Chapter 2 - The Ash Wolf
The first thing Kael felt was cold.
Damp earth clung to his back, and the sharp smell of moss filled his nose. When he tried to move, pain rippled through his arms and chest - reminders of the ropes, the beating, the brand of lightning that still burned beneath his skin.
He opened his eyes to see nothing but trees. Tall, skeletal trunks stretched endlessly, their branches laced together to hide the sky. Shafts of pale moonlight pierced through in thin spears, turning the mist into silver smoke.
Gone were the torchlights of Greyhaven. Gone were the walls, the huts, the familiar dirt roads.
The villagers had cast him beyond the boundary stones.
Kael sat up slowly, clutching his ribs. The silence here was absolute, so deep it pressed on his ears. No voices, no fires crackling, no Darius shouting with laughter. Only the whisper of leaves, the far-off cry of some nocturnal beast.
For one foolish heartbeat, he thought maybe it was a dream. Maybe he would wake in his cot, and Lyra would be shaking him awake with a bundle of herbs in her hand. Maybe Darius would already be up, demanding a sparring match before breakfast. Maybe - just maybe - his father would appear, tall and unyielding, with eyes that did not look at him with fear.
But the ache in his chest told him it was no dream. The villagers' words still rang in his skull:
Monster.
Curse.
Storm-spawn.
Kael clenched his fists until his nails bit into his palms.
He thought of Darius lying on the ground, blood matting his hair. He thought of Lyra's eyes wide with horror, not at the shadowy creature that had attacked - but at him. Always him.
His breath shook, and before he could stop himself, hot tears blurred his vision. He doubled over, pressing his forehead to the damp earth.
"I didn't ask for this," he whispered. His voice cracked, lost in the trees. "I never wanted this."
The storm inside him stirred faintly, like a beast rolling in its sleep. His chest flared with heat, then dulled again. For the first time, he did not fear it. He hated it.
A sob tore free before he could choke it down. He wept, raw and broken, his body shuddering with each breath. He had held it back for so long - through the training, through the taunts of villagers, through the night his mother vanished without a word. He had told himself he was strong. That he didn't care.
But now, with no one left to see, the weight of it crushed him.
He cried for Darius, for Lyra, for the home that had turned its back on him. He cried for the boy he had been, who still hoped one day to be loved.
When the storm of grief finally ebbed, he lay on his back staring up at the canopy. His throat burned, his chest felt hollow, but his eyes were dry.
The forest did not care. It offered no comfort, no judgment. Only silence.
Kael exhaled slowly. His hands curled into the dirt, and he whispered to himself, more vow than prayer:
"If they don't want me... I'll survive anyway."
He turned his head toward the endless dark between the trees. Somewhere out there was a path. Somewhere, perhaps, were answers. And if not - then at least he would not die begging at Greyhaven's gate.
He pushed himself to his feet, swaying with weakness but unwilling to fall.
The forest waited.
And Kael walked into it.
The forest swallowed him whole.
Every step carried Kael farther from the world he had known. The soil was damp, muffling his footsteps, while the air grew thick with scents unfamiliar - sweet sap, sharp herbs, the faint tang of iron. The mist clung to his skin like cobwebs, beading in his hair until it dripped into his eyes.
It was not an ordinary forest.
Even in his youth, when he and Darius had dared each other to sneak close to the boundary stones, he had felt it - the unnatural stillness beyond. Villagers whispered that no birds sang here, no deer grazed, because the land itself belonged to older things.
Kael had laughed then, pretending bravery, but even as a boy he had felt the air tighten near the stones. Now, as he walked deeper, he knew the stories hadn't lied.
The trees themselves looked strange. Their trunks were etched with faint lines that glimmered when moonlight struck, like scars carved by some long-dead hand. Roots sprawled across the ground, twisted and knotted, some as wide as a man's chest.
Pools dotted the undergrowth, their surfaces glowing faintly blue. At first Kael thought it was reflected starlight, but when he crouched to look, he realized the glow came from within, as though fireflies had drowned beneath the surface.
The sight made his skin prickle.
He straightened quickly, remembering the old warnings: Do not drink from the boundary streams. Do not linger by the glowing pools. Do not answer voices that call your name.
When he was a child, the elders used to gather them around the fire and speak of travelers who had vanished. One had followed a trail of silver butterflies and was never seen again. Another swore he heard his mother's voice in the woods, though she had been dead ten years. When he followed, only his blood-stained cloak was found.
Kael had always thought they were just stories meant to scare children into obedience. But here, walking alone, he felt those whispers might have been closer to truth than he wanted to believe.
