A guttural snarl rippled through the pre-dawn darkness. Vesper felt it in his bones, a primal hum against the silence of the Dust-Wastes. Ash-Reavers. They moved with a hungry grace, forms like starved wolves sculpted from petrified ash, eyes glinting embers in the gloom. Ash-Reavers hunted in packs. Their leader, a female, always towered above the males. Her hide was darker, thicker, a jagged crest of ash-crystals rising from her nape. She stalked forward, a shadow among shadows, easily twice Vesper’s height at the shoulder, her length a nightmare stretch of muscle and tooth. These were the true predators of Aethel’s perpetual twilight. They knew no fear, no hesitation. An ancient, instinctual hunger drove them. Packs numbered from a dozen to over a hundred, a terrifying grey tide pouring from the deeper shadows. Now, they surged. A silent charge, building to a low, chilling chorus of growls. Vesper saw blurs of grey, phantom shapes closing in. They were upon him and Kaelen within heartbeats. Most targeted Kaelen, drawn to his sheer presence. But a hungry vanguard peeled off, rushing Vesper. Teeth like obsidian shards, claws like twisted roots. They meant to tear him apart. Vesper reacted on instinct. He thrust his hand forward. Compressed ash-shards, sharp as honed glass, shot from his palm. One struck the lead Ash-Reaver mid-leap. Its head exploded in a puff of grey dust and black ichor. The beast crumpled, lifeless before it hit the ground. Its packmates paid no heed. They simply swerved around the fallen, their hunger undimmed. Vesper fired again, then again. Each shard found a target, dropping another beast. But for every one he felled, two more surged forward. It wasn’t enough. His reserves, already strained from days of wandering and the grueling cold, diminished with each powerful strike. He needed a different approach. ‘One by one is a slow death,’ he thought, a cold clarity cutting through the adrenaline. ‘I need to take down five, ten at once. Distribute the force, but retain the lethality.’ It came down to control. Mana management. He had to be efficient, precise. There was no room for hesitation now. Life or death. That was the only lesson the wastes taught. He pulled a whisper of power from the ash, a delicate thread. Then he stretched it, drawing it taut, until it became five distinct strands. Each strand he condensed, shaping it into a needle-thin, impossibly dense projectile. Not an explosive blast, but a piercing spear. Five faint grey lines shot into the oncoming horde. Five Ash-Reavers, mid-snarl, dropped without a sound. Coin-sized holes bored through their skulls. A slight shudder ran through Vesper’s arm, but the power drain felt less acute. It worked. Once the path was cleared, it was easier to tread. Again, five lines. Again, five beasts fell. His control sharpened with each successful strike, the flow of ash responding to his will. He could hold them at bay, for now. He risked a glance at Kaelen. A maniacal cackle cut through the snarls. “Kekeke! More! Come on, more!” Around Kaelen, a circle of carnage had already formed. Scores of Ash-Reavers lay broken, their grey hides ripped, their insides spilling onto the dusty ground. Kaelen wielded Mournblade, his massive, blackened cleaver. He wasn’t using any elaborate ash-techniques, no grand displays of power. He simply swung. And swung again. Each arc of Mournblade cleaved through a cluster of beasts. Ash-black blood sprayed, chunks of petrified flesh flew. The already grim landscape became a canvas of crimson and grey. Occasionally, a particularly daring Ash-Reaver would sink its teeth into Kaelen’s arm or leg. Their fangs, capable of tearing through ash-steel armor, simply shattered against his flesh. He barely registered it. “Kekeke! That tickles!” Kaelen’s laugh echoed, a sound of pure, unadulterated enjoyment. He snatched an Ash-Reaver biting his thigh, its head crushed in his grip like a dried husk. He hurled the broken body into a fresh wave of attackers. The creatures collided, tumbling in a heap of mangled limbs and torn bellies. Kaelen was a whirlwind of destruction, a force of nature more terrifying than the entire pack combined. None dared to truly challenge him. From the edge of the fray, the alpha female stepped forward. A faint, cold blue light pulsed around her. That meant power. Ranks and abilities were a mystery to Vesper, but he recognized arcane influence when he saw it. Sparks erupted from the jagged ash-crystal horns crowning her head. Arcane dust-shock. A lightning strike from the very ash itself. A bolt of crackling, ash-infused energy split the air, racing towards Kaelen. It struck him head-on. Kaelen simply