A chill, dry air greeted Kael as the iron grate clanged shut behind him. Thane Roric’s laughter still echoed faintly, a mocking chorus in the oppressive silence. He stood within the Widow's Vein, a maw within the Scar-Maw Pits, rumored to swallow all who dared delve too deep. Already, darkness pressed in, thick and absolute. Only the faint glow-orb clutched in his hand pushed back the ink, casting hesitant shadows that danced like specters. It barely pierced the gloom. Ahead, the tunnel stretched, a rough-hewn passage descending into the earth’s forgotten depths. Walls bore the scars of desperate labor. Pickaxe marks, fresh and old, gouged the sooty rock. They told a grim tale of the men who came before him, their hope and sweat dissolving into the unyielding stone. Four had died here, Roric had boasted, their bodies never recovered. Miners didn’t simply vanish. A cause always followed an effect, a truth etched into the very core of this dying world. Kael’s gaze swept the tunnel, seeking the reason, the underlying current of anomaly that defied explanation. Here, the ambient ash-essence felt… thick. It wasn’t the usual dispersed particles he commanded, but a palpable concentration, a heavy, static charge in the air. Even to his attuned senses, it felt… wrong. Raw, untamed. Before his own awakening, Kael might not have noticed. He recalled old tales, whispered warnings of prolonged exposure to concentrated essence: flesh blistering, bones crystallizing, minds unraveling. If this was true, the miners weren't simply lost. They were undone. Why did it gather here, this potent, unseen force? No veins of rare minerals, no ancient relics marked the spot. Only the tunnel wall, rough and scarred, held the answer. Kael leaned his pickaxe against the soot-stained rock. Fingers traced the cold surface, feeling the subtle tremor of the concentrated essence. His skin prickled. He gripped the pickaxe, its familiar weight a small comfort. He swung. Steel met rock with a dull thud, showering sparse sparks into the darkness. Again. Chips of stone fractured, crumbling away to reveal deeper, darker layers. Each strike vibrated up his arms, a monotonous rhythm against the tunnel’s quiet. Something snagged the pickaxe. A resistance, distinct from mere stone. Kael frowned, then put his weight into another blow, aiming for the stubborn spot. Rock shattered with a resonant crack. Not a collapse, but a rupture. A sudden void yawned where the wall once stood, an elliptical aperture of impossible darkness. It pulsed with a cold, hungry energy, like the throat of some primordial beast. Before Kael could react, an unseen force seized him. It yanked, vicious and immediate. He felt himself torn, pulled into the swirling abyss. Pressure intensified, crushing, distorting. His world dissolved into a cacophony of pain, his thoughts scattered like ash in a gale. Just as quickly as it began, it ended. Kael was flung out, tumbling violently across unfamiliar ground. He scrabbled, finding purchase, pushing himself to his feet. Every muscle screamed. “What… is this?” His voice, a hoarse whisper, was lost in the vastness. Moments ago, he stood in the suffocating dark of the Scar-Maw Pits. Now, an alien landscape stretched before him. Far off, a mountain loomed, impossibly tall and black, like solidified night. From its peak, dark smoke billowed, mingling with viscous, scarlet lava. The sky, a perpetual bruise of twilight, was heavy with fresh ash, an even deeper grey than Aethelred’s usual pallor. Molten rivers flowed across the desolate plains, reflecting the smoldering peaks. Vegetation here was a myth, reduced to dust millennia ago. The air reeked of sulfur, acrid and biting. Heat radiated from the ground, searing his boots, his exposed skin. The relentless suns of the Ashfall Deserts paled in comparison to this inferno. Sweat, cold and clammy, plastered his garments to his body. Kael turned, searching for the breach that had expelled him. It was already fading, shrinking. The elliptical void collapsed in on itself, leaving no trace, no ripple in the air. He lunged, a desperate, futile gesture, but it was gone, sealed completely. He scraped a hand across his jaw, a deep frustration building. Entering such a place unprepared, un-scouted… it was madness. In the old texts, those who delved into such anomalies always prepared, assessing, planning, never simply stumbling into the unknown. This was beyond recklessness. It was the cruelest twist of fate. First Thane Roric’s brutal judgment, now this. It felt orchestrated, as if a malevolent hand guided his very steps towards oblivion. Kael reached into his pouch, pulling out the void-glass shard he had been studying. Its smooth, dark surface was cool against his palm. A strange anchor in this bizarre reality. Its inertness, its resistance to his ash, offered no answers here, either. “First, confirmation.” His voice was low, strained. He needed to know if his power, his very essence, still functioned within this strange domain. Kael knelt, sweeping a hand across the scorched earth. Black granules clung to his fingers, fine and gritty. He focused, his will reaching out, grasping the particulate matter. Slowly, painstakingly, the ash began to levitate, forming a small, swirling cloud above his palm. Relief, cold and stark, washed over him. His primary weapon, his only defense, was intact. This land, for all its alien hostility, was rich with ash. He would not be helpless. Next, his pack. He unslung it, checking its contents. Several days’ worth of