The Infinite Ascent
Chapter 28: The Maw Between Stars
The bridge, an endless ribbon of uncertainty, stretched onward toward a horizon that seemed to defy existence itself. The moment we set foot upon its surface, the profound chasm beneath us became a sentient being, breathing in a syncopated rhythm, exhaling an eternal draft of cold wind that rattled deep within our bones. Each gust carried with it a shiver, an unsettling reminder of the emptiness that awaited should we falter. As we ventured further, the statues that had silently stood sentinel over our journey, their stone hands still raised in solemn benediction, began to fade behind us. They were gradually swallowed by a thickening haze that felt less like an ordinary distance and more akin to memory unraveling, threads of our past slowly untethered and lost to the void.
This place, where the Path unfurled before us, grew ever stranger with each tentative step. The stone beneath our boots no longer bore the familiar characteristics of ordinary earth. Instead, it shimmered with a subtle luminescence, faintly glowing with countless motes of light that squirmed and danced like constellations imprisoned within a sheet of glass. My eyes, drawn in by their hypnotic motion, betrayed me; at times, I could have sworn the stars themselves were shifting and rearranging, forming patterns that eluded all attempts at understanding. It felt as though this bridge was not merely fashioned from mere stone; rather, it had transformed into a singular strand of the night sky, somehow hardened into physical form by an entity far older than any notion of will or desire.
The boy, who walked beside me, clung more tightly to my hand, his small fingers slick with perspiration. "It's not stone," he whispered, the tremor in his voice betraying a deep-rooted instinctual fear. "We're walking on… sky."
The crimson woman, her presence a fiery contrast against the eerie backdrop, cast a wary glance down at the shifting lights beneath us. "Not sky," she gently corrected, her tone soft but firm. "Not stars. These are the bones of worlds that once were. The remnants of realms devoured by something far worse."
The scarred man, weary from our journey yet ever vigilant, narrowed his gaze at her words, the calloused grip on the hilt of his blade tightening instinctively. "Devoured by what?" he demanded, the edge of his voice carrying both challenge and curiosity.
Her answer arrived as little more than a whisper, almost drowned out by the howling wind: "By the Maw."
The word hung in the air with a heavy finality, drifting like ash from a long-ago fire, and at that moment, the Path itself seemed to recoil slightly, as if reverberating with our trepidation. The constellations beneath us flickered violently, losing and regaining their glow, a chaotic dance that echoed the tumult of our emotions.
As we pressed onward, the bridge widened, unveiling a vast platform, a magnificent disc of obsidian floating over the endless abyss. The expanse before us was etched with sprawling maps of places that had long since vanished into the annals of oblivion, continents shattered into a myriad of fragmented shards, rivers that twisted into the void with no discernible end, mountains that appeared turned inside out, as if the very fabric of existence had reversed itself. Each depiction glimmered softly, crafted not by mortal hands but by some primordial force of memory, as if the very essence of these lost worlds had been eternally etched into this nightmarish canvas.
At the center of this platform yawned a terrible pit. It was not merely an absence of light; it represented a vortex of unmaking, a swirling abyss from which no escape could be promised. The brilliant light emanating from the cavernous crystals above twisted downward with a desperate allure, drawn inexorably into that black whirlpool, consumed utterly as if it had never existed. It offered no sound, yet every instinct within my body screamed that this pit was ravenous, that it had always craved sustenance.
The boy shivered violently, his body pressed against my side as a desperate shield. "It's calling me," he confided in a trembling whisper, his usually bright eyes now distant, glazed over as though the pit's gravity was pulling at more than just his physical form.
The scarred man, ever the guardian, stepped between the boy and the gaping maw, steel glinting dimly in the ambient light of the motes surrounding us. "Then don't listen," he growled, positioning himself firmly as if to dare the abyss to reach for the child once more.
Yet, the crimson woman's gaze remained unwaveringly fixed on the vortex, her flame flickering low and infused with uncertainty. "The Maw is older than the Ascents," she intoned, reverence weaving through her words like a thread of gold. "Some say it was not created but discovered, a profound wound in the very essence of existence. It is said that every Path shadows its edges, and each step upward carries with it the peril of stumbling into its voracious embrace. What the Maw consumes is not truly destroyed; instead, it is rendered forgotten. Erased from each song, every stone, every record, obliterated as though it never was in the first place."
