A guttural groan ripped from Corvus’s throat, unheard against the rasp of the wind. His ability, once a precise extension of his will, now felt like a leaden weight dragging him down. The ash beneath his feet, which he’d commanded to shift and flow, had grown unresponsive, heavy, dead.
He had pushed beyond any prior threshold. His reserves, meticulously hoarded for survival, were gone. Emptied.
The coarse grit of the ash plain blurred before his eyes. Each breath seared his lungs, tasting of ancient decay and silicate dust. He had not paused, not allowed himself the luxury of weakness, not with Kaelen’s indifferent back always a dozen paces ahead.
Kaelen, who had yet to glance behind, whose stride remained unyielding, a relentless march across this unforgiving land. Corvus had gritted his teeth, forced his exhausted body to obey, but the facade crumbled.
His legs buckled. The world tilted, then slammed into him with the rough embrace of pulverized stone. He lay sprawled, face pressed into the fine, abrasive dust. His chest heaved, a raw, aching hollow.
A shadow fell over him. He blinked, lifting his head from the gritty embrace of the plain. Kaelen stood above, not with pity, but a cold, appraising gaze that made Corvus feel like a malfunctioning component in a discarded machine.
“A wasted cycle,” Kaelen’s voice cut through the wind’s howl, devoid of warmth. “Diverting resources for this folly.”
Kaelen dropped to a crouch, pulling two thin, dried strips of some leathery meat from a pouch. One vanished into his own mouth. The other spun, landing with a soft thud near Corvus’s head, a silent command to retrieve it.
Corvus couldn't move. Every fiber screamed protest. His mouth felt like a dessicated cavern, his tongue a sandpaper lump. The thought of chewing, of swallowing this dry ration, was a torment.
Kaelen chewed with slow, deliberate movements, his eyes fixed on the horizon, not Corvus. "The Old World knew comfort. Weakness was a quirk, kindness a virtue. A quaint existence. That world is ash, now. This one demands teeth."
A pause, punctuated by the grind of Kaelen’s jaw. "Here, weakness is sustenance for another. Survival is a zero-sum calculation. It chafes? It breaks you? Then surrender. The dust reclaims everything, eventually."
Corvus’s jaw clenched. The words were blades, sharpened by the desolate reality they described. He had met few beings in his grim existence, but none had articulated such brutal truth with such stark detachment.
"Crawl, then. Or rise. The dust will claim you regardless of your choice, but one offers a moment more defiance, fool."
Kaelen fell silent again, his eyes distant, chewing the meat. Corvus noted the deliberate pace, the careful mastication, avoiding the thirst that would inevitably follow.
Twilight bled across the ash plain. The sun dipped below the jagged horizon, painting the sky in violent streaks of orange and crimson. The wind picked up, a biting chill already seeping into the air.
Corvus knew the dangers. Hypothermia would be swift, merciless. He couldn’t die here. Not like this.
A guttural grunt escaped him. He began to drag himself forward, a worm on the abrasive ground. Inch by agonizing inch, he stretched, scraped, clawed his way toward the dried meat.
His fingers, numb and raw, closed around it. He tore a strip with his teeth, the grit of the ash clinging to its surface. He didn't care. He chewed, slow and painful, forcing saliva into his parched mouth.
Swallowing felt like an act of violence against his own throat. But the faint warmth, the metallic tang of sustenance, sparked a flicker within him. A tiny ember in the desolate landscape of his body.
He pushed, grunted, sat upright. Kaelen’s hand moved. Another strip of meat arced through the air, landing in Corvus’s palm. He ate it without a word of thanks, focusing on the slow burn of returning strength.
Energy flowed. Not a flood, but a trickle, restoring function. And with it, the faintest whisper of his ability returned.
Kaelen, without looking, spoke. “Flesh and essence are linked. A weak vessel cannot contain a strong will. Fortify one, the other follows.”
Corvus nodded, a small, involuntary movement. He had felt it. While prone, he had tried to coax his ability back, but his exhausted body had refused to cooperate. Only now, with basic strength restored, did the ash respond to his silent call.
A sigh, ragged and deep, escaped him. He had faced the void of complete depletion and pulled himself back. The world, shrouded in the deepening twilight, seemed sharpened, colors more vibrant against the encroaching dark.
The stars emerged, brilliant pinpricks in the vast, inky expanse above. So many. He had seen them before, but never with this stark clarity, never after such a brutal negotiation with mortality. They felt distant, eternal, indifferent, much like Kaelen.
Kaelen spoke again, his voice a low hum against the wind. But not to Corvus.
Corvus watched, a tremor of unease tightening his gut. Kaelen held a palm-sized shard of fractured crystal, its facets catching the faint starlight. He spoke to it, an ancient, almost melodic language Corvus had never heard.
“No, not the Obsidian Spires. Data suggests that path is purged. Remnant energies too volatile for harvesting.” Kaelen tilted the shard, his thumb stroking its smooth surface. “Ah. The Cinder Wastes. Yes. That’s a viable target. The Scourge of Veridian still stalks there, untouched.”
He conversed with the crystal as if it were a living entity, a repository of forgotten knowledge. Corvus knew Kaelen possessed means beyond his comprehension, but this… this was unnerving. Was the crystal truly sentient? Or was Kaelen’s mind simply a labyrinth he couldn’t navigate?
Kaelen finished his hushed discourse, then looked at Corvus. A chill, more profound than the biting air, settled over Corvus. He shivered, despite himself.
Sleep found Kaelen easily, a relaxed heap against the ash, oblivious to the dropping temperatures. His breathing was deep, even. Corvus watched him, a flash of something akin to irrational resentment rising within him. He wanted to strike that placid face.
