Kaelen chewed, a rhythm of dry grit against his teeth. Ash-Strider jerky, tough as sun-baked hide, offered little joy. Yet, the deep thrum of hunger in his gut quieted with each fibrous strip. This desolate world, the Ashwastes of Solara, stole all moisture. Meat, cured beneath an unrelenting sky, transformed into sustenance that clung to life with a desperate tenacity. A faint, gamey scent lingered, a minor flaw in the grand scheme of survival. The vital thing was the absence of a gnawing void inside him. Jerky rations were ample. Kaelen consumed just enough, a slow, deliberate act that honored the meager nutrients feeding his lean frame. Water remained the constant, aching void. Morning dew, a fleeting gift from the Ash-canopy, was his only reliable source. The rest of the day, thirst was a persistent companion. At first, the deprivation clawed at his throat, a raw torment. With each passing day, Kaelen learned the brutal art of conservation. He hushed his own voice, stifling unnecessary words that might expel precious moisture. Even small movements of his torso were minimized. Walking across the shifting ash-plains, Kaelen moved with a studied economy, his stride a whisper. Soon, even his leg movements were pared down, each step an intentional glide. Seen from a distance, he seemed to drift. The very ash beneath his worn boots appeared to carry him, a silent, almost spectral transit across the vast, grey expanse. Rylos, his gruff companion, sometimes scoffed. “The mute moves like he’s floating. Some struggle and pant. He just *slides*.” Rylos had little understanding of the quiet power Kaelen drew from this cursed land. In the Ashwastes, Kaelen’s connection was absolute. His Cinderbinding, though still unfolding, promised a mastery that resonated with the very dust. Rylos, broad shoulders heaving, often grumbled about the world’s unfairness. Kaelen knew a deeper irony. Rylos saw a quiet oddity, not the profound kinship Kaelen felt with the desolate landscape. A silent breath escaped Kaelen’s lips, barely disturbing the fine ash that coated them. He lifted his gaze. A subtle shift occurred in the grey air, a tremor in the otherwise stagnant atmosphere. A wisp of humidity, almost imperceptible. In his previous life, before the Emberfall and his own awakening, such a nuance would have vanished unnoticed. Now, his senses, sharpened by the crucible of this world and Rylos’s relentless tutelage, caught the phantom moisture. His skin, accustomed to perpetual dryness, registered the ghost of dampness. Kaelen glanced at Rylos. The older man strode with his usual unhurried purpose, yet his direction had subtly veered. He moved towards the very point where Kaelen felt the moisture thicken. A bitter, faint smile touched Kaelen’s lips. This was no accident. Rylos, a force of nature carved from stone and fire, surely knew what Kaelen had sensed. Rylos was beyond mere human categorization, his power a crushing weight, his capabilities a constant, unnerving mystery. Kaelen often wondered how much Rylos held back, how many layers of raw power remained concealed beneath that gruff exterior. Soon, the horizon rippled, not with heat haze, but with a monumental upheaval of ash. A colossal ash-ridge, its peaks sculpted into shifting waves, loomed. This formation had not existed days ago. It was a new scar on the ancient face of the Ashwastes. The Ashwastes, despite their eternal grey, were never truly static. Beneath the seemingly uniform surface, currents of energy and vast, slow-moving shifts were constant. Kaelen, attuned to the land through his Cinderbinding, could read the subtle currents and tell a dune’s age, its recent journey. This one pulsed with nascent instability. Scrambling over the towering ash-ridge, fine grit burning in his eyes, Kaelen reached the crest. A breathtaking sight unfolded below. Not a mirage, but a vast, shimmering expanse of water. A true cinder-pool, reflecting the pale, dusty sky. Pure, unadulterated water. After endless days of measured sips, of parched agony, the sight shattered Kaelen’s discipline. He ran, a sudden, desperate sprint that stirred the ash around him in swirling clouds. All the conserved energy, all the hard-won control, evaporated in the face of such overwhelming