Ash burned in Seraphin’s lungs. Every breath scraped, raw and shallow. Through the particulate haze, a vast, indifferent expanse of obsidian dust stretched, shimmering faintly under Aethelgard’s dying sun. Seraphin’s command over the ash, usually fluid and effortless, had frayed to a ragged whisper.
Ash-currents, once a protective shroud, now dragged at weary limbs. Days had blurred into an endless trek, guiding scattered remnants of life through a hostile world. Today, the strain became a fracturing weight.
Beneath a sky the color of old blood, Seraphin had shaped a path through a treacherous field of razor-spires, deflecting volatile wind currents, sealing fissures that spat corrosive vapor. Mana, a deep wellspring, had finally run dry, leaving an aching hollowness. Muscle fibers screamed a protest.
Ahead, Kaelen moved with unhurried grace. Not once had his gaze strayed back, not a flicker of concern. His silhouette, sharp against the smoldering horizon, remained an immutable symbol of endurance. Kaelen offered no solace, no reprieve.
Desperate not to show weakness, Seraphin had gritted teeth, urged spent muscles forward. But the world tilted. Knees buckled, sending Seraphin sprawling. Face hit the cold, gritty ash, inhaling its fine dust. Lungs burned.
Panting, buried in the dark granules, a presence loomed. Seraphin lifted a heavy head. Kaelen stood above, gaze flat, devoid of pity.
“Wasted time. An idiot’s burden.” Kaelen’s voice, raspy like grinding stone, cut through the wind.
Squatting, Kaelen pulled two pieces of dried nutrient paste from a pouch. One he chewed deliberately. The other he tossed near Seraphin’s outstretched hand, a silent command to rise.
Even that small effort felt impossible. Throat a parched chasm, every swallow a rasping scrape. Eating such dry fare now risked further dehydration. Kaelen knew. He simply watched, impassive.
Kaelen chewed, a slow, methodical rhythm.
“Aethelgard once whispered of peace,” he murmured, voice low, resonant. “Weakness wasn’t a death sentence. Kindness wasn’t a folly. But the Maw shattered that world. Now, only strength endures. The weak are consumed. Survivors claim all. Pain? Struggle? Give up. Death offers ease.”
Seraphin’s jaw tightened. Many faces had passed through memory, but none had spoken with such stark, brutal honesty. Kaelen’s words were shards of obsidian, piercing deep.
“Seek ease, then sprawl. But if life truly calls, even through torment, rise. Fool.”
Silence descended. Kaelen ignored the prone figure, focused on his paste. He too had foregone water, knowing the danger of consuming dry rations without moisture. Slow chewing preserved what little saliva remained.
Sun dipped below the horizon, painting the ash-dunes in shades of violent violet and bruised orange. Rapidly, the ambient temperature plummeted. The Ashwind, once merely biting, became a predatory chill. To linger was to succumb to hypothermia.
‘Not this. Never this. Not yet.’
Seraphin pushed. Elbows dug into the ash, pulling a leaden body forward, a slow, agonizing crawl. Fingers brushed the paste. Mouth opened, stuffing the grit-laced nutrition inside. Sand adhered, indifferent. Chewing, slow and deliberate, worked the dry mass. Painful. Essential. Eventually, a small, hard lump slid down the throat.
A spark. Faint, but undeniable. A tremor of renewed vigor. Ash, dormant moments ago, stirred at the periphery of consciousness. Seraphin pushed, levering the body upright.
Another piece of paste landed at Seraphin’s feet. Without a word, Seraphin tore into it, chewing with grim determination. Little by little, strength returned. Mana, a trickling stream, began to replenish the hollow well.
Kaelen spoke, as if reading the subtle shift within.
“Flesh and ash are one. Only a resilient vessel can channel true power. Never cease honing the body. Never.”
Seraphin nodded. Words were unnecessary. The truth echoed deep. While sprawled, power had been a distant dream. Only with returning physical resilience did the ash respond. Had the paste not revived the body, mana would still be a parched whisper.
With mana returning to a viable level, the immediate threat of collapse receded. A deep, shuddering sigh escaped. Danger had passed, for now. The world, washed clean by near-death, seemed vivid. Above, a billion star-fractures blazed in the obsidian sky, a grand, silent testament to the universe’s indifference. Seraphin gazed, lost in melancholy. No time for such beauty in the broken settlements. Never imagined the distant lights held such profound sorrow.
Kaelen’s voice cut the reverie.
Only Kaelen and Seraphin stood on this desolate stretch. No friend. No companion. A cautious glance. Kaelen addressed not Seraphin, but the ancient, jagged obsidian shard planted before him, the Mawshard.
‘Madness? Or something else entirely?’
Kaelen spoke to the inert stone, seemingly oblivious or uncaring of Seraphin’s bewildered stare.
“Aye, a good place. That Alpha still evades us there.”
“Time blurs. Many cycles ago. Grateful for the memory.”
Conversation concluded, Kaelen looked at Seraphin. A chill, more profound than the biting Ashwind, traced a path down Seraphin’s spine. Despite Seraphin’s affinity with Aethelgard, the cold of night was a relentless enemy. Hours passed in shivering discomfort, sleep a fractured thing.
