Chapter 43: Words in the Ashes
The hall smelled faintly of old smoke and burned herbs, a sharpness that clung to the stones and timbers. Jack stood at the center of the wide chamber, Shadow seated at his side like a living statue. Marik and Talia flanked him, wary but silent. The heavy wooden doors behind them groaned as they swung closed, sealing the hall in dim, flickering torchlight.
The Speaker studied them from her chair, fingers steepled beneath her chin. Her robe, embroidered with crimson glyphs, gave her an almost regal air. The room was lined with elders and warriors—men and women who bore the look of hardened survivors rather than scholars or diplomats. Their faces were worn by the trials of life near the Abyss's creeping edges.
"You come seeking alliance," the Speaker said, her voice carrying a resonant authority. "But alliances are built on trust. Trust is built on proof."
Jack nodded. "We expected that."
The Speaker gestured to a carved table between them, where a map of the valley was pinned down with iron nails. Charred marks dotted the map around Emberwell's northern perimeter. "Two days ago, three scouts we sent north vanished. They were skilled—veterans of past incursions. They would not simply disappear."
Marik leaned slightly closer to get a better look at the map, brow furrowed. "Any signs of struggle?"
"Only a broken wardstone," the Speaker replied. "Shattered. The ground around it was blackened—but no bodies, no blood."
Talia's eyes widened slightly. "Blackened ground... Abyssal energy residue?"
"Possibly," the Speaker said. "Or something worse."
The elders around the room shifted uncomfortably.
Jack exchanged a glance with Marik and Talia before stepping forward. His fused blade remained sheathed but ready at his back. "You want us to find them," he said.
"Find them," the Speaker confirmed. "Or find what happened. Prove to Emberwell that you are more than a name and a blade."
Her words were firm, but Jack could see the glimmer of desperation behind her eyes. Emberwell's defenses were old and weakening. They needed help—but they needed to know they weren't inviting ruin through their gates.
Jack didn't hesitate. "We accept."
The Speaker nodded once and leaned forward, voice low. "Be cautious. The land beyond the northern ridge has changed. Even the trees whisper warnings."
The gathered council murmured softly, as if her words had loosened something fearful inside them.
As Jack turned to leave, Shadow's hackles bristled again. The wolf's golden-black eyes scanned the darkened corners of the hall, but there was nothing there—only the lingering sense that something unseen was watching still. It was a feeling Jack recognized all too well: the thin edge of the Abyss pressing against the seams of the world.
Outside, the air had cooled. The sun dipped low, casting long, distorted shadows across the stone streets. Villagers watched them with wary hope, clutching charms and whispering prayers beneath their breath.
Jack pulled the hood of his cloak higher and turned to his companions. "We move at first light."
Marik tightened the strap of his sword belt. "Think they're still alive?"
Jack hesitated before answering. "Hope for the best. Prepare for worse."
Shadow gave a low, affirming growl. Whatever awaited them beyond the ridge—be it scouts, shadows, or something far darker—Jack knew they couldn't turn back now.
Dawn broke cold and sullen.
Mist clung to the ground as Jack, Shadow, Marik, and Talia set out from Emberwell's northern gate. The village faded quickly behind them, swallowed by the low-hanging fog and the rising silhouette of the ridge ahead.
The path north was barely a trail—a worn track through wild grasses and twisted trees whose branches tangled like skeletal fingers overhead. The deeper they moved into the woods, the heavier the air became. Even the birds seemed reluctant to sing here. The silence pressed in against them, broken only by the crunch of their boots and the soft rustle of mist curling around their legs.
Jack led, his senses stretched thin. Every rustle in the brush, every shift of shadow drew his attention. Shadow kept close, his growls low and constant, a warning carried in his body rather than his voice. His fur bristled, golden-black energy barely restrained beneath the surface.
"Feels wrong," Marik muttered, tightening his cloak around him. "Like the trees are listening."
Talia clutched a small wardstone in her hand, whispering ancient prayers under her breath. The glyphs on the stone pulsed faintly—not with power, but with tension, as if straining to hold something back.
The trees grew thicker, their trunks gnarled and twisted, some etched with faded runes of protection that had long since lost their strength. Vines clung to the bark like veins, pulsing faintly with unnatural energy.
By midday, they reached the first sign of trouble.
A shattered wardstone lay embedded in the soil, its protective glyphs broken and charred. Blackened grass fanned outward in a perfect ring around it, the corruption spreading like a wound. Shadow sniffed the air and recoiled, ears pinned back.
"Abyssal corruption," Jack said grimly. He knelt beside the stone, touching the scorched ground. The earth was still warm—as if the energy had only recently been released.
Talia crouched beside him, her voice tight. "This happened recently. Hours ago, maybe."
Marik scanned the woods with narrowed eyes. "Then whoever did this might still be close."
