A forsaken soul forbidden from fading away into the ether, walks the endless desert of their mindscape.
The sun shining down its blistering rays upon the tired soul, the sand softly crunching underfoot. The very air around her turning into wobbling waves, beckoning her, taunting her.
She slipped and fell without uttering a sound before slowly picking herself up. As she looked upon the sun, it blessing her lifeless features, it all started falling apart.
She felt heavy, the sand slowly turned into ash dragging her down below, the bleeding sun was eclipsed, turning her surroundings dark crimson.
Something snapped within as she was fully consumed by the piles of ash. Opening her eyes again, she stood in the middle of her hometown, the only place of respite she had before mercenaries turned it into a flaming pyre.
She vividly remembered that day, when she inherited the dagger after slowly choking the life out of a mercenary pinned under the rubble of her home. Then after hearing garbled screams of others she was thrown into the pyre with the rest.
Whatever tears she had at that moment turned crimson, the flames filling her lungs.
"You shall not know easy death. Not until I still live."
The monstrous vendigo told her in monotone. And so she burned and burned. Her screams long since ended until the flames died down. Her fingers clutching the inherited dagger tight as she nurtured her rage. But little did she know that along with the dagger she also inherited the flames of her hometown, burning forevermore within the deep confines of her soul.
She lost all light on that day, and wandered the deserts since. Annihilating any mercenaries she came across, tearing them limb from limb, burning every single one to a crisp. The taste of iron on her tongue and smell of ash never fading since then.
With decades gone by she would cool down, slowly, gently, her flames began to fade. A single spark would take great effort. That is until she met a child amidst the pyre similar to hers. Before her wrath could spin out of control she schooled her features, taking it upon herself to take care of her, teach her, keep her safe from the mercenary fate. But the Little One already inherited a dagger of her own.
Something within snapped yet again, she was back in the ashy desert, the sun bleeding down towards the earth, overcast skies bleeding crimson. The taste of iron permeated the air, her steps became sluggish, blood mixing with the ash as she walked closer and closer towards the eclipse.
And as she was approaching the epicenter she saw only him, the vendigo that made her suffer through this cycle time and time again. She pulled a great sword sticking out of the previous Raven that was long since covered in ash. The dead flesh gave out a wretched sound as if a part of her soul died just then.
Her flames returned to wrathful cerulean from all those decades ago, slow measured steps soon gave way to a dead sprint. Then she jumped, turning into a meteor of rage, a roiling wave of promised violence. The entire mindscape then filled with flames of raging fury, a never ending mix of crimson and cerulean. The bleeding skies boiling over until it all imploded on itself.