The storm-mark on his chest throbbed faintly, keeping rhythm with his heartbeat. He rubbed at it through his shirt, though it did little good. Every so often he thought he saw sparks flicker in the air when he exhaled, vanishing before he could blink.
A branch cracked behind him.
Kael spun, knife raised. His breath quickened. The trees were silent again, but the feeling of eyes pressed against his back like cold steel.
"Who's there?" His voice rang too loudly in the hush.
No answer.
He forced himself to keep walking, though every step felt heavier. He thought of Darius's laughter, of Lyra's smile when she slipped him stolen bread. He repeated their faces in his mind like a prayer, a talisman against the creeping dread.
Yet the longer he walked, the stronger the sensation became. Not just one gaze, but many. Watching. Measuring.
The mist shifted ahead of him, and for a heartbeat he thought he saw shapes - antlers, wings, eyes glowing faintly. When he blinked, the mist was only mist.
Still, the stories whispered louder in his mind.
Beyond the stones lie the old ones.
They were here before men built villages, before walls, before even fire.
They wait for the day the world grows weak, so they may claim it again.
Kael shook the thought away. He had no time for ghosts and legends. He needed food, water, shelter. Survival was the only story that mattered now.
But as he pressed deeper into the trees, the boundary world pressed back.
And somewhere in the distance, a howl rose - long, low, and unlike any wolf he had ever heard.
It sent a shiver racing down his spine.
The howl faded, leaving silence so sharp Kael's ears rang.
He gripped his knife tighter. The villagers had told tales of beasts beyond the stones, but none had matched that sound. It was too deep, too mournful, carrying a weight that stirred something in his chest.
Leaves rustled.
Kael spun, his breath catching. Between the trees, a pair of eyes glowed silver.
He froze. His heart pounded against his ribs, and every instinct screamed at him to run. But his legs held him rooted. The eyes drew closer, gleaming like twin moons until the mist parted and the creature stepped forth.
It was a wolf - yet unlike any Kael had ever known. Taller than his chest, its fur shifted like smoke, grey threaded with streaks of ember-red that pulsed faintly, as if fire lived beneath its skin. Each breath curled from its muzzle in soft whisps, ash scattering into the air.
Kael's throat tightened. His knife trembled in his grip. "Stay back," he warned, though his voice broke.
The wolf padded closer, slow, unhurried. Its gaze fixed not on the blade, but on Kael himself - steady, piercing, almost... knowing.
When it came within a dozen paces, Kael slashed the knife through the air. "I said stay back!"
The wolf didn't flinch.
Instead, it lowered its head, ears flattening. Then came a sound Kael did not expect.
A whine.
Soft. Almost sorrowful.
Kael blinked, his chest tightening. He had prepared for snarls, fangs, claws. Not this.
The wolf's gaze dropped to his chest. To the faint glow seeping through his torn shirt where the storm-mark burned.
Kael's breath caught. "You... you see it?"
The wolf took another step, slow and cautious. It didn't bare its teeth. It didn't lunge. It simply watched him, eyes bright with something Kael couldn't name.
His grip on the knife loosened. Every instinct told him this creature should be feared, yet another voice - quieter, buried deep - whispered otherwise.
"Are you hunting me?" Kael whispered. His throat was raw, his body shaking from exhaustion and grief. "Or... are you like me?"
The wolf stopped just within reach. Its fur shimmered in the moonlight, ash drifting from its pelt as though it carried a fire that never burned out.
Kael's hand trembled. Slowly, against every warning in his mind, he lowered the knife. His other hand reached forward, hesitant.
The wolf did not move.
When his palm brushed its head, Kael flinched - expecting heat, expecting teeth. Instead, the fur was cool, soft yet strange, like running fingers through mist that somehow held form.
And in that touch, Kael felt something stir. A presence - not words, but a pull, as if a thread had tied itself between their hearts. For a heartbeat he felt less alone.
He closed his eyes, exhaling.
"You're not afraid of me," he murmured.
The wolf gave a soft huff, as if amused.
Kael's lips twitched into the faintest smile. "Then maybe we're both cursed."
He sank to his knees, exhaustion finally breaking through. The wolf circled once, then settled beside him, curling its great body around him like a cloak. Warmth spread through Kael's chilled limbs, soothing in a way no fire could have been.
For the first time since exile, he slept without fear.
When dawn's pale light filtered through the trees, Kael woke to find the wolf still there, watching him. Its silver eyes caught the light, sharp and steady.
He sat up slowly, rubbing his face. "You're not leaving, are you?"
The wolf tilted its head, as though answering.
