Seraphina Volkov’s irritation was a spark in the dry air. She kicked at a loose stone, sending it skittering across the ancient road.
“Father acts as if we’re children,” she huffed, turning to her cousin, Kael. “Mobilizing a *guest* for a Cinder-Gnasher hunt? Are we so lacking?”
Her tunic and hardened trousers, practical for the harsh lands, rustled with the movement. Her gaze, sharp as obsidian, dismissed Levin with a flicker. Not out of malice, but pure disinterest.
“Not criticizing *him*,” Seraphina added, a dismissive wave of her hand. “Just that Father makes too much fuss. These are our lands.”
Kael Volkov, a head taller than Seraphina, adjusted the leather strap across his chest. “Calling the Lord of Ashfall fussy, Seraphina? Reckless talk.”
“Mind your own dust.” Their eyes met, a brief, hot friction. Then Kael turned, a practiced smile replacing the annoyance.
“First time we meet properly,” Kael said to Levin, a low rumble in his voice. “Kael Volkov. Keep pace.”
“Levin,” he managed, a quiet nod. His throat felt rough, dry.
Twelve armoured guards trailed behind Seraphina and Kael, their faces tight with unease. Unlike their young lords, who carried the air of a leisurely ride, the guards’ apprehension was a tangible weight. They marched toward an unknown foe, one that had already claimed four of their own without leaving a trace beyond mangled flesh.
A short while later, the small company – two nobles, a common-born guest, and a dozen guards – advanced toward Ashfall’s north gate.
Commoners by the road dropped to their knees, bowing their heads deeply as the Volkov party passed. Only the city watch, clad in stained leathers, stood, lowering their gazes just enough to avoid eye contact.
These were the city’s peacekeepers, armed with dull blades, meant only to keep order amongst the unarmed. Against a true beast, or the ire of a noble house, they were less than dust.
Levin’s hands instinctively clenched at his sides. He knew, with a certainty that chilled him, that Kael or Seraphina could extinguish a hundred such men with a casual flick of a wrist.
Beyond Ashfall’s massive gates, the path turned to a cracked brick road, a remnant from the Age of Cinders. No soul moved on it now. Dust devils spun in the distance, tiny whirlwinds dancing across the desolate plains.
“Just want to finish this,” Seraphina muttered, kicking at the ancient brick. “Then back to the Citadel. These lands are tiresome.”
Levin walked a few paces behind, observing the sun-baked landscape. His gaze lingered on the distant, jagged silhouette of the Cinder Peaks, where the creature lay.
Kael dropped back, matching Levin’s stride. His voice was low, almost a whisper.
“Levin, tell me. You’ve been in the Scriptorium, reading. Anything… interesting?”
Levin’s stomach tightened. Kael’s tone was too casual. “Only tales of the Sun-Scorched Wastes. Old lore.”
“Hmm.” Kael’s eyes narrowed slightly. “No interest in Seraphina? She’s… direct.”
Levin shook his head, a quick, firm gesture. “No.”
Seraphina, over the past few days, had indeed been “direct.” Her occasional sharp comments or challenges were like playful jabs, a way to test him. But her careless arrogance, her unyielding conviction of her own superiority, offered no appeal. He would never bind himself to a bloodline so divorced from the earth.
“Good.” Kael’s face relaxed. A sliver of tension eased from his shoulders. Levin didn't understand the full weight of Kael’s question, but his answer seemed to bring a strange relief to the young Volkov.
---
About an hour passed in the simmering heat, the only sounds the crunch of their boots and the wind’s dry whisper. Then, a sight that brought them to a halt.
Broken planks, splintered wood. The remains of a merchant’s cart, scattered across the road. Dark stains marred the parched earth, a coppery tang on the air. Ripped cloth, stiff with dried gore, lay twisted around a fractured wheel.
“The creature?” Seraphina’s voice had lost its casual edge.
“Likely,” Kael confirmed, scanning the surroundings. “We’ve blocked travel from this side. Must have come down from the Cinder Peaks.”
Levin knelt, fingers brushing the broken wood. No overwhelming stench of decay, just the faint, metallic scent of old blood. The attack was recent, perhaps hours ago. Torn cloth suggested claws or teeth, something sharp and powerful. A grotesque, five-fingered print, larger than any human hand, was pressed into the hardened mud beside the cart, almost like a misshapen fist.