Kaelen, however, slept soundly, curled against the Mawshard. A serene, unnervingly peaceful slumber. A fleeting urge to strike him vanished into the biting air.
---
Dawn broke, a sliver of gray light tearing at the bruised sky. Kaelen stirred. First act: wringing condensed moisture from his travel wraps, drinking the precious droplets. Only then did Seraphin realize Kaelen’s deliberate act of spreading his garments during the night. A belated attempt yielded little. Scant moisture dribbled into Seraphin’s palm.
‘Knowledge. Always knowledge.’
A resentment, sharp and cold, flared. Kaelen’s every action, every subtle gesture, spoke of honed survival. Every motion a lesson.
‘Learn. Learn everything.’
Seraphin resolved to absorb Kaelen’s every technique, every silent trick. Only then could strength truly grow, perhaps even surpass the master.
Remaining droplets wrung, Seraphin’s thirst remained. Kaelen rose.
“Move.”
Seraphin nodded. No point in asking direction. Kaelen never answered such questions. A single day beside Kaelen revealed his core: utterly self-contained, brutally unsentimental. No gentle guidance. He demanded self-sufficiency. To survive Kaelen, quick wit and sharp observation were paramount.
Kaelen already moved into the dim light, his figure receding. Mana, thankfully, had fully returned overnight. Seraphin focused, calling upon the skill forged yesterday.
‘Ashwhisper Glide.’
A subtle manipulation of the surface ash, reducing friction, allowing a swift, almost weightless traversal. Mana management remained paramount. The memory of yesterday’s collapse, the breath-stealing exhaustion, burned a fresh lesson. The core importance of conservation. ‘A steady flow, not a torrent.’
‘If only ash could replenish mana as fast as it’s spent.’
Kaelen might know, but Kaelen would not answer. Seraphin knew this. Discover or fail. That was Kaelen’s creed.
Ashwhisper Glide carried Seraphin over the shifting ground. Thoughts turned to refinement. How to make it smoother, less demanding? Even with the rising sun, the obsidian sands radiated brutal heat. Aethelgard’s unforgiving embrace.
Seraphin pushed. Endured. Patience. The Glide became a fluid dance, less exertion, more intuition. As sun dipped once more, painting the horizon in hues of dying fire, Kaelen halted. A gasp of air, ragged, escaped Seraphin’s lips. Mana, this time, held. Physical exhaustion, however, clawed at mind and body. The urge to simply collapse, overwhelming. Yet Seraphin stood, resolute. Another piece of paste arced through the air.
No scramble this time. Fingers closed around it. Seraphin tore it into smaller fragments, chewing slowly, deliberately moistening each piece before swallowing. A painful lesson from yesterday.
Halfway through, a glance at Kaelen. He had consumed barely a third of his. He still had more. A strange sting of defeat. Seraphin bit a lip, then slowed further, each bite a deliberate act of defiance. Thirty minutes for a single piece. The paste, though eaten, left a hollow pang. Still hungry. But to ask for more? Seraphin’s pride rebelled.
Hunger would accompany sleep. But first, preparations. Seraphin removed outer garments, spreading them on the ash. A hope for morning condensate.
Next, shelter. Kaelen, with his impenetrable stillness, cared little for Aethelgard’s cold. For Seraphin, it was life or death. A bunker.
Sufficient mana remained. Seraphin reached out, will flowing into the ground. Ash swirled, compacting, forming a depression. A pit, just large enough for one, took shape. Seraphin slid inside. More ash rose, forming a solid roof. Desert ash, lacking cohesion, usually collapsed. But Seraphin’s will imbued it with strength, locking the particles together.
Mana expended during construction, yes, but once formed, the ash held. A deep sigh. Last night’s restless shivering was a bitter memory. Tonight, comfort. Kaelen? A fleeting thought. Should an invitation be extended? Seraphin shook their head. No one would hear the words in this desolate land. If Kaelen could not bear it, he would find his own way.
With that, Seraphin drifted into deep sleep. Outside, the temperature plunged. Inside the bunker, a surprising warmth held.
An odd sensation roused Seraphin. A faint tremor through the compressed ash. Seraphin sat up, pressing a palm to the earthen floor. The vibration grew. Seraphin emerged. Kaelen already stood, the Mawshard pinned into the ground before him.
His gaze pierced the dense darkness, the final, deepest hour before dawn. Nothing visible to an ordinary eye. But Kaelen’s senses transcended mere vision.
*Thud! Thud! Thud!* The vibrations intensified, a growing rhythm of dread. Seraphin’s pupils narrowed.
‘Dozens. Hundreds, at least.’
“Survive, fool! Heh!” Kaelen’s face twisted into a feral grin, a savage glee. Like a child anticipating a brutal spectacle. Seraphin felt no such joy. Kaelen would not help. This stark truth chilled deeper than the Ashwind.
‘I will survive. I must.’
Closer. The vibrations pulsed. Through the inky blackness, twin points of sickly luminescence began to appear. Hundreds of them, closing fast. *Thud! Thud!* The sound became a thunderous surge.
“Cinder Hounds.”