerers froze where they stood, momentarily too surprised to act.

"Alive," Lucius whispered excitedly. "There are survivors."

Though the words were spoken faintly, the figure heard them and turned. It was a woman. Listless, clouded eyes peered at them. A low cackle started in her throat. It rose into loud, manic laughter that echoed through the plaza. Rising to her feet, the laughter devolved into a long, breathless shriek. She held a hand out towards them.

A shard of ice pierced her chest. The shriek was cut off, and the woman's body doubled over.

"You killed her, Sulyvahn!" Lucius exclaimed.

"She was about to attack. A spell." Sulyvahn looked around. "Listen."

Footsteps scraped against stone. In the shadows there was movement and voices. Whispers just at the edge of hearing.

Sulyvahn felt as if the city had awakened.

Lucius felt it too. "We should leave," he said quietly.

They turned around, but four more figures stepped into their path. Four men, or what had once been men. Without cloaks, the city's inhabitants were seen clearly as gangly, emaciated creatures. Gnarled faces grinned at them, and pock-marked hands clutched longswords.

Releasing the same cackle as the old woman, they rushed the sorcerers as one.

There was a flash and a sound like thunder. Suddenly, the four men were on the ground, writhing in pain. Lucius put down his arms from casting the spell and grabbed Sulyvahn by the shoulder. They fled down another street and deeper into the capital.

"That spell …"Sulyvahn huffed.

"A Vinheim courtesy," Lucius replied. "It stuns, but does not kill."

"How courteous of you."

The city must have been built by a madman, because the streets and bridges winded around each other like a meandering river. They ran up steps and climbed ladders, then down again through spiral staircases and across bridges extending across pitch blackness. Constantly, they tried to double back and retrace their steps to the entrance, but collapsed bridges and corridors forced them to turn this way or that. The sounds of wicked cries goaded them onward, even as they lost themselves in the maze.

A flight of narrow steps led them into a cramped hallway with open rooms on either side. It had been a storehouse of some kind. Food and other rubbish was piled in all the rooms. It had long since rotted to the point not even the flies took an interest. Clearly the city's people cared little for food. If they even ate at all.

The sounds of their pursuers eventually ceased, and they allowed themselves to slow to a brisk walk. Lucius gave voice to both their thoughts.

"This is madness. The city was empty. All the stories are specific on that point. Everyone was killed by the Profaned Flame."

"Stories can lie."

"Don't start with me," Lucius snapped. His anger quickly vanished. "My apologies, that was unbecoming of me. But we must consider that the Flame is powerful enough to sustain these few survivors. Powerful enough to do much good if released into the world. Or much harm."

"Not if we are dead. These madmen don't seem keen to share. If there is value to be found in this place, we must take it by force."

"Perhaps," Lucius grimaced. "I wish it were not so. But we will do what must be done."

They descended another flight of stairs and halted. Another figure stood in their way. This one had its face covered by a hood and mask. Its head was turned to the ground. In one hand it held a long metal rod whose end was shaped into some archaic symbol. It burned bright red.

Both sorcerers pulled out their catalysts.

The figure acted more quickly. It stepped forward and looked up at them. And both men keeled over. Sulyvahn felt as if every day of sleep in his life had been wrenched from him. Waves of inexorable exhaustion and weakness swept over him. He felt what must be death coming over him.

The figure approached and raised the branding iron. It lunged at Sulyvahn. By some stroke of luck, Sulyvahn wobbled to the side, and the iron swept past him. His attacker grunted and tripped. It spun away from him, and Sulyvahn felt his strength return. Its gaze held the power, then.

Rising to his feet, Sulyvahn wrapped his arms around his foe and twisted its face to look away from the both of them. It thrashed like a wildcat, but Sulyvahn's inhuman grip remained firm. He wrestled the creature against the wall and thrust his catalyst into its back.

There was a wheezing sound that choked into a last feeble breath. The body turned cold, and a fine layer of frost formed on its clothes and skin. As the body went rigid, its arms swelled and split open as the crystallizing blood expanded. With a final twitch, the creature expired.

Sulyvahn dropped the corpse and turned to tend to Lucius. The Vinheim sorcerer's eyes were haggard and sunken. His breathing came out in rasps, but he was alive. He stared at the corpse.

"What …"

"I know not. Your tales don't speak of them?"

"No. Not of this."

Sulyvahn carefully picked up the branding iron. He ignored the heat. Curiosity and excitement overwhelmed his discomfort. Minutes had passed, but it glowed with the same intense heat. And he could feel power radiating from it. Power beyond any magic he or Lucius were capable of, he was certain.

"The Flame," he whispered. "Is this its might? To take life with a mere glance?"