plenty. Rylos merely clicked his tongue, a low, disapproving sound as Kaelen sprinted recklessly towards the water. Kaelen reached the cinder-pool’s edge, heedless of any danger. He plunged his head into the cool depths, drinking deep, gulping the water down in desperate, ragged draws. The taste was salvation, a joyous flood that washed away days of deprivation. Amidst the mindless, consuming relief, a soft luminescence caught Kaelen’s eye. Below the surface, a spherical light pulsed, a gentle, inviting glow from the depths. He paused, water streaming from his face, eyes fixated. The light shimmered, drawing closer, a hypnotic dance. His gaze unfocused, held captive. “Snap out of it, mute!” Rylos’s voice, sharp as fractured glass, sliced through Kaelen’s trance. A powerful hand clamped onto Kaelen’s back, yanking him backward with impossible force. Kaelen tumbled, spraying water, his dazed mind struggling to reconnect. Then, the cinder-pool erupted. A monstrous form burst from the water, a leviathan of muscle and plated hide. Its mouth, enormous, dominated its grotesque head, capable of swallowing an Ash-Strider whole. A single, barbed antenna crowned its forehead, ending in a round, fleshy bulb – the very light that had mesmerized Kaelen. “A Cindermaw,” Rylos stated, his voice devoid of surprise. “It lures fools with its light. Devours them whole.” Kaelen, gasping, watched the Cindermaw sink back into the disturbed water. Its raw power left him reeling. Had Rylos not intervened, he would have been a forgotten meal. Rylos drew his Shard-staff, the obsidian-like weapon glinting dully in the light. “Fools, once they adapt, forget their place. Understand, mute?” Rylos didn’t wait for an answer. He blurred forward, his form a dark streak across the water’s surface. The Shard-staff arced down. Water exploded upwards, a geyser of spray and foam, as if a concussive blast had ripped through the pool. The Cindermaw, startled, thrashed, attempting to flee deeper. Rylos permitted no escape. He plunged into the water, Shard-staff leading, a human torpedo of deadly intent. The Cindermaw, abandoning flight, twisted, its cavernous maw gaping, a final, desperate lunge. Too late. Rylos and his Shard-staff speared through the monster with terrifying speed. The colossal Cindermaw shuddered, its movements stilled. It floated, an enormous, lifeless hulk upon the water. Rylos grabbed its tail, a casual, powerful grip, and hauled the massive carcass from the cinder-pool. He tossed the Cindermaw’s body onto the ash at Kaelen’s feet. Kaelen flinched, stepping back instinctively. Even in death, the monster’s presence commanded a primal awe. That such a behemoth could exist hidden in a fleeting pool defied belief. Rylos inserted the Shard-staff into the Cindermaw’s flesh, his voice flat. “These are the guardians of such pools. They lure the unwary. So, you don’t plunge your head into any water you find. Understand, empty-headed fool?” Kaelen managed a weak nod, shame burning hotter than his recent thirst. “Are you deaf? I said, skin it. Its hide is soft and pliable. Perfect for a robe. Get to it, cut it up.” “A robe?” Kaelen asked, confused. “Do you… need a robe?” “Not for me, idiot! For you! Are your brains calcifying? Get to it!” Understanding finally dawned. Kaelen knelt, turning the Cindermaw over. Its back was a landscape of brownish, uneven protrusions, its belly a sleek, black surface. The hide was incredibly tough. His small blade scraped uselessly. He infused his cinder-mana into the dagger. A faint, internal warmth. With renewed force, the blade finally bit deep, tearing through the resistant skin. Sweat beaded on Kaelen’s brow, a rare occurrence in the parched air. His arms ached with the effort. Yet, the task was far from complete. He still needed to fashion the hide into a robe. No needle would pierce this, and no ordinary thread would hold it. After a moment of thought, Kaelen snapped a splinter of bone from the Cindermaw’s massive frame, sharpening it into a crude, potent needle. For thread, he meticulously pared thin, resilient strips from the creature’s tougher back plates. Kaelen’s hands, usually reserved for shaping ash, moved with an unexpected dexterity. It was his first attempt at crafting