He closed his eyes. Focused. Not on the scent, but on the earth beneath his palm. The disruption. The raw trauma left behind. A faint vibration, a residual resonance of violence, hummed through the ground.
“It’s a Cinder-Gnasher,” Levin murmured, opening his eyes. His voice was steady.
“A… what?” Seraphina frowned, moving closer.
“Look at this print,” Levin said, pointing to the five-fingered indentation. “And the way the wood is splintered. It’s a brute, powerful arms. They’re common near the Peaks. Big, ape-like creatures, covered in ashen fur. They crush and tear.”
He remembered the crude sketch in the Scriptorium, a page describing a beast often mistaken for a demon, its strength attributed to dark spirits, not natural power. It had been depicted with disproportionately large hands.
“It attacked the merchants. Then likely returned to the hills,” Levin continued, rising. “We can follow its tracks.”
“Tracking… I have little talent for such things,” Kael admitted. “Seraphina?”
“My blood hums with a different fire. Not earth-sense.” She gestured to the guards. “One of you could try, perhaps—”
“Let me try,” Levin interrupted, stepping forward.
Seraphina’s eyebrows arched. “You have a… special way?”
“Just… spent enough time amongst the stones,” Levin lied, his gaze steady. He focused, drawing on the quiet power stirring within him. He reached out, not with his hands, but with his will, seeking the residual vibrations in the earth.
The ground beneath his boots felt different. A faint tremor, a disturbance in the otherwise still earth, pulsed ahead. It wasn't a visible track, but a feeling, a subtle shift in the composition of the soil, a path of displaced grit and disturbed rock that only he could perceive.
“This way,” Levin said, turning off the ancient road, heading toward a patch of thorny scrub that clawed at the base of the Cinder Peaks.
Seraphina and Kael exchanged a glance. The guards followed, their heavy boots crushing dry leaves.
They moved quickly. The nobles, despite their elaborate garb, could leap distances that seemed impossible, their movements swift and light. The guards, though not as graceful, covered ground with a tireless efficiency that spoke of long training and subtle enhancements.
Levin kept his pace, feeling the earth respond to his subtle probing. Thirty minutes passed. The faint trail of displaced earth led them to a narrow, rocky stream. Small, lizard-like creatures scattered from the water at their approach.
“The trail ends here,” Levin announced, his voice flat. “It entered the water.”
Kael grunted. “A mere beast, washing its tracks? To avoid us?”
“Perhaps it merely sought to bathe,” Levin replied, recalling the Scriptorium notes on the Cinder-Gnasher’s unusual habits. He released his focus on the earth. Immediately, a rank, animalistic odor assaulted his senses, thick and putrid.
Levin spun, instincts screaming. Behind them, a pair of large, golden eyes glowed from the dense, ash-grey bushes.
“Behind us!” Levin’s shout tore through the air, followed by an earsplitting shriek.
A hulking form burst from the foliage. Two meters tall, covered in coarse, charcoal-coloured fur, the Cinder-Gnasher was a terrifying blend of ape and twisted human. Its arms were thick as tree trunks, its hands enormous, each finger tipped with a blunt, rock-like claw. It roared, then began tearing at the loose scree, hurling fistfuls of jagged stone at them.
Each rock, propelled by the beast’s impossible strength, whistled through the air, imbued with a raw, primal force.
“Aaaagh!”
“Shields!”
Several guards crumpled, struck by the projectiles. Levin threw himself to the side, rolling behind a low boulder. He glanced back, a cold knot tightening in his gut. Seraphina and Kael had each shoved a guard in front of themselves, using them as living shields against the storm of stone. The guards cried out, blood blooming on their armour.
“Attack!” Seraphina’s voice, sharp and merciless, cut through the din. She tossed aside the groaning guard like a sack of waste.
Eight guards, unscathed or recovering, drew their swords and spears, charging. But the Cinder-Gnasher let out another shriek, a sound that grated on Levin’s teeth, and darted back into the bushes. It leapt from stone pillar to stunted tree, a blur of grey fur, impossible to follow. Its massive body moved with an unnerving, wind-like speed.
Everyone stood stunned. Then, a sharp *thwip*.