Her words sank into the silence around us like lead weights, heavy and somber. The carvings that adorned the platform, the fragmented maps, the inverted mountains, were not mere illustrations; they stood as solemn memorials, grave testaments to worlds that existed nowhere else save in the memories of the lost.
At that moment, the whispers returned, amplified and echoing through the vastness. They were no longer the faint susurrus of lost climbers that we had encountered earlier but an uproarious chorus, overlapping cries that surged forth from the pit itself. These voices clawed at our minds with a ferocity, as though hands were reaching out to drag us closer to the abyss.
I staggered back, my hands clutching my skull as the voices thundered inside my head, a cacophony of demands and promises. Give it. Yield what you carry. Let it be swallowed, and you may rise higher. The toll, the toll, the toll. The words reverberated through my very being, and in that moment, the line between reality and terror blurred into an indistinguishable murk, leaving only the chilling realization that our journey had led us to the precipice of something unfathomable. The boy's anguished cry shattered the eerie stillness that enveloped us, and in the next instant, he collapsed to his knees, trembling uncontrollably as waves of fear and despair seized his small frame. I rushed to his side, desperate to bring him some semblance of comfort and stability, my hands reaching out to anchor him amid the chaos. Yet, even my soothing words seemed feeble and ineffective, as the haunting whispers curled around us like a malevolent fog, cutting through my attempts to reach him like a knife through fragile silk. His lips moved erratically, and I felt a chill crawl down my spine as I realized that for a fleeting moment, the voice emerging from his trembling mouth was not his own, but rather something far more ancient and sinister:
"The Maw remembers nothing. The Maw takes all."
Before I could process the implication of those chilling words, the earth beneath us began to tremble and shift unnaturally, as if the very ground was convulsing in dread. From the depths of the dark pit, forms began to rise, shapes that were not fully realized bodies, but rather disjointed fragments of human existence. They emerged grotesquely from the abyss, faces devoid of eyes, torsos bereft of hands, shadows of lives that had been stripped of their meaning and essence. These pale forms stumbled forward across the platform with a haunting, aimless gait, their mouths opening wide in a silent scream that echoed the sorrow of their forgotten lives.
In an instant, our companion, the scarred man, responded with swift lethality, his blade cutting through the air with precision as he cleaved one of the wretched specters apart. To our collective horror, however, the severed piece dissolved into wisps of dark smoke, reconstituting itself almost immediately, as though mocking his effort. It was a grotesque cycle, a reminder that our every attempt to fight back against this nightmarish onslaught was rendered meaningless.
"They cannot be slain," the crimson-haired woman shouted over the growing cacophony, her vibrant flames surging into life around her in a fierce blaze of defiance. "They are echoes of what the Maw has consumed. Shadows of the forgotten, cursed to wander endlessly!" Her voice rose above the chaos, infused with a desperate courage that momentarily cut through the despair.
Beside me, the boy clung to my arm with a grip that spoke of both terror and determination, his voice a stark whisper that was hardly audible over the tumult. "If we fight them, we'll never win," he murmured, his eyes shimmering with desperate clarity. "The Path… it wants us to give something. Something real." His words hung heavy in the air, resonating with an unsettling truth.
A chilling realization sank into my heart like a dagger, slicing through the illusions of our struggle. To pass beyond the Maw and continue on our treacherous journey, the toll was not to be measured in bloodshed, nor in sheer physical might, nor even in the simple quest for survival. No, the toll demanded was far more profound, our very memories must be relinquished.
Something precious and irreplaceable would need to be surrendered willingly, offered to the ravenous vortex with the understanding that it would be devoured, erased from the annals of our existence forever.
As the forgotten shadows closed in around us, their faceless forms reaching out with ghostly fingers, the magnitude of what lay before us became chillingly clear. With a dawning horror gripping my heart, I understood that the Path would permit no further movement until we made a harrowing choice, deciding which piece of our very selves we were willing to forsake to the insatiable maw of oblivion, forever severing our connection to that fragment of our identity.
To be continued...