Corvus spent the night in shivering misery, huddled, sleepless. Every gust of wind seemed to claw at his exposed skin, promising an icy oblivion. He watched the stars trace their slow arc, counting the agonizing hours.
Dawn broke, a cold, grey smear on the horizon. Kaelen stirred, a sudden, fluid movement. His first act: wringing his clothes. Drops of moisture, precious dew, collected in his cupped hand, which he then drank.
Corvus watched, a sudden, blinding insight striking him. Kaelen had spread his clothes deliberately the night before, maximizing surface area for condensation. An unspoken lesson, delivered through action.
He mirrored the action, stripping his own worn tunic and squeezing it. A few precious drops, barely a mouthful, trickled into his hand. So little. Had he known, he would have done it differently. Better. The resentment towards Kaelen, fleeting, returned.
Everything Kaelen did, every seemingly insignificant action, was a calculated move for survival. Corvus saw it now, clear as the morning dust.
‘I must learn,’ Corvus vowed silently, his gaze burning with renewed resolve. ‘Every single thing.’
He would observe, imitate, internalize. He would become a reflection, then an improvement. Survival demanded nothing less.
He drank the meager dew, a raw ache in his throat. It barely touched his thirst. Kaelen was already standing, a silhouette against the rising sun.
Corvus scrambled to his feet, pulling his damp tunic back on. No point in asking for their destination. Kaelen wouldn’t answer.
In less than a day, Corvus understood Kaelen’s nature. Uncompromising. Self-sufficient to the point of cruelty. No soft gestures, no helping hand. He was merely permitted to follow, to survive or perish under his own power.
Survival would require cunning. Corvus’s mind sharpened.
Kaelen was already a distant speck. Corvus’s ability, restored by the jerky and the night’s rest, pulsed faintly within him. He extended his will.
The ash beneath him shifted, compacted, then lifted, creating a cushion of fine particulate matter. He pushed off, riding the low-lying current, a nascent skill he now called ‘Ash-Flow.’
His focus remained on his core, on the dwindling reserve of his essence. The near-death experience of yesterday etched the lesson deep: careless expenditure was fatal. He needed a way to restore his ability on the move, to draw more than just memories from the dust.
Kaelen might know. But Kaelen wouldn’t tell. Corvus would have to discern it himself.
He maintained the Ash-Flow, gliding across the shifting ground, observing its nuances. The morning sun beat down, already radiating fierce heat. The dust particles shimmered, hot and biting against his exposed skin. He endured, pushing past the discomfort.
Endurance forged precision. The Ash-Flow grew smoother, less taxing. He moved with a quiet, devastating efficiency, the grit barely stirring beneath him.
The sun began its descent again. Kaelen finally halted. Corvus, though his ability had not fully depleted, felt exhaustion gnaw at his bones. Moving for hours, constantly modulating the Ash-Flow, had taken its toll.
He swayed, ready to collapse. But he forced himself to stand, rigid. Kaelen tossed another piece of jerky. Corvus caught it, his pride salvaged. No humiliating crawl this time.
He tore the strip, chewing with excruciating slowness, moistening each bite. His hunger was a vast, gnawing cavern, but he forced himself to match Kaelen’s measured pace. He watched Kaelen, who had consumed less than a third of his own piece while Corvus was already halfway through his. A silent defeat. He chewed even slower.
Thirty minutes passed. One piece of jerky. His stomach still screamed. He was still growing, still needing more fuel than Kaelen. But he would not ask. Pride was a heavy burden, but a necessary one.
He would sleep hungry. But first, he had to secure a reprieve from the biting cold.
He stripped his tunic, spreading it flat to catch the night’s moisture. Then, he focused his remaining essence.
The ash around him stirred, responding to his will. It swirled, compressed, excavated a shallow pit large enough for his body. The walls held, compacted by his subtle manipulation. He eased himself into the depression.
Then, he commanded the ash above. It rose, cohered, forming a solid canopy, a temporary roof over his head. Normally, loose ash would collapse instantly. But Corvus had altered its cohesion, binding the particles with a faint, unseen force.
His essence flickered, spent. But the bunker was complete. It would hold.
A long breath escaped him. Tonight, he would rest. Comfort. A small, vital victory. He thought of Kaelen outside. Should he offer the shelter? He shook his head. Kaelen would find his own way. Or not. It was not Corvus’s concern.
Sleep claimed him, a deep, immediate descent into blackness. The cold outside was a distant hum, kept at bay by his self-made tomb.
He woke to a faint vibration. A deep thrumming, felt through the ash itself. He pressed his palm to the floor of his bunker. The tremor intensified.
He burrowed out, scrambling to the surface. Kaelen was already standing, still and silent, his crystalline shard held low in his hand, angled toward the gloom.
Corvus followed Kaelen’s gaze. Nothing but the inky blackness before dawn. But Kaelen’s vision, augmented by the shard or by something else entirely, pierced the veil.
Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!
The vibrations grew, a rhythmic pulse against the plain. Corvus’s eyes widened, pupils dilating.
Dozens. No. Hundreds. A horde.
Kaelen turned, a wolfish grin splitting his face, his eyes alight with a terrifying, wild excitement. “Survive on your own, fool! Heh!”
The primal thrill etched on Kaelen’s face was alien, terrifying. Corvus felt a cold dread. Kaelen would not help. Not one whit.
‘I will survive,’ Corvus swore, a fierce, desperate vow in his mind.
The darkness coalesced. Scores of eyes, like burning embers, materialized from the pre-dawn gloom, rapidly closing the distance. Low growls, like grinding rock, carried on the wind.
“Ash-Stalkers,” Kaelen announced, his grin widening, a predator observing lesser beasts. “A hunting pack.”