rations, thankfully, untouched. The passage had been violent, but his meager supplies endured. “This will suffice,” he murmured, a practical assessment, not hope. Food was settled. Now, the exit. It was a needle in a continent-sized haystack. Only one course of action remained. He had to move. He had to search. “The mountain,” he decided, fixing his gaze on the distant, colossal peak. “The anomaly’s heart.” There, at its fiery core, lay his only chance for egress. Kael drew a deep breath. His throat burned, raw and irritated by the sulfurous, ash-laden air. Prolonged exposure would scour his lungs. From his pack, he pulled a scrap of cloth, used for wrapping salvaged components. He tied it around his lower face, a makeshift mask against the corrosive air. It offered little protection but eased the immediate sting. Kael began his trek towards the volcano, each step heavy on the scorching ground. The more he walked, the more he understood the impossibility of this place. This wasn’t just a barren land; it was a realm of pure, destructive power. That colossal mountain was no mirage. It was real. Real lava, real fire, real, suffocating heat. An ordinary man, flung into this hell, would perish within minutes. He might be an Attuned, a Warden of Cinder, but even his resilient frame felt the oppression. “There must be a way out.” The words were for himself, a quiet defiance against the encroaching despair. He had no choice but to push onward. A river of molten lava, vast and red-hot, barred his path. Even at a considerable distance, its heat was intense, threatening to liquefy his very being. Dozens of meters wide, too broad for any single leap. Kael began to walk upstream, searching for a narrower passage. After an agonizing ascent, the river thinned to perhaps ten meters. A feasible jump, just. He paused, taking deep, burning breaths. Physically, he could make it. But a misstep, a loss of balance mid-air, would plunge him into the incandescent flow. There would be no escape. He prepared, focusing his entire being on the task. He sprinted forward, heart hammering against his ribs, pushing his weary legs to their limit. At the precipice, he launched himself into the air, a silent, desperate prayer to the Ash Mother. Kael soared, suspended for a terrifying moment above the molten expanse. At the apex of his leap, the lava below stirred. Something surged. A colossal shape, cloaked in flame, rocketed towards him. He looked down, fear a cold vice around his gut. A gigantic maw, impossibly wide, teeth like sharpened boulders, lined with fire. Scaly, rough hide, glowing red, covered a long, serpentine body. Four stubby, powerful legs propelled it from the lava. A lava-crocodile. It had been waiting. There was no escape in mid-air. He willed the ash around him to gather, to coalesce into a shield, a blast, anything. But the nearest ash was too far, too dispersed. He would be devoured before it could respond. Instinct took over. Kael twisted his body, a desperate, acrobatic contortion. He barely evaded the snapping jaws, the searing breath. But the evasion cost him his balance. He plummeted, a stone falling towards the inferno. The crocodile widened its immense jaws, preparing to swallow him whole. Just then, a wisp of the ash he had tried to gather caught his eye, a faint, swirling cloud far below. It was enough. His will surged, shaping the stray particles. Beneath his falling body, a platform of dense ash materialized, solid and dark. He struck it, the impact jarring, but it held. Without hesitation, Kael pushed off, propelling himself across the remaining gap. He landed hard on the opposite bank, back striking the hot rock with a sickening crunch. A groan escaped his lips, pain flaring, but there was no time for it. The gigantic crocodile, unperturbed, emerged from the lava, its molten eyes fixed on him. “Damn it. A beast of pure fire.” He scrambled backward, but the creature was fast. Its squat legs, thick as ancient tree trunks, drove its massive body forward with terrifying speed. Kael launched his Ash Blaster, a concentrated stream of hardened ash, a weapon that could cleave stone. But the intense heat emanating from the crocodile was too much. The ash stream vaporized, melting into nothingness before it could even touch its hide. His eyes widened. His core weapon, useless. The crocodile lunged, faster than he could comprehend. Its colossal maw opened, revealing a furnace within. Kael froze, unable to react, unable to move. “Ash, eh? An uncommon power.” A voice, rough as ground pumice, rumbled through the air. It was deep, ancient, carrying the weight of the earth itself. Kael looked up, eyes squinting against the perpetual twilight. From the sky, a figure descended with impossible speed, piercing the ash-choked atmosphere like a falling star. A massive sword, gleaming with an internal, ruddy light, was clutched in its hand. It collided directly with the gigantic crocodile. A meteor strike. An explosive sound ripped through the air, an immense shockwave rocking the desolate landscape. Lava, previously flowing with sullen calm, erupted in fiery sprays. Kael shielded his face, disbelief etched into his features. The monstrous crocodile, a beast of fire and rock, was flattened, crushed like a discarded shell. On its supine form stood a man. An old man, colossal in stature, his frame carved from hardened resolve. His eyes, burning with an ancient, terrifying intensity, were far more menacing than any beast. He was a force of nature, primal and absolute. ---

The Widow's Gullet