"I think ..." Lucius sighed. "I think I may have made a mistake."

"What mistake?"

"Coming here. I was prideful. I believed I could harness the secrets here. But this is not mere profanity, this magic. It is an abomination."

Sulyvahn lifted Lucius to his feet. "No, you were right to come here. You were courageous, and you still are. You said so yourself, that this magic can be used for good as well as for ill. Are we to leave it to these wretches?"

Lucius looked uncertain. "We should keep moving," he said finally.

Where were they now?. In a hall with half-rotted dining tables and plates and candlesticks strewn around like so much trash. Utensils of silver and goblets of gold, all treated like rubbish. But Sulyvahn was far more impressed by the sheer scale of this place. Pillars thicker than a hundred-year-old oak held up an arched ceiling, which was carved with shapes of fantastic animals and idealized humanoid shapes. He, who had lived all his life in a hovel, marveled at how men could create such things. And if this was merely by the work of mortal hands, how much more powerful must be the power of the divine. The power of Fire, profane or no.

Lucius, though, shook his head sadly. Their adventure had taken something out of him. His spirit, Sulyvahn realized. His valor and confidence had been sorely injured.

"Look at this waste. Look at this city, ruined and ugly."

He spread out his arms.

"They are right to call it the Profaned Capital. Here, there were once great feasts and celebrations, no doubt. Kings and queens, proud and mighty, gathered here. And now? Madmen prowl about, and the splendor is gone to waste."

"What do you mean, Lucius? You were the one so eager to see this place. Here it is. You are on the verge of unravelling its secrets."

"And a part of me certainly desires it, even now. But," he picked up a plate. The gold was dimmed by the filth that encrusted it. "One can speak of a dagger and know all of its qualities and speak of it with the utmost authority, but to see the blade plunged into a man's breast is quite another ordeal. Scrolls and lectures don't prepare you for these things."

A rising panic formed in Sulyvahn's stomach. Not yet. He couldn't lose this yet. He felt as if he stood on the verge of something profound about to be taken from him. "We have come so far," Sulyvahn insisted. "I can't – we can't afford to lose the secrets of this place."

Lucius threw the plate away. A new expression set into his face, one that Sulyvahn could not well discern. "Come, we must find the Flame. That is the source of all in this city."

As they crossed the feasting hall, something lurched from behind a pillar. What Sulyvahn had taken for another mound of trash rose unsteadily to its feet and hobbled into view. For the briefest of moments, he thought it another human wretch of the city. It was not. Its naked body was roughly humanoid, but larger than any man. It crawled toward them on its hands and knees, uncannily like an infant, and its soft body and clumsy movements brought to Sulyvahn's mind a newly hatched Corvian. Most disconcerting of all, where its head should be were five thick vertical ridges. No eyes, no mouth, no nose. Faceless, like Sulyvahn himself, but far uglier and more repulsive.

The creature lumbered nearer. Both sorcerers drew their catalysts. As if it sensed the movement, the ridges curled open like a flower, exposing themselves as five plump fingers surrounding a palm filled with clusters of unblinking eyes. The abomination reached over to pick up a table as easily as a child picks up a twig and slammed it down upon the sorcerers.

The two men parted and the table shattered against the floor. Lucius incanted a spell and hurled a storm of sorcerous missiles into the brute. It squealed like a pig and waved its hands through the air as if swatting at flies. Hurt, but not much, its eyes fixed on Lucius and it half-ran, half-loped toward him.

With the creature's attention diverted, Sulyvahn charged his catalyst and hurled a ray of frost at its backside. The creature ignored the pain and swung a heavy fist at Lucius. The Vinheim sorcerer dodged and retreated backwards as he released another missile at the creature's "face." It shrieked again and flailed wildly. A large hand grabbed Lucius by the leg and lifted him into the air. The fingers pawed at him eagerly, ready to crush and break.

"Sulyvahn!" Lucius screamed desperately.

This creature was tough against magic. Sulyvahn decided on a different approach. He leapt onto its back and reached through two fingers to stab its eyes with his wand. The creature grunted and the fingers contracted, catching Sulyvahn's arm. He shouted in pain. The creature tried reaching over its shoulder to seize him.

Sulyvahn hissed an incantation and the head screamed as frost formed over its fingers. It threw Lucius aside and shook itself from side to side in an attempt to grasp and kill its tormentor. Its thick body worked against it, for its arms could not bend far enough.

Spikes of frost erupted from between the fingers. They unfurled again, drawing frozen blood and gore with them. Where the eyes had been was a mass of rapidly expanding ice. Sulyvahn leapt to the ground and backed away from the beast.

