Kaelen slumped against the cavern wall, a raw ache blooming in his chest. His breath rasped, each inhale a struggle against the lingering dust in his lungs. Empty. Utterly drained. Not a flicker of ash-mana stirred within him, not a tremor of physical strength remained.
His limbs felt like leaden weights. Bones thrummed with residual pain, a phantom echo of the Queen Crawler’s sonic assaults. Every muscle protested, a dull, insistent complaint from the depths of his being.
Corvus, by contrast, stood untouched. His posture remained straight, unbent by the brutal skirmish. No heavy exhalations escaped his lips, no visible strain marred his ancient features. He moved with a quiet, unyielding grace that felt deeply unnatural.
Kaelen watched the old man. Once again, he was reminded of the vast chasm between them, the sheer, inhuman resilience that defined Corvus.
While Kaelen had spent his meager reserves dispatching a portion of the Ash Crawlers, Corvus had cleaved through swaths of the chitinous horde with chilling efficiency. Now, the old man methodically sifted through the fine cinders where the Queen had once rested, his movements unhurried, unburdened by fatigue.
What was he searching for in this desolate chamber? Kaelen’s thoughts drifted, hazy with exhaustion. Such an effort seemed futile, a pointless rummaging amidst the dust of their victory.
Corvus grunted, a low sound of satisfaction. His staff, hardened with ash, plunged into the pulverized floor. With a casual flick of his wrist, he tore a massive, fused-ash slab from its resting place, splintering it as if it were fragile shale.
Beneath the fractured platform, nestled in a hidden depression, lay an egg. It was the size of a grown man’s fist, dark and gleaming like polished obsidian. A faint, internal warmth emanated from its surface, barely perceptible in the dim light of the Warren.
Corvus lifted the object, his gaze analytical. A subtle, fiery pulse rippled beneath its dark shell.
He tossed the egg toward Kaelen without warning.
Kaelen, caught off guard, fumbled for it. His hands, still trembling from exertion, closed around the surprisingly heavy sphere. Its warmth seeped into his chilled fingers, a curious counterpoint to the cavern’s cold.
“Why give me this?” His voice was hoarse, a dry whisper.
“Queen Crawler’s egg.”
“That wasn’t my question.” Kaelen’s brow furrowed, confusion battling exhaustion.
“No ordinary egg. It carries the nascent essence of a future queen. Highly potent. Concentrated Ash-Mutagen.” Corvus’s explanation was clipped, devoid of elaboration.
“Like the Cinder Eel’s gland?” Kaelen recalled the bitter substance he’d once consumed to mend grievous wounds.
“Superior. Consume it.”
Kaelen hesitated, the dark egg a strange, foreign weight in his palm. A primal instinct recoiled from the idea of eating such a thing. Yet, Corvus’s command brooked no argument. He closed his eyes, took a ragged breath, and brought the egg to his mouth.
Shell cracked with a dry snap. A thick, viscous fluid, hot as molten rock, sluiced into his mouth. It tasted metallic, acrid, like consuming pure, concentrated ash from a fresh eruption.
Heat surged through him. It was an inferno, igniting within his belly, then spreading through his veins. Kaelen gasped, a strangled cry torn from his throat. His entire body felt as if it had been plunged into a crucible. Agony, sharp and precise, pierced his gut. It was a thousand daggers twisting, a volcanic eruption contained within his own flesh. The Cinder Eel gland’s pain was a child’s bruise compared to this scorching torment.
He writhed on the dusty ground, unable to form coherent thoughts, lost to the relentless waves of fire. His mind screamed, but his voice was gone. This wasn’t pain to be endured; it was pain that consumed all consciousness.
Corvus watched Kaelen’s struggles. No help was offered, no word of comfort. His expression remained unreadable, ancient eyes observing with detached assessment.
“If you mean to survive in this mad world,” Corvus’s voice cut through the haze of pain, calm and steady, “you learn to embrace suffering.”
This was the price of ascension, the toll for greater power. To Corvus, perhaps, this wasn’t even true agony. It was merely a prerequisite.
Leaving Kaelen to his private hell, Corvus moved to the colossal carcass of the Queen Crawler. He knelt, his staff tapping a specific point where neck met segmented torso. A clean, silent incision followed, so precise no other mark marred the beast’s body. Retrieving such an intact specimen was a rare feat.
Nothing was wasted from a Queen Crawler. Its twin sensory filaments, fine as spun obsidian, were invaluable for detecting phantasmal ash-spirits. Its six chitinous legs, razor-sharp and resilient, were prime material for bespoke weapons.
