Rune’s gaze settled on the hourglass in his palm. It felt heavier than it appeared, a small, intricate curiosity he’d taken from Old Man Cinder’s market stall. Not a hasty choice, no. A pull, subtle as a whisper in the echoing confines of the Ash-Mines Outpost, had led him to it.
From the moment he stepped into that cluttered room of scavenged relics, a strange hum resonated. It drew him, like the scent of moisture in a dry wind, toward this singular item. Delicate patterns wound across its glass body, a craftsmanship from before the Collapse. In a world untouched by ash, collectors would have prized such an artifact.
He turned the hourglass. Fine, ruddy grains, like dried blood, began their descent. He watched them fall, each particle a minuscule drop in an endless river. This was the measure of its purpose, the time it took for one bulb to empty into the next.
A strange pulse coursed through Rune’s veins. Not warmth, but a heightened awareness, a sudden clarity. His power, usually a cold presence, flickered with an unfamiliar vitality.
*What is this thing? Can it be linked to my own awakening?*
He flipped it once more. Again, the crimson dust began its slow trickle. He noted the sand’s unnatural fineness, its hue deeper, more vibrant than any desert grit he’d encountered in the Ashfall Era. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen.
Rune wondered if his ability, his command over the volcanic ash, might find purchase here. If this relic truly held a connection to him, surely the sand within would respond. He focused, a silent command directed at the ruddy grains. They merely continued their fall, oblivious.
Again, he intensified his will, a subtle pressure reaching for the heart of the hourglass. No response. The sand remained inert, a stubborn current flowing unimpeded.
*Was I mistaken?*
Frustration, a rare, hot spark, flared within him. He slid the hourglass into a deep pocket of his duster. He hadn’t given Old Man Cinder a precious ash-shard for nothing. He wouldn’t discard it just because it defied his will. A sour taste coated his tongue. This day, it seemed, had begun on a truly rotten note.
---
Returning to his cramped bunk, a hulking figure filled the doorway, casting a long shadow across the grimy floor. Argus. His scarred face, a roadmap of violence, was grim. Massive arms, corded with muscle, bore the marks of countless skirmishes. Rune instantly recognized the rough-hewn strength of a Brawler, an Ashbound who favored brutal, direct application of their power. Ash-stained skin, like permanent grime, clung to him.
“You the new recruit from yesterday?” Argus’s voice was a low growl, like grinding stone.
“I am Rune. Who are you?” His own voice, even, held a brittle edge.
Argus stepped inside, filling the small space. “Damn you, recruit. Why weren’t you at the Ash-Mines this morning?” He moved closer, an oppressive presence.
“If you came to work, you should’ve run to the tunnels. Why did I have to come looking for you? Useless fool!”
Argus was the foreman of the Ash-Mines, a brutal taskmaster whose authority was absolute. He oversaw the teams sent into the tunnels, ensuring a steady flow of valuable ash-shards. He was one of the few true powers in this isolated outpost.
Rune began to explain. “No one gave me instructions…”
“Foolish talk. Who needs to call you? You came to work, you should know where to go.” Argus waved a dismissive hand, the movement quick and violent. “Forget it. Just follow. Quit your blathering.”
Argus had deep roots in the Ash-Mines. He understood the desperate men who sought work here, knew how to break them. Handling a newcomer like Rune was child’s play.
And it wasn’t just Argus. Every soul in this outpost, from the lowest digger to the highest foreman, seemed to be part of the same cruel system. They were a pack of starved wolves, circling any new arrival. Once a fresh piece of meat appeared, they descended, ready to strip it to the bone. To them, Rune was just another piece of easy prey.
Rune recognized this grim reality now. Every face, from Old Man Cinder’s shrewd grin to Argus’s scowling features, dripped with avarice. Yet, there was no obvious escape. He couldn’t reveal the full extent of his Ashbound power without drawing dangerous attention. He couldn’t defy Argus directly, not yet. He hadn’t been given time to find his footing, to assert himself. They were pushing him relentlessly, cornering him.
He felt utterly trapped.
A primal urge tightened his fists, a whisper of ash swirling in his mind, ready to lash out. But reason, cold and sharp as obsidian, cut through it. Resisting now would be suicide. He yearned to defy Argus, to refuse the tunnels, but he knew the futility of it. Inside this outpost, Argus’s word was law. Besides, the foreman bore the faint, shifting gray mark of a powerful Ashbound, a Brawler specializing in close-quarters combat. Rune, still assessing his own burgeoning abilities, was no match for such raw, experienced might.
*Damn it. The foreman himself came for me.*
If the Ash-Runner had arrived safely yesterday, carrying its usual dozens of desperate applicants, Rune’s absence might have gone unnoticed. But the Ash-Crawler attack had left him the sole survivor. Not standing out was no longer an option.
When Rune hesitated, a flicker of defiance in his eyes, Argus’s face hardened. A heavy fist, quick as a falling rock, slammed into Rune’s jaw. He cried out, stumbling backward into the rough wall.
Argus stalked forward, boots thudding. He stomped down, a crushing weight on Rune’s chest. “You fool! Didn’t I tell you to follow? Move!”
Rune gritted his teeth, absorbing the blows. He couldn’t even scream, the wind knocked from his lungs. Strangely, the pain wasn’t as debilitating as it should have been. His awakened body, tempered by ash, endured. He felt a surge of strength, a capability to fight back.
Yet, he held himself in check. Not yet. This was not the time for rebellion. He needed to endure, to build his strength, to understand his true power. Revenge could wait. It would only grow colder, sharper.
