The portal shimmered, a swirling eye of faded light. Kael stepped through, Valerius close behind. Cold desolation gripped him, a familiar ache deep in his bones, yet sharper this time.
Ashfall stretched to every horizon. Not the familiar settled dunes of his home, but a raw, unbroken expanse of pale grey, like freshly fallen snow, untouched by wind or life. The air hung thick and still, tasting of ancient dust and distant, dying fires.
Pressure mounted, not from the portal, but from the sheer, crushing weight of the silent world. Kael drew a slow breath, the ash filling his lungs with dry certainty.
“A new playground,” Valerius rasped, voice like stones grating. His hand, surprisingly swift, seized Kael’s forearm. Fingers like iron clamps dug into his flesh. Kael grunted, a sharp intake of breath.
“You possess the weaver’s touch, boy,” Valerius continued, tightening his grip. Bone grated. “Yet no mark. No covenant. Just a wild thing, grasping at stray cinders.”
Pain blossomed, a white-hot bloom up Kael’s arm. He bit back a cry, his vision blurring at the edges. The world tilted.
Strength fled his knees. He collapsed, one hand instinctively clutching the ash-scoured ground. The raw agony eclipsed even the crushing solitude of the Ashfall.
Valerius released him. A dull throb remained, a persistent reminder of violated flesh. Kael flexed his fingers, testing for damage.
“Many stumble into power,” Valerius observed, dusting ash from his sleeve. “Few know how to wear it.”
A low growl escaped Kael’s throat, a sound he rarely made. A burning ember flared in his chest, rare fury. Valerius saw him only as a broken thing.
Ash stirred around Kael, responding to his sudden rage. A sharp wave of concentrated cinder, dense as lead shot, surged towards Valerius.
The old man stood motionless. The dark blast struck his chest, dispersed into harmless motes of dust against an unseen barrier. Valerius simply chuckled, brushing at his robes, utterly unfazed.
“A flicker of defiance,” Valerius mused, a cruel smile touching his lips. “Good. Now, you walk with me, ash-child.”
“My name is Kael,” he said, the words forced through gritted teeth, heavy with an uncharacteristic defiance.
“Insignificant. Until you prove otherwise, you are merely a spark in the dark. A flicker. Or a fool.”
Valerius’s gaze was a predator’s, ancient and calculating. Kael swallowed the retort that burned on his tongue. He knew the stories of Valerius, the one who walked the deepest catacombs and wrestled the Ashfall leviathans into submission.
His own nascent power, potent as it felt, was a candle flame against a raging storm.
Valerius turned, his gaze falling upon the crude, ash-forged blade Kael wore at his hip. A silent judgment, assessing its worth.
“Barely enough to carve dust,” Valerius murmured. “It will take much shaping. Much breaking.” He looked back at Kael, a glint in his eyes. “Harsh methods forge strong steel, boy. If you don’t crack, you’ll sharpen.”
A cold dread settled over Kael. He was a specimen, an object for refinement. The open wastes offered no escape, no place to hide from this relentless will.
He watched Valerius’s back, a silent, imposing figure against the grey horizon. Kael sighed, the sound lost in the vastness, and followed.
Powerlessness. It gnawed at him, a shame more bitter than ash. A weakness he abhorred.
---
Valerius moved with an unnatural ease across the loose ash. Each step left scarcely a depression, as if his weight was no more than a falling feather. He seemed immune to the profound silence and the heavy air.
Kael, however, struggled. The ash, fine and deep, sucked at his boots, each step a miniature battle against its clinging weight. It felt like walking through solid earth, exhausting and slow.
His lungs burned. Sweat, cold and clammy, plastered his hair to his brow. His strides shortened, his head bowed against the oppressive sameness.
“Weakness, ash-child,” Valerius called back, not even bothering to turn. “You command the very ground beneath your feet. Why do you struggle like a common scavenger?”
Kael’s jaw tightened. “I only just learned to coax a spark. I cannot command a wildfire.”
Valerius stopped. He turned slowly, his face etched with something akin to scorn. That look ignited Kael’s banked anger once more.
“A new spark, you say? What does that matter? Who is born a blazing star? A few, perhaps, blessed by the Void itself. But are you to simply crumble because you are not one of them? You are a wonder in the eyes of the unawakened. Stop your whining. Think. Bend this world to your will. What good is a body whole if the mind is broken?”
“Must you call me ‘ash-child’?” Kael asked, his voice low, a tremor of fury beneath it.
“When your will is as brittle as old bone, yes. Until you shatter that stubborn skull of yours, you are naught but a child of ash.”
Kael bit his tongue. The argument was futile. Valerius was an immovable cliff face.
Valerius turned away again, resuming his silent, swift pace. “It is your power. Yours to master. Yours to break. Discover its limits. Then, break them.”
“And if I cannot?” Kael asked, the words barely a whisper.
“Then the Ashfall will claim you. Or I will.”