extended a hand, as if swatting a bothersome fly. The lightning, potent enough to scorch living rock, dissolved into nothing against his calloused palm. Only then did a true sense of dread ripple through the alpha female. This adversary was utterly unlike any they had ever hunted. A low, desperate shriek tore from her throat, a command for retreat. The pack, already decimated, faltered. Survival instincts warred with their ingrained aggression. But Kaelen had no intention of letting them escape. He grinned, a predator savoring the kill. With a grunt, he flung Mournblade. The massive cleaver spun, a black disc of death, scything through the fleeing Ash-Reavers. Their mournful cries filled the suffocating air. Still, Kaelen wasn’t finished. He drove his feet into the ashen ground, launching himself skyward. He defied gravity, an impossible leap in the heavy air. Mournblade, having completed its bloody arc, returned to his hand. He plummeted, a meteor of flesh and ash-steel, directly towards the alpha female. The impact was a concussive shockwave. Ash erupted in a massive plume, momentarily obscuring the scene. A final, desperate shriek was swallowed by the dust. When the ash settled, the alpha female was gone. A mangled, unrecognizable heap of broken bone and petrified hide lay in a fresh crater. Only one of her ash-crystal horns remained intact, jutting grotesquely from the ruin. Kaelen stood over the corpse, breathing deeply, a primal satisfaction in his eyes. There was no hint of fatigue, only renewed vigor. Vesper stood frozen, awestruck. Kaelen had used no complex ash-shaping, no grand elemental conjurations. Just raw, unfathomable physical power. He had simply broken the beast with his hands and his blade. Was he truly human? A fundamental understanding of power shattered within Vesper. Kaelen turned, a mirthless grin splitting his lips. “Still twitching, eh?” Vesper could only nod, his throat dry. Kaelen crouched, tearing the remaining horn from the alpha’s shattered head. “These horns. Useful things. They carry a whisper of arcane energy. Refine it well, and you could forge a weapon.” He examined the horn for a moment, then casually extended his hand. The ash-crystal blurred, then was gone, as if swallowed by the air itself. ‘Spatial ability?’ Vesper’s mind reeled. Kaelen fought like a brute, yet wielded power few in Aethel could even dream of. His every action defied expectation. Kaelen sheathed Mournblade, then drew a small, obsidian shard. He tossed it to Vesper. “From now on, you find your own food.” He crouched beside a fallen Ash-Reaver, quickly carving a strip of flesh from its flank. “Most of their muscle is toxic. Only this side meat. Dry it, and it’s safe to consume.” The piece he cut was small, barely a palm’s width. Vesper, still dazed, watched Kaelen. He remembered the jerky Kaelen had shared. Monster meat. He’d eaten monster meat. Growing up in the Outer Settlements, food was scarce. If it sustained you, you ate it. He carefully mimicked Kaelen, his fingers still numb from the fight. Kaelen secured only enough meat for a few days. He was strong enough to hunt again whenever he pleased. Vesper, not yet so formidable, aimed for more. Survival dictated it. He carved diligently, securing nearly thirty pieces, wrapping them in his tattered cloak. He couldn’t carry more. “Keke! Resourceful enough.” Kaelen grunted approval. “Now move. Before the stench of this place draws others.” Vesper nodded, the bloody scent already attracting scavengers. He didn’t want to linger. The pale, sickly disk of the sun was already cresting the eastern dunes, casting long, distorted shadows across the carnage. Under its dim light, the battlefield was even more gruesome. Already, winged creatures circled high above, their calls like rusty hinges. This was the law of the wastes. The strong preyed upon the weak. The fallen became sustenance for others. No being escaped this cycle. Vesper, trailing Kaelen, began to understand these brutal truths. Kaelen paid him no mind, simply pressed onward. Vesper pushed himself, summoning Ash-Stride. He expected it to be arduous, his ash-reserves depleted by the frantic battle. But to his surprise, the flow was smoother, more responsive. There was more power left than he anticipated. ‘The battle,’ he realized. The desperate fight, the life-or-death choices, pushing his limits until his power screamed – it had honed him. He was stronger. He would continue to grow. He looked at Kaelen’s retreating back, a silent understanding settling over him. He didn’t know why Kaelen kept him around. But one thing was clear: follow, survive, and grow stronger. He pressed on.

A Feast of Cinders