The sky was darker than usual.
Not just night-dark. But like something heavy was sitting over the stars, swallowing their light. The moon peeked from behind the clouds — pale, bruised, and strange. It looked almost… afraid.
Coker stood at the edge of a ruined stone bridge, looking out over a silent valley. His breath came out in white mist. The mark on his chest pulsed gently under his tunic — not burning now, just... waiting.
Something was coming.
And he could feel it.
---
He took a step forward.
The bridge groaned under his foot.
Below him, the river was still. No fish. No sound.
His hand gripped the small blade at his side — a dull thing he had picked up from an abandoned camp days ago. Not magical. Not strong. But it had weight. And he needed something to hold.
The other side of the bridge led into a place no map mentioned. A forest of bones, some said. A cursed ground where screams echoed through the trees. Some said it was where the stars died.
Coker stepped forward again.
Behind him, a whisper.
"You shouldn't go alone."
He turned quickly.
It was the old woman again — the one with eyes like burnt paper, who appeared in villages only after someone important died. She didn't walk. She just... stood. As if the earth chose when and where she would appear.
"I'm always alone," Coker said.
She looked at him. Not angry. Not kind. Just… knowing.
"No," she said. "You're just the first."
He frowned. "First what?"
But she was already gone.
The wind picked up. Cold. Sharp.
Coker crossed the bridge.
---
The trees ahead were tall and grey. Their bark looked like skin. Their branches reached like arms into the sky. The ground was soft with ash.
As he walked, he heard whispers.
Not in his head.
Around him.
"Devourer..."
"He walks again..."
"Flesh of stars... killer of fate..."
He kept going.
Then—
A shape moved in front of him.
A boy. About his age. Pale skin. Eyes too big.
He wore no shoes, and his chest was marked with strange red symbols.
Coker stopped.
The boy smiled.
Then he spoke in a voice that wasn't his own:
"You dream of being more... but you were always more. Even before the world knew your name."
Coker reached for his blade.
The boy's body twisted, bones cracking, mouth stretching too wide.
It rushed at him.
Coker ducked. Rolled. Brought up the blade. Slashed.
The creature hissed and jumped back. Smoke poured from its wounds.
Coker's eyes narrowed. "You bleed smoke. You're not real."
It grinned.
"Neither are you. Not yet."
Then it exploded into a swarm of black feathers.
Gone.
---
He walked deeper into the forest.
The air grew heavier. Like he was breathing through cloth. His limbs ached. The whispers returned.
He found a stone altar deep in the woods. On it, an old mask. Made of iron and bone.
He picked it up.
A memory hit him.
A battlefield again. Him — older, taller, stronger. Wearing that same mask. Leading monsters with wings. Holding a sword that sang when swung.
He dropped the mask.
*"I don't want this."*
But the forest did not care.
A tree nearby bled black when he touched it.
---
Far away, in the Halls of Sight, a young priestess opened her eyes from a vision.
She screamed.
Her master came running. "What did you see?"
She cried, "He has touched the Ash Moon. He walks the forgotten path."
The master grew pale. "Then the seals will begin to break."
---
Coker made camp that night in a hollow tree.
He didn't sleep.
Instead, he stared at the mark on his chest.
It glowed slowly. Steady. Like a second heartbeat.
He thought of Mina.
Of the village.
Of the old dreams.
*"What am I becoming?"* he whispered.
And somewhere, deep under the forest floor, something smiled.
The Ash Moon rose higher.
The stars blinked out.
And the world began to shift.