Valerius walked on, leaving two impossibly light trails in the deep ash. Kael stared at his retreating form, the words echoing in his mind.
‘Child of ash. Stubborn skull.’
A slow burn began in his gut. Anger at Valerius. Anger at his own limitations, his weakness. Both feelings rose, hot and fierce.
Kael gritted his teeth. Very well. He would prove him wrong. He would make this man speak his name.
Determination hardened his gaze. He would not be a fool. He would not be broken. He would master this power.
He focused, sending tendrils of his will into the ash around him. He needed to understand it, truly. He had only ever used his power reactively, in moments of desperation. Now, he needed intent.
---
Ash shimmered, a grey tide drawn to his command. He extended his awareness, feeling the subtle resistance, the granular weight.
Perhaps five meters in every direction. The ash closest to him responded with surprising alacrity, a silent whisper. Farther out, it moved sluggishly, a slow, grudging sigh.
It was a start. But the constant drag, the deep ash pulling at his every step, remained. It was a relentless drain on his dwindling stamina. He would be stranded, consumed by the wastes, if he didn’t solve this.
He recalled the moments he’d condensed ash into solid forms, walls against collapse, blades against threat. A thought sparked.
What if he simply hardened the ash beneath his feet?
He focused. A pulse of will, a surge of latent power. The loose ash compacted, solidifying into firm, dark ground with a faint hiss. Each step became effortless, like walking on ancient, paved stone.
Relief washed over him. But it was short-lived. A sudden exhaustion gripped him. The mana, the very essence of his being, drained like sand through an open fist.
A few dozen strides, and he would be utterly spent. Powerless. The Ashfall would devour him, body and soul. He abandoned the method, the memory of his quick depletion a cold warning.
He needed efficiency. He needed cunning. His own reserves were a shallow pool in this vast, arid world.
He considered a different approach: a veil of ash, drawn around his legs, to lighten his weight, to reduce the friction. It worked, subtly. His steps felt lighter, less strenuous. A good interim solution for stamina.
But it wasn’t ash-weaving. It was a physical augmentation, not the deep manipulation Valerius demanded. He needed to *control* the ash, not just make himself lighter. For future growth, for true mastery, he had to confront the ash itself.
Kael abandoned that, too. He needed to sculpt. To command. A thin skin of ash, just beneath the soles of his boots.
He sent his will into the ash, a narrow, focused intent. One centimeter thick, shaped precisely to his foot. It was harder than he imagined. A broad command was one thing; this precise, intimate manipulation was another.
The ash resisted. It fractured, scattered, refusing to cohere. Kael stumbled, crashing backward into the deep, soft ash. A plume of fine dust rose, coating his face, filling his mouth.
He coughed, spitting out the dry grit. His throat was raw, parched. No water. Just the ceaseless ash.
He pushed himself up, exhaustion a heavy cloak. Valerius was a distant speck, a silent, unwavering shadow. He had not once looked back. Kael was alone in his struggle.
Anger surged anew, hot and bitter. This whole wretched situation, this forced march into the unknown, was Valerius’s doing. He could have been elsewhere, in the familiar, bleak comfort of the Cinder-Mines.
Resentment threatened to overwhelm him, to break his quiet resolve. He felt sanity slipping, a fragile thread snapping in the vast emptiness.
He had to find his way. He focused again, forcing his mind back to the ash under his feet. He envisioned it, felt its individual grains, its potential for movement.
Again, he commanded it. Slowly, haltingly, the ash beneath him stirred, began to move. It rolled, a faint, grinding whisper, like tiny cogs turning in unison.
Excruciatingly slow. His mana pulsed erratically, struggling with the confined focus. Broad dominion was easier; precise control was a battle. Each time his concentration wavered, the ash beneath him disintegrated, and Kael fell.
Again and again, he picked himself up. His body ached. His mind screamed for rest. But he wouldn’t yield. Not to the Ashfall, and certainly not to Valerius.
Slowly, imperceptibly, a shift occurred. His control sharpened. The ash responded with less hesitation, more fluidity. It began to carry him, a subtle glide, a phantom movement beneath his boots.
He wasn’t walking anymore. He was being borne, a silent, effortless progression. The constant falls had taught him. The countless failures had shown him the way.
Still, his mana consumption remained too high, a hungry beast. He concentrated harder, pushing for absolute efficiency, for the minimal expenditure of his dwindling reserves.
He found it. A fragile balance. A whisper of control, enough to maintain the subtle lift, the smooth glide. His mana held, tenuously, but held. He moved, finally, with a shadow of Valerius’s grace across the unforgiving ash.
Ahead, Valerius continued. He did not turn. Yet, a faint nod, almost imperceptible, dipped his head. He felt the shift, the subtle alteration in the air, the rhythmic whisper of ash Kael now commanded.
“A less clumsy fool,” Valerius murmured, the words carried on a phantom breeze. By his own impossibly high standards, it was still a flicker. But a flicker that could grow.