The spire field closed behind them like the jaws of a predator. Elara didn't know if it was just her imagination, but every shadow felt deeper now, as if something had followed them out.
They pressed on in silence. Even Kastor, usually unbothered by danger, kept scanning the horizon, his hand never leaving the hilt of his blade.
The air thickened as night fell. The red glow beneath the glass dimmed, replaced by a cold gray sheen that reflected their faces back at them as they walked. Elara tried not to look too closely — she didn't trust the glass anymore.
They made camp beside a jagged ridge where the glass had splintered into black shards. The ground here was uneven, giving them some cover, though it also made sleeping dangerous.
Kastor set a perimeter of mirrored shards, muttering that it would "confuse wandering eyes." Serenya built a small fire, though its light was swallowed quickly by the surrounding darkness.
Elara sat a little apart from them, clutching the shard in her pouch. It was warm again, pulsing faintly like a living thing.
Her thoughts kept returning to the Ash Wraith. She could still hear her mother's voice in her head, soft and coaxing.
What disturbed her most was that for a moment, she had wanted to believe it — even after seeing the creature's true form.
"Elara."
She flinched and looked up. Serenya stood a few steps away, her hood pushed back. "You can't let it in," the mage said quietly. "Once they taste a memory, they'll use it against you until you break."
"How do I stop it?" Elara asked.
"You don't," Serenya replied, her expression grim. "You endure."
That night, the visions came.
Elara woke to the sound of soft humming. At first, she thought it was Serenya, but when she looked, the mage was asleep by the fire.
The humming came from beyond the ridge.
She rose, her feet moving before she could think. The fire's light faded behind her, and the glass plain stretched ahead, bathed in pale moonlight.
A figure stood in the distance. Not her mother this time — a young man, tall and broad-shouldered, with hair as black as obsidian. He turned at the sound of her approach, and her breath caught.
"Lorien…" she whispered.
She hadn't seen him in years — not since he'd left their village to join the border guard. He'd been her closest friend, the one who had taught her how to climb the cliffs by the river. He was supposed to have died defending the village from raiders.
But here he was, smiling at her. "Elara. You found me."
She wanted to run to him, but a sliver of reason held her back. "This isn't real."
"Isn't it?" Lorien stepped closer, the moonlight glinting off his eyes. "You've carried the weight of my death for years. You never needed to."
Her pulse quickened. "If you're real… prove it. Tell me something only you would know."
He hesitated — just for a fraction of a second — but she saw it. Then his smile returned. "The day you fell from the cliff, you blamed me for letting go. But you never knew I… pulled you back."
It was true. No one else had been there. The memory was burned into her mind.
Her resolve wavered.
Then the shard in her pouch throbbed, and his voice changed. It deepened, stretching, twisting into something too low, too cold.
"Come, Elara," Lorien said, his jaw distorting, his eyes sinking into molten pits. "Let me take the burden from you."
The illusion melted like wax, revealing a second Ash Wraith — this one crawling toward her, its limbs too long, its fingers ending in hooked shards of glass.
Before she could move, a bolt of blue fire streaked past her, striking the wraith's chest. It shrieked and dissolved into smoke.
"Elara!" Serenya's voice snapped her back. The mage stood a few paces behind, her staff raised, its tip glowing faintly. "Never leave the camp. Not even for the dead."
Elara's hands trembled. "It knew about Lorien. How could it know?"
"They drink from you the moment you see them," Serenya said. "Every memory, every wound. They twist it until you can't tell what's yours and what's theirs."
Kastor appeared, scanning the horizon. "We can't stay here. They've marked her now. They won't stop until…" He glanced at Elara and didn't finish.
They packed quickly, moving east again under the moon's pale light.
By dawn, Elara felt hollow. The visions had left her raw, every step heavier than the last. The spires were far behind them now, but the black glass plain seemed endless.
They crested a rise, and in the distance, she saw movement — not wraiths this time, but a line of figures crossing the plains.
A caravan, their wagons pulled by massive, horned beasts with hides like cooled lava. The people walking beside them had pale, stone-like skin and eyes that caught the light like burning coals.
Kastor stopped. "Ashborn."
Serenya's lips tightened. "This could be trouble."
Elara frowned. "Who are they?"
"People who've lived in the Ashlands too long," Kastor said. "They survive… but the land changes them. And they never give without taking something in return."
The caravan was heading toward them.