Chapter 13: Through the Ashen Vale
The dawn broke gray and cold as John Gou, Jake, and Cherlyn prepared to leave the fragile safety of the settlement. Their meager supplies—cured meat, boiled water, and hastily-forged weapons—were strapped tightly to their backs. Rick stood by the edge of the woods, a flickering guide between worlds, his form blurring with each breeze.
"The Ashen Vale will test you," Rick warned softly. "Not all things that crossed the cracks were Hollow Ones. Some... were worse. Forgotten. Hungry. They wear familiar faces."
Jake grunted, adjusting his crowbar. "Lovely. More nightmares."
John checked the iron pipe slung across his back, its metal stained and worn from the Tower. "Lead the way, Rick."
The ghost drifted forward, and they followed into the Vale.
The forest changed quickly. Wild trees gave way to ashen trunks—dead, gray, stripped of life. The ground was soft with pale dust, like the remains of a thousand burned things. No birds sang. No insects buzzed. Only the crunch of their boots disturbed the silence.
John paused. A faint shimmer flickered between two trees. Like cracked glass catching the light.
"A crack," Cherlyn whispered, clutching her satchel of herbs.
Rick nodded. "They're everywhere here. Thin points where the worlds bleed together. Be careful. Sometimes they show the past. Sometimes the future. And sometimes... they let things through."
As they pressed deeper, the Vale thickened. Faint whispers tickled at the edge of hearing—mocking laughter, distant screams, sobbing voices calling John's name. He gritted his teeth. "Ignore it."
Then the sky groaned.
A low, thunderous sound rippled through the air. Above the Vale, a hairline crack split the clouds, shining with pale blue light. Something stirred behind it—huge, slow, dragging fingers across the divide.
"It's waking," Rick whispered.
Suddenly, movement ahead. Figures—five of them—stepped into view from behind the skeletal trees. Men, or what had once been men. Their skin was gray, stretched thin over bone. Hollow-eyed, smiling wide. And familiar.
"Rick?" John gasped. "They... they look like us."
The figures laughed—a perfect mirror of John's own voice, Jake's mutter, Cherlyn's soft breath. Twisted reflections, shaped by the cracks.
"The Forgotten Doubles," Rick muttered grimly. "Manifestations of fear. They mimic the living to draw close... and feed."
The doubles moved. Fast.
John swung his pipe, connecting with the skull of his own doppelganger. Bone cracked; ash burst into the air. Jake lunged with his crowbar, cleaving his double's chest open—but nothing bled. The thing simply smiled wider.
Cherlyn whispered words in old tongue—forgotten wards Rick had taught her. Her double staggered, hissing, shrinking away.
"Stay close!" John yelled, driving the pipe into the last double's face. It crumbled into gray dust.
The sky crack above trembled. A flicker of movement behind the rift—vast wings, unseen eyes.
"Run!" Rick shouted.
They bolted. Through dying trees, across bridges of bone and stone, the Vale twisted around them—paths changing, trees shifting. The crack widened with each step, spilling cold blue light.
At last, they stumbled into a clearing.
At its center lay the first Ward Stone—a monolith of dark crystal, humming with ancient power. Runes burned along its surface, pulsing in time with John's heartbeat.
"We found it," Cherlyn gasped, falling to her knees.
But something else stirred. The ground shook. From the earth rose a colossal shape—twisted flesh and iron, a beast born from the cracks. It loomed over them, its eyeless head sniffing the air.
"The Hollow Warden," Rick said grimly. "It guards the stone. You must defeat it."
John gripped his pipe tighter, stepping forward. "Jake, Cherlyn—distract it. I'll strike the runes."
The battle erupted. Jake hurled stones; Cherlyn flung burning herbs, casting wards. The Warden roared, swiping massive claws, shaking the ground. John ducked under its arm, driving the pipe into the rune-crystal. Light burst forth, searing the air.
The Warden shrieked, convulsing. Cracks split its body; pale fire poured out. With a final, deafening scream, it burst into ash.
Silence returned. The Ward Stone flared, casting a dome of light outward. The Vale stilled. The sky-crack above dimmed slightly.
"One stone awakened," Rick said softly. "Three more remain."
John breathed deeply, staring at the fading crack. "Then we move. Tomorrow. The cracks won't wait."
The Ashen Vale whispered behind them as they made camp by the glowing stone. Sleep was thin and restless—but hope burned brighter than it had in days.
End of Chapter 13.