Rune curled into himself, enduring Argus’s brutal assault like a tightening spring. When the foreman’s fury finally waned, he pulled back.
“Make another fuss, or disobey me again, and you’ll die. Understood?” Argus’s voice was low, menacing. “If you understand, then follow.”
Ignoring Rune’s bruised, battered silence, Argus turned and left the bunk. Rune struggled to his feet, every muscle protesting. He followed, a silent shadow. His face was a raw canvas of bruises, his body aching. His awakened state had allowed him to withstand the punishment; otherwise, he might have been incapacitated for days.
His eyes narrowed, fixed on Argus’s retreating back. *I don’t know about the others, but I will kill you.*
Argus paid no mind to Rune’s injuries. Miners were expendable goods here, little more than tools. When worn or broken, they were simply discarded. There was no reason to concern oneself with the well-being of a temporary asset.
---
Argus led Rune to the gaping mouths of the Ash-Mines, a labyrinth of tunnels descending into the earth’s maw. A haggard miner waited at the entrance, his face etched with fatigue.
“Give this one equipment,” Argus commanded.
The miner, without a word, handed Rune a heavy pickaxe, a battered helmet with a flickering ash-lamp, and a worn backpack filled with a few days’ rations. “The cost of the pickaxe and food will be taken from your earnings. Put any ash-shards you find in that pack.”
“That’s it? No instruction on how to mine the ash-shards?” Rune’s voice was hoarse.
“Damn it! Do I need to teach you how to use a pickaxe? Just hit the walls, that’s it!” Argus’s voice rose to a roar. The miner who’d given Rune the tools flinched, backing away quickly.
Argus was known as the ‘Tyrant of the Tunnels,’ a name whispered in fear. He resorted to violence for the smallest infraction. Every miner feared him.
Rune felt a bewildered disbelief. Pushing men into a dangerous mine shaft without even basic guidance was madness. It was akin to sending him to his death.
“Hey! Throw this fool into Ash-Vein 33!” Argus pointed a thick finger at one of the darker openings. “Quit your blathering and get him in there.”
As Argus’s voice boomed, the miner quickly grabbed Rune’s arm, pulling him along. And so, unprepared, Rune was led into the tunnels.
Argus’s parting shout echoed behind them. “You fool! Don’t even think of coming out without a full pack of ash-shards! Remember what I said!”
A cold, hard knot formed in Rune’s chest. *That son of a bitch will truly…*
He swore vengeance on Argus, a silent promise burning in the darkness of his mind. He understood the dynamics of the Ash-Mines Outpost now, with brutal clarity. No one here would stand by him. Show weakness, and you would be devoured. Everyone was a threat, every shadow held a hidden danger.
Rune blamed himself for the brief moment of lost resolve after arriving. He should have expected this. He strengthened his resolve, his steps firm, as he walked deeper into the tunnel.
Even at its entrance, the tunnel was impossibly narrow. Dug by raw human power, without the aid of heavy machinery, it was a cramped, winding passage into the earth’s belly.
Then, the guiding miner spoke, his voice low. “Consider yourself… lucky. You caught the Captain when his mood was already foul.”
“He lost all his money at the Den, didn’t he?” Rune asked, remembering Old Man Cinder’s words about the Outpost’s vices.
“Gambling Den? What isn’t here? Cards, Firewater, dream-dust… it all leads to the same end. Trust me, stay clear. You end up working yourself to death to feed someone else’s habits.” The miner had been in the tunnels for five cycles, longer than most. Many who arrived with him had either been crippled or swallowed by the earth. No matter how strong a man’s will, this place eroded it, turning grit to dust.
“Still, if you want to save enough to leave this place, keep your wits sharp.”
“What kind of place is Ash-Vein 33?” Rune asked. Instinctively, he knew the tunnel he was assigned to was no ordinary shaft.
The miner rambled on, his words fading into the damp air. Rune considered running, a fleeting thought. But the endless, ash-choked wastes stretched beyond the Outpost, a realm of certain death by starvation or suffocation. A hasty escape would only hasten his end.
*The most important thing now is to develop my abilities.* Things had moved too quickly. He hadn’t even confirmed the true scope of his power. Left alone, he could finally assess his capabilities, and then, he could plan.
Countless crossroads appeared before them, forks in the subterranean passages. The miner taught Rune how to navigate.
“Look closely,” he explained. “You’ll see an arrow, scratched into the rock. Red arrows mean deeper, into the earth. Blue arrows lead up, toward the surface. Always follow blue when you’re heading out. Got it?”
Based on the winding descent, Rune estimated they’d traveled several hundred meters down. Finally, the guiding miner stopped.
“This is Ash-Vein 33.”
Rune looked toward the tunnel the miner indicated. A thick, oppressive darkness seemed to pulse from its mouth, beckoning him inward.
“Just go in there and start working.” The miner’s voice was tinged with unease.
“I have a bad feeling about this place.”
“Four people have already met misfortune inside. Be cautious.”
“Misfortune?” Rune repeated, the word hanging heavy.
“It means they died. We never found out how. Since everyone assigned here has died, no one wants to enter Ash-Vein 33. That’s why the Captain put a newcomer like you in there.” The miner looked at Rune with a mixture of pity and resignation. He felt guilty, but he was just another cog in Argus’s brutal machine.
“I hope you come out safe.” With those words, the miner turned and headed for his own assigned tunnel.
Left alone, Rune stood before the gaping maw of Ash-Vein 33. *Everyone who went in there died? He sent me here on purpose, just because he was in a foul mood?*
“Argus,” Rune whispered, his voice a raw rasp in the darkness. “You will definitely die by my hands. I swear it.”