The caravan moved like a slow, dark river across the plains. The glass beneath their feet cracked faintly with every step of the horned beasts that pulled the wagons, but none of the Ashborn seemed concerned.
Up close, Elara could see how different they were from ordinary humans. Their skin was pale gray, textured like stone, with faint veins of red that pulsed as if molten blood ran beneath. Some wore masks carved from black glass, others had eyes that burned faintly like embers. Their clothes were patched hides and ash-stained cloth, adorned with talismans of bone and obsidian.
The leader approached — a tall woman draped in a cloak of ashen feathers. Her eyes were twin points of molten gold. When she spoke, her voice was deep and deliberate, like stones grinding together.
"Travelers," she said, looking from Kastor to Serenya, then lingering on Elara. "You cross the Black Glass Plains without protection. That is… unwise."
Kastor inclined his head but kept his hand near his sword. "We didn't plan to meet anyone here."
"Few do," the leader replied, tilting her head. "Yet here we are."
Serenya stepped forward. "We seek the Deep Vault. We heard there may be a safe route."
The Ashborn woman studied her for a moment, then smiled faintly. "Safe is a word for children. There is a way — if you can pay the price."
Elara glanced at Kastor, who was already frowning. "What kind of price?" she asked.
The woman's gaze shifted to her. "Ashborn do not trade in coin. We trade in what is valuable."
"Food? Supplies?" Elara offered.
The leader shook her head. "Knowledge… or blood."
The Ashborn murmured softly among themselves, their ember eyes glinting in the dim light. The horned beasts snorted, exhaling puffs of black dust.
Serenya's tone was sharp. "You want knowledge. Whose knowledge?"
"Yours," the woman said simply. "A memory, taken from your mind, never to be yours again. Or a measure of blood to feed our wards."
Elara shivered. "What happens to the memory?"
The woman's expression didn't change. "It becomes ours. We keep it. Sometimes we give it to our children. Sometimes… we burn it in the Ashfire to feed our guardians."
Kastor's voice was low and dangerous. "And if we give blood?"
"It will be taken by the Ashroots," the woman said. "They will drink it until the wards are fed. Most live."
Elara felt her throat tighten. "Most?"
The woman smiled slightly, as though enjoying their discomfort.
They withdrew to speak privately near the edge of the caravan.
"This is a trap," Kastor muttered. "They want to weaken us before we go further."
"But if they have a map…" Serenya said, frowning, "we'd save days. Without it, we're crossing blind, and the wraiths will come again."
Elara looked between them. "If it's knowledge they want… I have a memory I could give. Something small. It wouldn't hurt the journey."
Serenya's eyes sharpened. "That is never as harmless as it sounds. Memories are threads — remove the wrong one, and you don't know what else will unravel."
"Then I'll fight for it," Kastor said simply, resting his hand on his sword.
Serenya stared at him. "If we pick that path, we won't just be fighting her. The entire caravan will come for us."
Elara's chest tightened. "So what's the choice? Risk giving them something… or risk losing everything to the plains?"
When they returned to the Ashborn leader, Kastor spoke first. "We'll take your test of strength. If we pass, you give us the map. No memory, no blood."
The woman studied him for a long, still moment. Then she nodded. "Agreed. But strength is not only in the arm, traveler. It is also in the spirit."
She gestured, and two Ashborn stepped forward, carrying a black glass platform about the size of a table. In the center was a carved basin filled with glowing ash.
"You will place your hand in the Ashfire," the leader said. "Hold it there without pulling away until I tell you to stop. If you do, you have proven your worth."
Elara's eyes widened. "That's… fire."
"It does not burn flesh," the woman said. "It burns weakness."
Kastor stepped forward without hesitation and plunged his hand into the basin. His jaw clenched, and the ash swirled violently around his wrist. For a moment, he stood perfectly still, his face betraying nothing. Then his teeth gritted, muscles tightening.
The Ashborn murmured in approval.
When the woman finally spoke, Kastor yanked his hand free. His palm was unmarked, but Elara could see the tremor in his fingers.
"You pass," the leader said. "You will have the map."
But as the Ashborn turned away to fetch it, Elara caught something in the woman's smile — something that said the game was not over.
That night, they camped near the caravan under the unblinking red moon. The Ashborn kept to themselves, their strange chants carrying on the wind.
Elara lay awake, watching the faint glow of the shard inside her pouch.
She couldn't shake the feeling that by taking the test, they had stepped into a game with rules they didn't understand… and that the Ashborn's real price had yet to be paid.