A terrible fire has swept across the far side of the Eldenmere Strait. Ashridge Glen is gone.
Just one night ago, a strange red glow was seen on the horizon. Smoke drifted across the water. This morning, soot washed up on the city docks, and frightened travelers emerged from the tunnel—cloaked in ash, half-mad with fear.
They speak of fire that moved like it was alive. Of crops bursting into flame with no spark. Of something—someone—walking through the blaze.
No one knows for certain what happened… but the survivors beg for help. They say something still burns out there.
The city won’t send guards. The nobles turn a blind eye. But the tunnel is still open.
And something is waiting on the other side.
The flames are out… but something deeper burns.
The charred ruins of Ashridge Glen are now still, the fire witch Cindralia the Emberwrought defeated by brave souls who dared cross the strait. Her minions lie in ash, her laughter silenced—at least for now.
But victory came at a cost.
The land is scorched beyond healing. No crops will grow. The well has turned black. And in the tunnel beneath the water, something was found scratched into the stone in a language none recognized. A warning? A curse? No one knows.
What’s worse—Marta Greaves is missing. Her farm abandoned. No sign of a struggle. Just a strange scorch mark in the center of her barn… and a single feather, still warm, left behind.
Some say Cindralia was destroyed. Others say… she was freed.