Ashen stumbled upon rain after he had woken up, dragging one foot behind him, smoke rising out where the crown had marked his flesh.
The world felt different now--off-kilter. The shadows whispered his name. Streetlights flickered as he walked by them. A low hum had taken root behind his eyes.
"Left," said the voice.
"Two alleys down. One locked door. One blade to the throat."
He stopped mid-stepped and started breathing heavily.
"No," he muttered, "I don't kill for whispers."
"You will. Or they'll find you and kill you again. Dren, The Guttersnakes. The ones who sold you."
Ashen clenched his jaw, trying to shake off the voice. It didn't. It couldn't just be shaken off; it had become a part of him.
He ducked into an alleyway, breathing ragged, pain swelling up in his shoulder like fire. He needed help, or healing, or a damn miracle.
Instead, he found Saint Morrow's mirror, half buried in the trash and a rusted chainlink, once used to show a man's shape of their soul. But now it's just a cracked mirror.
He looked into the mirror anyway.
His reflection stared back-- mostly. Same old, dead eyes with heavy bags under them. Grey hair covered in dirt and blood; something wearing his skin, smiling.
"You're changing Ashen Vale. It's becoming beautiful."
He smashed the mirror with the butt of his knife.
Then the burning sensation started again from his back to his wounded shoulder, like ink boiling under his skin. He started screaming out into the rain. And from the shadows, someone heard.
Footsteps.
Slow. Deliberate.
A shape emerged. A towering figure came before me, covered in a dark brown robe that puffed up like clouds. Their face was obscured behind a haunting mask, crafted to resemble skeletal bones, adding an air of mystery.
"The vault crowned you," the figure said. " you wear the sigil of kings now."
Ashen raised his knife in his left hand, The right still useless.
"S-stay back."
" You should be dead." the robed one said, his head tilting like a curious bird. "But the canvas has made a choice instead."
Ashen tightens his grip on the blade ready to strike. "What are they? What's a canvas?"
The robed figure leaned in close.
"it is the end of names" he whispered. "And the start of yours."
Before Ashen could respond, the stranger vanished-- melted into the rain like ink on water.
Ashen stood there alone in the alley, his hands shaking.
He didn't know what he was anymore.
But the voice whispered again sweet but malicious.
" Soon they'll all kneel to us"