1 of 7 R3TURN3D

I still remember the candles from the Isle of Fyr. My Father sold me for a single copper coin to pay his debts and I was brought there as a child, traded like cattle and put to work in the Chapel. There I watched the Lords - all day and all night they ate and drank, laughed and sang. No matter whether the Chapel was full or empty, the candles must burn. The lights of the Chapel must never go out.

The days were long, the nights longer. I would lie in the alcoves, trying to keep my eyes from closing. As they burned, the candles would drip… Drip… Until I was awoken by the burning of my flesh. And so I would replace dead wick with fresh wax, and spark a flame anew. The lights of the Chapel must never go out.

As the years passed, they forgot about me. The boy they traded for a copper coin, who slept in the alcoves and lit the candles, his lungs lined with smoke and char, skin covered with wax. I became the candles and the candles became me. The wax melted in to my eyes, filled my pores, dripped down my throat.

They left. I do not know why… I cannot remember when. I just remember the dust - and the silence - settling in the Chapel.

Still, I lit the candles. The lights of the Chapel must never go out.

Some years later, the roof caved in. Animals nested in its shelter, moss crawled through the rotting beams. Still, I lit the candles.

And then, one day, I found myself falling. I saw hollow souls, but I was not that. I was more, he whispered to me, more than the mere wisps that I fell with, and he had chosen me. I was to help him, and in return he would tell me of a Chamber where I did not have to light the candles any more. I was free, he told me. I was fallen.

He embraced my soul. And then, I rose.

I am risen. I am returned. I am th3 L0RD of FYR.