The creature was not yet dead. Enraged by its pain, it somehow detected Sulyvahn and came at him with fists flailing like morning stars. Just as it reached him, a single soul spear sorcery pierced its chest and flew out past Sulyvahn to dissipate against the far wall. The creature swayed in place, pawing uselessly at the hole in its chest, before falling over dead

Lucius stood where he was, catalyst still raised. Muttering a curse, he pelted the corpse with one final soul spear for good measure.

"Damned to the darkness, whatever this is," he spat.

"Blast." Sulyvahn leaned over and inspected the ice mass in the creature. He gingerly pulled out a splinter of wood. It was all that remained of his catalyst.

Lucius looked down a connecting hallway. "We're close, I think. Can you feel it?"

"Yes. Like heat, but …"

"Cruel. Like a brand."

They reached it. The sanctum of the city, the site they had seen from the entrance above. In its center was the great brazier. The fire was tinged with something that made Sulyvahn's soul writhe within him. Its very sight repulsed. And yet he was fascinated, like a moth drawn to the deadly light.

The Profaned Flame.

Lucius stepped forward. "I know what we must do. With your help, Sulyvahn, we can snuff out the Flame."

Sulyvahn did not hide his surprise. "What?"

"Don't you see? This is too terrible a thing to be allowed to exist. We may not have the power to destroy it, but we can smother it, bury it under a thousand tons of rubble."

"How long have you searched for this, Lucius? How much have you sacrificed?"

"It is fate, Sulyvahn. I see that now. We were meant to come here to destroy the Flame."

He raised his catalyst to the roof of the sanctum. "I know spells that can weaken this structure. I will show you. Together, we can destroy it and block others from reaching the Flame."

Sulyvahn looked at the Flame, then to Lucius, then back to the Flame. Lucius looked back at him with an expectant expression.

So much power. With but a moment of focus, he could bury it forever. Bury the Fire.

He had searched his whole life for Fire. What he had discovered of it thus far had disappointed him.

"Sulyvahn, there isn't much time," Lucius pressed him. "Those fiends are crying out again. They're coming."

The tongues of fire reached out to him from the brazier.

And there it was again, that feeling that always taunted him. That nameless emotion that had driven him to leave his home for the world of Fire, across wooded land and stark tundra and into this dark underworld. He felt it churning inside him.

And he knew what must be done.

"Yes, Lucius, I am with you."

Lucius returned his gaze to the ceiling. His catalyst glowed with power. "Good. I will guide you through this as best I can. It's actually not very complicated."

A pile of discarded armor and weapons lay near the sanctum's entryway. Sulyvahn quietly stepped toward it.

"You will need to place your hand on my shoulder. Physical contact is required."

He did not hear Sulyvahn pick up the sword.

Lucius's catalyst grew brighter. The air shimmered, and the ground shook as the spell gathered power.

He turned his head slightly. "Sulyvahn? You need to lay hand on my shoulder if we are to –"

The sword pierced his chest as easily as a knife through butter. The catalyst fell to the ground. The amassed magic dissipated with a rush of wind.

Lucius looked down at the sword jutting from his chest. Sulyvahn could not see his expression, but he heard the confusion in the sorcerer's voice.

"Why?"

Sulyvahn owed him an answer, at least. He had been a good companion. He had saved his life. His sacrifice should carry some weight.

"I see my fate, Lucius. It is mine alone. I am sorry, my friend. I truly am."

He withdrew the sword. Lucius coughed once, spitting blood, and slowly crumpled to the floor with almost dignified poise. It was if he were lying down to go to sleep.

Sulyvahn stepped over the body and approached the brazier. He raised the bloodied sword and thrust it into the Fire.

Pain. Pain. Pain.

The Flame's power filled the blade and lapped at Sulyvahn's bare arm. He screamed. The Flame glowed more brightly than any sun he had ever seen. He felt the burning rush through his whole body.

He tugged on the sword and pulled it out of the bowl. He stumbled back from the Flame. His robes were singed and smoking. His arm was scarred. And the sword was glowing red with the power of the Profaned Flame.

His Flame.

Voices came from behind him. He turned to face a mob of the city's pathetic citizens. They looked eager to kill him, but were bowed in fearful countenance. The Flame, he realized. They worshiped it. Feared it.

He raised the sword aloft. It glowed brightly. Embers came off its edge.

He swung it once. Heat and flame followed its passage. The mob shrank back in terror.

"Yes, you fear it, don't you? You fear me."

The mob whispered in their ancient tongue.

Sulyvahn gazed upon the sword. He felt free, freer than even when he escaped the Painted World.

At last, he could give a name to the desire that drove him.

He walked through the mob, and they parted before him. He passed through them untouched and walked on until they lost sight of him in the shadows.