The rain began to fall.
Not the cleansing kind that washed away sins—this rain reeked of decay. Each drop hissed faintly as it struck the ground, feeding the dead soil with traces of black essence.
Kael stood amid the kneeling corpses, the Scripture of Returning Ashes pulsing faintly in his hand. The violet runes shimmered across its surface, rearranging themselves like living veins. He could feel it—death energy swirling within him, heavy, cold, and alive.
His vision flickered. For a heartbeat, the world became two.
One side was gray and broken—the mortal world.The other was shadowed, deeper—shapes of spirits drifting in silence.
He could see both.He could feel both.
"So this is what you call... balance."
The voice came not from his mind but from around him—like whispers crawling through the mist. The corpses that had once obeyed him began to tremble. One, a soldier still wearing the rusted crest of the Holy Alliance, lifted its head.
Its jaw moved.Its throat, long torn apart, somehow formed words.
"Why… do you live?"
Kael froze. The corpse's eyes burned faint blue. No hatred, no anger—just a hollow question.The others began to echo it, one by one.
"Why… do you live?""Why do we… not?"
Kael's grip tightened on the tome. The voices weren't madness—they were real. Fragments of souls clinging to their own remains, drawn by the aura he carried.
He inhaled slowly.Death energy responded like a tide, flowing into his core. He could feel it gathering behind his ribs, a cold center pulsing like another heart.
Then, instinctively, he spoke.
"Because I was not allowed to die."
The moment the words left his mouth, the air shifted. The souls quieted. A faint warmth spread from the tome, and runes lit up one by one, forming a line of ancient script across the page:
[Command of Ash – Obedience of the Fallen]
The corpses straightened, silent once again. A chill wind swept through the grave field, carrying away the last echoes of their sorrow.
Kael looked at his hands—deathlight fading between his fingers.
He hadn't learned that spell.It had answered him.
"The Scripture responds to intent…" he murmured. "It grants power not by prayer, but by truth."
He turned slowly toward the horizon. From the distance, faint torchlights flickered—scavengers, no doubt. Gravediggers and Soul Hunters searching for relics left after the war.
Kael could feel their life energy like tiny flames in the dark.
"Living," he whispered, "how loud you are."
He closed the tome and stepped forward. The corpses followed—slow, soundless, like shadows tethered to his will.
The first Soul Hunters didn't even have time to scream.
When it was over, only the rain remained. Kael stood amid scattered weapons and fading torches. The corpses that had followed him dissolved into black mist, their energy returning to his core.
He exhaled.His body ached—not from wounds, but from hunger. The Scripture had fed him power, but it demanded equilibrium. Death could not exist without life to balance it.
He would need more.More essence.More understanding.
And he would find it.
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Hours later, Kael found shelter beneath the collapsed arches of an old cathedral. Half of its ceiling was gone; through the cracks, moonlight streamed faintly, silver and cold.
He sat cross-legged, placing the tome on the ground before him. The runes glowed faintly in response.
"Cycle of Ash," he read, the letters shifting as he spoke. "The first path… the acceptance of death. The return to origin."
He closed his eyes and began to meditate.
Around him, the corpses had long turned to dust, but their whispers lingered—soft, distant, no longer tormenting. Each whisper bled into the rhythm of his breathing. His soul pulsed in harmony with theirs.
Death essence flows through the still heart.The still heart commands the restless dead.
Slowly, he understood. The Cycle of Ash was not destruction—it was rebirth through stillness. The purification of death energy until it resonated with his will.
A faint hum filled the air. The dust near his feet began to lift and swirl, forming tiny motes of pale light. They spun faster, condensing into a small core of energy before sinking into his chest.
[Cycle of Ash – Initiation Completed.]
The tome's voice echoed inside his mind for the first time—flat, ancient, mechanical yet alive.
Kael opened his eyes. His pupils gleamed faintly silver.
"So it begins."
He stood, brushing the ash from his cloak. The once-faint whispering in the air faded into silence.
Outside, thunder rumbled once more.Somewhere beyond the hills, the Holy Alliance's banners were being raised again, their priests proclaiming the "Cleansing of the Deadlands."
Kael looked toward the distant light of their fires and smiled faintly.
"You buried me once," he said softly. "Let's see how many graves you'll need this time."
Lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating his shadow against the ruined walls—long, dark, and crowned with swirling spirits.
The Ashborn had begun his walk through the living world.
End of Chapter 2 – The Whisper of the Dead