Kael chuckled weakly. "Then I guess I should call you something."
He studied the shimmer of ash drifting from its fur, the faint glow in its chest like embers in the dark. A name formed on his tongue, unbidden yet right.
"Ember."
The wolf blinked once, slow and deliberate.
Kael's chest tightened. He wasn't sure if the beast understood, but something in its gaze told him the name would stay.
He rose, shouldering the little satchel the villagers had thrown at him on the way out. "Alright, Ember. Let's see where this cursed forest wants us to go."
The wolf padded to his side, moving like a shadow bound to him.
And together, they walked on.
By midday, Kael's legs burned from walking. The forest stretched endlessly, its canopy filtering sunlight into fractured beams that dappled the earth. His stomach ached with hunger; the villagers had given him no food. Only the occasional sip from a cold stream kept him moving.
Ember padded silently at his side, a grey shadow among the trees. Every so often, the wolf paused, nose lifted, ears flicking toward sounds Kael couldn't hear. Once, Ember growled low until Kael stepped away from a patch of mushrooms glowing faintly violet. Another time, the wolf nudged him from a hollow log just before it collapsed inward, revealing a nest of chittering, fanged insects.
"Guess you're the brains between us," Kael muttered.
Ember's silver eyes flicked toward him. Kael almost thought the wolf smirked.
The forest thinned as they climbed a gentle rise. Then, abruptly, the trees broke, and Kael stumbled into a wide clearing.
He froze.
Before him sprawled ruins.
Massive stone arches jutted from the ground like broken ribs. Half-toppled pillars lay scattered, their surfaces etched with symbols Kael didn't recognize - circles within circles, jagged lines that glimmered faintly when the sunlight struck. Moss and vines wound through cracks, but the stone hummed faintly, alive with something deeper than time.
Kael stepped forward, heart pounding. "What is this place?"
His hand brushed a pillar. A faint vibration pulsed beneath his fingers, like the thrum of distant thunder. He pulled back sharply.
Memories surfaced - his mother's voice, low and hushed, whispering old tales before the fire:
There were kingdoms before ours, Kael. Empires before Greyhaven. They angered the gods, and the gods struck them down. Their bones still sleep beneath the earth.
Kael had been a boy, too young to understand, but her words came rushing back now, clear and sharp.
Could this be one of those places?
He moved deeper into the ruins. Strange carvings marked the walls - beasts with wings, figures crowned in flame, rivers of lightning etched in stone. One carving showed a man with a mark across his chest, not unlike his own.
His breath caught.
Before he could study it further, Ember stiffened. The wolf's fur bristled, lips peeling back in a low snarl.
Kael froze. "What is it?"
The air shifted.
Shadows pooled unnaturally across the ground, sliding against the sunlight like ink spilled across glass. The stench of rot rose, thick and choking.
A figure stepped from the darkness.
It was tall, draped in tattered rags that clung to its thin frame. Its face was hidden beneath a mask of bleached bone, carved into a hollow grin. Long claws tipped its hands, scraping against the stone with a sound that set Kael's teeth on edge.
Ember growled, planting himself between Kael and the figure.
Kael's hand went to his knife, though he knew it was useless. His chest burned, the storm-mark flaring hot.
The figure's voice rasped, dry and hollow: "So... the storm-blood awakens."
Kael's stomach twisted. "Who are you?"
The figure tilted its head. "A shadow. A servant. A herald of the storm you carry."
Kael gritted his teeth. "I don't want it."
The laugh that followed was low and rattling. "Want? You were never given a choice. The blood in you is older than kings. Older than the world you cling to."
Shadows slithered from its hands, curling across the ground like serpents. Ember lunged, snapping at the tendrils. They recoiled with a hiss, but more surged forward, weaving around the wolf to strike at Kael.
Kael stumbled back, knife slashing uselessly. The shadows struck like whips, cutting across his arms and legs, burning cold. He cried out, falling to one knee.
The mark on his chest blazed, lightning crawling across his skin.
The figure raised a clawed hand. "Yes... unleash it. Let the storm claim you. Let it tear you apart."
Kael's heart pounded, fear and rage colliding. He saw Darius's bloodied face, Lyra's horrified eyes, the villagers turning their backs. All because of this curse.
No - not curse. Not tonight.
He screamed, and the storm inside him broke loose.
Lightning erupted from his chest, wild and blinding. The ruins shook as thunder cracked overhead. Shadows shrieked, recoiling as arcs of blue fire split the air.
The figure's bone mask glowed in the stormlight, expression unchanged. "Good," it whispered.
Kael could not hear anything else over the roar of the tempest.