such an item. For half a day, he struggled, his fingers growing raw, his concentration absolute. By the time he finished, a rough, functional garment lay on the ash, resembling a robe. Meanwhile, Rylos, with effortless efficiency, carved into the Cindermaw’s carcass. Every part held value. Its flesh, surprisingly, had minimal toxins. A rich, earthy scent wafted from the cooked portions Rylos prepared. The most prized part, the palm-sized gallbladder, he held out to Kaelen. “Eat it.” “Raw?” Kaelen’s stomach churned at the thought. The organ pulsed faintly, still warm. “Yes! Best thing for weaklings. Every bit.” Rylos’s gaze brooked no argument. “Unless you want me to force it down.” “I’ll eat it. I will.” Kaelen knew Rylos’s threats were always promises. With a grimace, he bit into the Cindermaw’s gallbladder. The gelatinous mass dissolved, sliding down his throat. He swallowed, forcing it down with every ounce of willpower, desperate to show no hesitation. Kaelen had long exhausted any pride in Rylos’s presence. He felt no satiation, no immediate effect. “Nothing,” he murmured, perplexed. Then, a sudden, searing heat bloomed in his stomach. It intensified, a fiery core igniting within him. Unbearable agony ripped through Kaelen. He collapsed, writhing on the ash-covered ground, screaming, the raw pain tearing from his throat. Rylos ignored Kaelen’s suffering. He expertly sliced the Cindermaw’s meat. Flames erupted from his hands, cooking the flesh to a perfect crisp in moments. Chewing on a succulent piece of the meat, Rylos glanced at the cinder-pool, a faint melancholy in his eyes. “This, too, will vanish soon.” Oases, even these ash-fed cinder-pools, were fickle illusions. They appeared one day, an inviting shimmer, only to dissolve back into the Ashwastes, relocating through the strange currents of the land. Humans could never predict their shifts. Though this Cindermaw, the pool’s guardian, was dead, another would inevitably rise. Cindermaws always laid their eggs in the waters they inhabited. When a guardian died, new offspring were born, perpetuating the cycle. But to grow to such an immense size, a century, perhaps more, was required. Kaelen continued to scream, writhing, a pitiful spectacle against the vast, indifferent landscape. Rylos merely grunted, a sneer twisting his lips. --- Morning light, a pale wash across the Ashwastes, roused Kaelen. He blinked, pushing himself up. A jolt went through him. His entire body thrummed with a vitality he had never known. Every muscle felt taut, defined. He was not bulky, not swollen, but utterly transformed. His previously lean frame was now sculpted, a dense mesh of power beneath his skin. Each muscle, a wire-tight cord, spoke of coiled strength. Kaelen stared at his hands, at the newfound definition, speechless. Rylos sat nearby, calmly eating Cindermaw meat. “What happened to me?” Kaelen rasped, his voice rough. “Medicine took hold,” Rylos grunted, tearing a piece of meat with his teeth. “The… gallbladder? It was medicine?” “Rare and potent. Best thing for strengthening bone and sinew.” “Thank you,” Kaelen said, a raw note of gratitude in his voice. “For such a gift.” “Hmph. What choice did I have, dragging a weakling around? Eat. Then we move.” Rylos tossed a piece of cooked Cindermaw to Kaelen. Kaelen first reached for the robe he had crafted. He pulled it on. A chill, unexpected and refreshing, settled over him. The Cindermaw’s hide, perfectly insulated, radiated a strange, internal coolness that defied the scorching heat of the Ashwastes. Kaelen gasped, surprised by its efficacy. “We’ll stay here a while longer,” Rylos announced. “Finish the meat.” “All of it?” “Nutrient-dense meat like this is rare. Waste nothing.” Kaelen, still reeling from his transformation and the robe’s unique properties, found himself ready to believe anything Rylos commanded. They ate, day after day, until the massive Cindermaw was stripped to bone. Four days passed. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the cinder-pool vanished. It dissolved, leaving no trace, as if it had been a dream. Without a word, or a backward glance, Kaelen and Rylos turned their backs on the empty ash and continued their silent journey.

Ash-Spring and the Cindermaw's Coil