Corvus reached into the Queen’s segmented torso. His hand withdrew, clutching a fist-sized stone. It pulsed with a contained energy, a pure, distilled essence. A mana core, Kaelen recognized, of remarkable purity.
Not all mana cores were mined. Some, rarely, formed within creatures, especially those of high rank and unique adaptations. These organic cores often held a potency unmatched by subterranean veins, imbued with the creature’s very essence, making them incredibly versatile. The Queen’s titanium-hard shell would yield top-tier armor plating, and its dense internal organs could be rendered into various alchemical components.
Corvus opened a shimmering rift in the air. He slid the entirety of the Queen Crawler’s colossal body into the ethereal pocket of his spatial storage, then sealed the rift with a gesture.
Kaelen’s agony showed no signs of abating. He whimpered now, body curled tight like a withered leaf, his screams reduced to ragged, guttural sounds. The struggle to digest the Queen Crawler’s egg seemed an endless torment. Corvus drove his staff into the pulverized ground and settled cross-legged beside it. The ancient wood, imbued with its own deep energy, hummed faintly, a low thrum against the pervasive silence of the Warren. A faint, crimson glow outlined its gnarled form, a whisper of power contained.
External changes held little meaning for Corvus. The staff’s true essence, its deep connection to the earth and the elder ways, was what mattered. Responding, the staff pulsed, a silent conversation passing between man and ancient wood. Corvus inclined his head, listening intently.
After a long while, Corvus spoke, his voice low, as if to an unseen confidant. “Yes, I know. But there is no choice.”
“Weakness is death. A simple truth in these Wastes.”
“Don’t you understand? Time is short. We *need* him.”
“Indeed. But…”
The soft murmur of Corvus’s voice continued, a one-sided dialogue with the sentient staff, a strange intimacy amidst Kaelen’s suffering.
A sigh escaped Kaelen’s lips. His eyes fluttered open. Every bone in his body ached, a deep, pervasive throbbing as if he’d been beaten with blunted stones. Limbs felt rubbery, devoid of strength. This exhaustion, he knew, was the lingering echo of the Queen Crawler’s egg, its potent essence still roiling within him. He had endured piercing pain through the night, a relentless internal fire. He was grateful his body, at least, seemed intact.
He focused inward, seeking the wellspring of his mana. A gasp hitched in his throat. The faint, swirling currents he usually sensed had become a rushing river. His mana had surged, at least threefold, perhaps even more.
“Your ash manipulation should feel sharper now. Less… erratic.” Corvus’s voice, suddenly nearby, startled him. The old man was standing, already storing his staff.
“The egg… it did this?” Kaelen pushed himself to a sitting position, every movement a protest from his battered frame.
“Correct. Certain organisms possess unique properties. Not all eggs, mind you, but specific ones, like the Queen’s. They can amplify one’s connection to the ambient ash, deepening the mana reservoir.”
“If you’ve regained your wits, rise. We have ground to cover.” Corvus offered no hand, no quarter.
“Yes.” Gritting his teeth, Kaelen dragged himself upright. He knew complaining was futile. Corvus would simply ignore it. Better for his own sanity to endure, to push through the agony.
Corvus offered no aid as Kaelen stumbled out of the Cinder Warren. The perpetual twilight of the Ash Shroud, usually so oppressive, felt oddly welcoming after the stifling depths of the Crawler’s lair. The stale air, thick with dust, was a breath of relative freshness.
While Kaelen savored the cool, grit-laden breeze, Corvus was already striding ahead, a silent shadow receding into the gloom. Kaelen hastily summoned his newfound power. Ash-mana flowed, responding with an exhilarating ease. He extended his will, molding the ground beneath his feet. His body slid forward on a cushion of manipulated ash, an effortless glide across the Cinder Wastes.
Ash Glide. With his tripled mana reserves, he could maintain the frictionless movement, guiding himself without the exhausting effort of his own legs. Keeping pace with Corvus no longer felt like a hopeless struggle.
He adjusted his cloak, a garment fashioned from the hide of a Cinder Eel. The tears and scorched marks from the battle with the Ash Crawlers had begun to seal themselves. The peculiar regeneration of the Cinder Eel hide, slowly drawing in ambient ash, was reweaving the fabric, restoring it to its original, unblemished state. Half a day, Corvus had once said, and it would be whole. Its innate ability to deflect heat and filter toxic particulate remained.