A small, unremarkable pebble, flung from Levin’s hand, shot through the air. It was more than a thrown stone. His will, his focus, had turned it into a guided projectile. He'd poured raw, unfocused power into it, making it an extension of his intent. The pebble arced, curving around a gnarled tree, and struck the fleeing beast at the base of its spine.
A pained yelp tore from the Cinder-Gnasher. It shrieked, tumbling from its perch, writhing on the ground, unable to stand.
“Die!” Seraphina screamed, her hand extending. A searing, orange flame erupted from her fingertips, coalescing into a serpent of pure fire, thick as a man’s torso. It lunged, biting into the writhing beast. The Cinder-Gnasher roared, a brief, agonized sound, as it incinerated. Ten meters of scrubland around it burst into flame, consumed in an instant.
The heat washed over Levin, astonishing in its intensity. Such speed, such scale. The power of the Volkov Bloodline. The Flame-Tongue, they called it.
‘So this is it,’ Levin thought, a prickle of unease on his skin. Starting a fire was a simple trick, but this… this was an act of raw, destructive creation.
Kael followed Seraphina’s display, conjuring a dozen smaller, glowing orbs of fire. He hurled them down, a volley of miniature suns, reducing the Cinder-Gnasher’s twitching form to little more than smoking ash.
A collective sigh of relief rose from the surviving guards. The air smelled of burnt fur and scorched earth.
“Hah! Those rocks gave me a chill, I admit,” Seraphina said, brushing ash from her tunic.
“Were you scared, Seraphina?” Kael teased, a smirk on his face.
“Hold your tongue. You shrieked like a startled sand-rat.”
“I did not!”
While the two cousins bickered, Levin moved toward the fallen guards. “You, there. Your arm.”
“Ugh, I think it’s broken, sir,” a guard groaned, clutching his limb.
“His head is still bleeding,” another pointed out, gesturing to a prone man. “What now?”
“Keep this clean,” Levin instructed, pulling a clean strip of cloth from his pouch, pressing it to a head wound. “Apply pressure.”
None had died. A small mercy. But the guards who had served as shields were the most grievously wounded, their cracked helmets and mangled limbs a testament to the nobles’ casual disregard. Levin felt a hot surge of resentment. Seraphina and Kael, their bodies honed and strengthened by their bloodline, were several times sturdier than these men. Yet they had sacrificed their own, without a flicker of remorse.
Kael, noticing Levin’s intense stare, frowned. “Something amiss?”
“Nothing,” Levin said, his voice clipped. He turned away, but not before Kael caught the cold, subtle contempt in his eyes.
Seraphina waved a hand, beckoning. “Guest! Over here! Time for the essence!”
Levin walked toward them, toward the smoking crater where the Cinder-Gnasher had been. The two nobles stood, hands outstretched, already drawing on the residual power.
A pale green glow emanated from the charred remains, a visible current of energy flowing into their bodies. Levin shivered as he extended his own hand, feeling the rush of pleasure as the raw energy seeped into him. His innate connection to the earth resonated, absorbing the creature’s essence, the strength of its form.
The surge of growth from this Cinder-Gnasher felt significant. Stronger than any desert hare, more potent than the rock-lizards he'd once absorbed in desperation. It was a potent influx, bolstering his reserves.
‘It seems,’ he realized, ‘the power does not diminish, even with many drawing upon it.’ Up to four, the Scriptorium had stated. That was why noble houses often hunted in small groups, always with an empty slot, never offering it to a common guard.
“Ah, I can absorb no more,” Seraphina sighed, a faint green light leaking from her fingertips, dispersing into the hot air.
“Nor I,” Kael echoed, a similar discharge from his own form.
This was the limit, the threshold where their bodies could no longer contain the raw power. What remained was expelled. Levin, however, felt no such limit. He continued to draw, absorbing the last wisps of green light until the ash was inert, lifeless.
Seraphina and Kael watched him, their expressions a mix of envy and grudging respect.
---
On the return journey to Ashfall Citadel, Seraphina and Kael recounted the battle, their voices loud, boasting of their heroic actions. The guards walked in silence, their injuries binding them to a shared misery. Levin walked between them, quiet, his mind filled with the image of the nobles using their own men as shields, and the strange, quiet power now thrumming beneath his skin. The desert wind carried the scent of ash, a subtle reminder of the harsh truth he’d witnessed this day.