Ash did not hunt out of courage.
He hunted because hunger had finally outweighed fear.
For days, he had watched them.
The creatures of the Barrows were not all the same. Some pressed against his senses like a hand around his throat — those he avoided without question. Others barely registered, their presence muted, dull, like background noise.
Those were the ones he studied.
Two of them shared a shallow ravine carved between stone mounds and broken slabs. The ground there dipped unevenly, scattered with loose rock and brittle shale. Old burial markers lay half-buried, forming narrow paths and blind corners.
Perfect.
The creatures themselves were malformed things, low to the ground, all bone-heavy frames and stretched flesh. Their limbs bent at wrong angles, joints grinding softly when they moved. They fed on carrion, tearing at remains left behind by larger horrors.
Weak.
Not harmless — but weak, at least weaker than most of the things he saw or did not saw.
Ash never approached directly.
He learned their territory first. Where they circled. Where they paused. Where they grew restless. He marked stones. Memorized shadows. Tested the wind.
Then he began to irritate them.
A stone tossed from afar. A scrape of metal against rock. A fleeting silhouette at the edge of vision. Always brief. Always distant.
Enough to draw attention.
Not enough to be seen.
The first creature reacted quickly, skittering toward the sound with jerky movements, claws clicking against stone. The second followed moments later, slower, angrier.
Ash retreated, careful not to run.
He led them through narrow passages between slabs where their bulk worked against them. Over uneven ground where their footing faltered. He doubled back once, vanishing behind a fallen marker, letting them lose sight of him entirely.
Then he struck again.
Another sound. Another provocation.
Confusion turned to aggression.
The first scream came when they noticed each other.
It wasn't rage at first — it was confusion. Territorial panic. The creatures froze for a heartbeat, heads snapping toward one another, jaws opening in soundless threat.
Then instinct took over.
They collided in a blur of bone and sinew.
Claws scraped stone. Teeth snapped uselessly against thick hide. One creature lunged too low and took a knee to the skull, bone cracking loudly as it reeled back. The other seized the opening, burying its teeth into exposed flesh, tearing free strips of muscle with a wet sound.
They rolled across the ravine floor, smashing into burial stones and broken slabs. One marker shattered under their weight, fragments skittering down the slope.
Ash watched from above, body rigid.
One of them was already limping.
Blood darkened the ash-dusted ground, soaking into cracks between stones. The weaker creature shrieked again — higher this time — as its opponent's claws raked across its side, ribs bending inward with a dull crunch.
It tried to flee.
Its legs betrayed it.
Ash moved.
He dislodged the first stone with careful pressure, letting gravity do the work. It bounced once, twice, then struck the injured creature squarely in the spine.
The sound was wrong.
A sharp, hollow crack followed by sudden stillness.
The body twitched once, then went limp, skull striking stone with a final dull thud.
The second creature staggered back, startled, already wounded but now panicking. It turned in a tight circle, snapping at shadows, shrieking into the ravine.
Ash did not hesitate.
He sent another stone tumbling.
This one struck its shoulder, crushing the joint inward. The creature screamed — a raw, tearing sound — and collapsed onto its side, limbs spasming uselessly.
That was when Ash descended.
His legs trembled as he moved, heart hammering so hard it drowned out thought. The creature thrashed weakly, claws scraping stone, jaw snapping blindly as he approached.
He ended it quickly.
No flourish.
No triumph.
Just desperate, brutal efficiency.
When it was over, Ash staggered back, retching dryly as the smell finally hit him full force.
The ravine fell silent again.
Only then did he allow himself to breathe.
The meat was questionable.
He took what he could. Not much. Enough for a day, maybe two. He wrapped it quickly, hands slick with blood, constantly glancing up, ears straining for movement.
That was when he saw it.
Something glimmered faintly inside the creature's chest cavity.
Not metal.
Not bone.
A dull, pale glow, like light trapped in cloudy glass.
Ash frowned.
"What…?"
He reached for it instinctively — then froze.
The pressure changed.
Not overwhelming — but noticeable. A subtle tightening, like distant eyes turning his way. The land seemed to hold its breath.
Too long.
He swore under his breath, abandoning the thought entirely. He wiped his hands, grabbed the meat, and ran.
He didn't stop until his lungs burned and his legs threatened to give out.
Only then did he allow himself to collapse behind a ridge, heart pounding.
He didn't know what the glowing thing had been.
He didn't know he had just left a soul shard behind.
What he did know was this:
He had killed something.
Not by strength.
Not by luck.
But by being a bitch.