Jack rose slowly, hand on the hilt of his fused blade. The woods beyond the broken wardstone seemed darker, heavier. The scouts—if they were still alive—would be somewhere beyond that line.
They pressed on, deeper into the forest.
The mist thickened, swirling unnaturally. Shapes flickered at the edges of their vision—shadows that vanished when looked at directly. The temperature dropped sharply, their breaths misting in the air despite the season.
They found the first sign of the missing scouts an hour later: a torn scrap of crimson cloth caught on a thorn bush, stained dark with something that might have been blood—or worse.
Talia retrieved it carefully, her face pale. "One of theirs."
Jack examined the area. There were scuff marks in the dirt, deep gouges in the nearby trees—signs of a struggle. Whatever had attacked here hadn't simply killed and left; it had dragged something—or someone—deeper into the woods.
"Tracks lead east," Jack said, pointing to the faint trail.
They followed the trail in grim silence.
As the trees grew closer together, the shadows seemed to deepen. Strange symbols began appearing on the trunks—fresh carvings, not ancient like the ones near Emberwell. Symbols that made Jack's stomach twist in unease.
"These aren't Keeper runes," Talia whispered. "They're... Abyssal marks. Summoning glyphs."
A sudden shriek pierced the silence ahead—a human cry, sharp and desperate.
Jack didn't wait. He drew his fused blade, its golden-black fire springing to life, and charged forward, Shadow and the others close behind.
Somewhere ahead, in the heart of the cursed forest, the missing scouts were waiting—or whatever remained of them.
The shriek tore through the woods, sharp enough to scatter the mist for an instant. Jack pushed harder, heart hammering in his chest. Branches slapped against his armor as he sprinted, Shadow a blur of motion at his side.
They burst into a clearing—and froze.
At the center, three figures were bound to twisted tree trunks, black chains of shadow coiling around them like living things. The scouts. Their armor was cracked and scorched, their faces pale and strained, but they were alive—barely.
Circling them was something worse.
A creature—humanoid, but wrong. Its flesh shifted like smoke, sometimes solid, sometimes transparent. Abyssal glyphs burned along its arms and spine, pulsing in time with a heartbeat that Jack could feel pounding in the air. It radiated malice, the kind that seeped into the bones and whispered promises of despair.
It turned toward them, hollow eyes locking onto Jack.
Marik cursed under his breath. Talia clutched a glyph scroll, her hands shaking but ready.
"Break the chains!" Jack barked. "Shadow, with me!"
He rushed the creature, blade flaring with golden-black fire, while Marik and Talia moved to the captives. The creature screeched—a sound like tearing metal—and lunged.
Their clash lit the clearing with bursts of energy—Jack's blade carving arcs of molten light through the gloom. The creature moved with unnatural speed, its strikes fueled by the Abyss. Jack gritted his teeth, absorbing each impact with disciplined steps, his mind a whirl of focus and fire.
Shadow tackled the creature from the side, his jaws snapping at the creature's twisting form. For a brief moment, Jack saw fear flicker in the creature's hollow eyes—even the Abyss had reason to fear what Jack and Shadow had become.
Meanwhile, Talia activated her scrolls, glyphs spiraling into the air in intricate patterns. Each rune flashed against the oppressive darkness, unraveling the shadow-chains with deliberate precision. The chains writhed, fighting back, but her magic held firm.
The first scout slumped free, gasping. Marik caught him and hauled him backward, shouting encouragement. The second and third scouts were weaker—one barely conscious, the other bleeding heavily from a deep gash across his abdomen.
Jack pressed the attack, forcing the creature toward the edge of the clearing. Every blow struck sparked showers of corrupted mist. The creature hissed and retreated, blending with the thick mist. Shadow lunged again, snapping at the empty air as it fled.
Jack lowered his blade, chest heaving. It wasn't dead. But it was beaten—for now.
The scouts collapsed beside Talia and Marik, shivering with exhaustion. Talia immediately began applying healing salves and whispering minor wards of strength.
Jack knelt beside the leader of the scouts—a grizzled man whose badge still clung to his shredded armor.
"Who did this?" Jack asked.
The man coughed weakly, voice a rasp. "Not human... not fully... Abyss-walkers... watchers... They took the others. They're making more."
Jack felt a chill sink deeper into his chest. "Where?"
The scout's hand trembled as he pointed north, beyond the trees into deeper darkness. "A rift... new... growing."
Jack met Marik's grim gaze. A rift—a new breach between worlds—would spell disaster if left unchecked.
He rose slowly, surveying the woods. The mist thickened again, whispering unseen threats.
"Get them back to Emberwell," Jack said. "I'll hold the line."
Marik hesitated. "Alone?"
Jack gave a grim smile. "Not alone."
Shadow stepped beside him, eyes burning with golden-black fire.
The fight was far from over.
**To be continued...**