The cloak’s natural properties, combined with his enhanced ash manipulation, made traversing the desolate landscape almost effortless. He pulled a strip of dried ration from a pouch, chewing slowly, his thoughts distant.
*Where does he lead?*
In this vast, ash-choked expanse, Corvus’s purpose remained a mystery. Had they not been thrust together, Kaelen wouldn’t have cared. But now, a strange compulsion to follow, to uncover the old man’s ultimate destination, had taken root within him.
A fierce ash-storm descended without warning. The wind shrieked, a furious gale whipping up a dense wall of cinders that swallowed the horizon. Kaelen pulled his hood tighter, squinting against the stinging grit.
An ordinary wanderer would be lost, disoriented, their vision obliterated. But Kaelen, with his heightened senses and increased mana, felt only a minor discomfort. His perception, now vastly expanded, pierced through the swirling murk. He could sense Corvus several meters ahead, each measured step a distinct ripple in the ash beneath his feet. It was as if the ash itself relayed the old man’s presence, an intimate connection to the very ground.
*This is what it feels like, to ascend.* Kaelen glanced at the mark on his wrist, barely visible beneath his sleeve. Two faint lines, glowing with a deep, smoldering orange, confirmed his E-rank status. But that was a mere symbol. His true power, the surging wellspring of mana within him, far surpassed that of a typical E-rank. This accelerated growth, this raw increase in capacity, was entirely due to Corvus’s brutal tutelage.
He could push his abilities, break free from conventional limitations. The old man had forced him to see beyond rote applications of power. The Ash Crawlers had been a harsh lesson in imagination.
Fighting solely with predetermined forms of ash manipulation was foolish. Even with familiar abilities, the nuanced application made all the difference. To visualize the impossible, and then to compel the ash to manifest it—this, Kaelen realized, was the true essence of strength. A realization he might never have reached without Corvus’s relentless, unforgiving hand.
*Still, he remains a damned old bastard.* The thought brought a grim smile to his lips. Corvus pushed him to the brink, always expecting him to survive, to adapt. Failure meant abandonment. Though being discarded no longer held the same terror, Kaelen felt a growing desire to see this journey through. To remain by Corvus’s side, to absorb every painful lesson, for that was the path to becoming truly formidable. He would no longer be a pawn of weakness, nor a victim of exhaustion.
He did not know where this endless wandering led, but by following Corvus, he believed he might one day grasp a strength akin to the old man’s own.
Lost in thought, Kaelen glided onward until, abruptly, the ash-storm dissipated as quickly as it had formed. His vision cleared. Corvus’s back, distant but resolute, continued forward. Dust piled on the old man’s shoulders, catching in his sparse hair, but he made no move to brush it off.
Then, Corvus halted. The sun, a dim, fiery disk, was still high above the horizon. It was not yet time to rest.
Kaelen drew near, stopping beside him. Corvus remained unmoving, his gaze fixed on the distance. Kaelen followed his line of sight. His eyes widened. Something immense, a colossal shape, was moving on the ash-choked horizon where the sky met the barren land. A deep, rhythmic thudding vibrated through the ground, growing steadily louder.
He almost cried out the moment he identified the vast, approaching entity. It was a gargantuan creature, carapace like a mountain. What set it apart was its sheer scale, a thousand times larger than any beast he could conceive. Its shell, a vast expanse of fused ash and rock, resembled a traveling fortress. And it bore the subtle, deep blue aura of a B-rank or higher.
“What… is that?” Kaelen breathed, awe and disbelief warring within him.
“The Ash-Titan. A moving stronghold.” Corvus’s voice was flat.
“A… colossal creature. It is only B-rank, its defensive capabilities match A-ranks or above. Its shell is often hollowed and reinforced, transformed into a mobile haven. Humans ride them.”
“Humans can tame and ride something like that?” Kaelen’s face was a mask of utter incredulity. The notion was preposterous. Yet, the fortress-backed behemoth, steadily drawing closer, made it impossible to deny.
The Ash-Titan, though moving with ponderous slowness, covered ground quickly due to its size. As it approached, its scale became truly overwhelming. It was easily the size of an entire village, its presence dwarfing the landscape.
Finally, the Ash-Titan came to a shuddering halt before them. A colossal gate in its fortified flank groaned open. A figure emerged: an old man, his face a roadmap of deep wrinkles, his eyes sharp behind thick spectacles. He peered at Corvus, then pushed his glasses up his nose with an index finger.
“Had my doubts from a distance, Corvus. But it really is you.”