A guttural snarl ripped through the dust-choked air. Silas jolted awake. His shelter, a crude hollow hewn from the compacted ash, vibrated with approaching menace. Red eyes pierced the perpetual twilight. Scores of them, shimmering like embers. Cinder Hounds. They moved in a low, terrifying wave. Their bodies, gaunt and powerful, were covered in coarse, ash-gray fur. Serrated teeth gleamed as they closed in. A collective hunger emanated from the pack. He pushed himself up. Exhaustion clung to his limbs, a leaden weight. This was Kaelen’s lesson, stark and brutal. Survival. Alone. The first hound lunged. Silas reacted by instinct. A low tremor pulsed through his hand. He slammed his palm into the ash. The ground buckled, a sudden, sharp ridge of stone erupting. It caught the hound mid-leap. It yelped, tumbling back into its brethren. Momentum carried the pack forward. They didn’t halt. They didn’t waver. Numbers were their strength. Fear was alien to them. Silas had to adapt. Crushing one wasn't enough. He needed more. Mana, raw and vital, surged within his 'Veins'. He sought precision. He needed to make each ounce count. A deep hum resonated beneath his feet. He focused. The ground rippled, not with a blunt impact, but with intent. Five sharp, needle-thin shards of solidified ash ripped from the earth. They flew with surprising velocity. Each shard found a mark. Five Cinder Hounds screamed. They crumpled, coin-sized holes punched clean through their skulls. Their bodies thudded into the ash. The others ignored their fallen. They simply surged over them. Their hunger was absolute. Silas repeated the technique. He felt the drain. The power flowed from his very core. He divided his focus. One powerful manipulation became five smaller, deadlier strikes. It was taxing. He could feel the fine tremor in his control. Another volley of Crust-Shards flew. Again, five beasts fell. His movements grew fluid. The initial difficulty faded. Practice was harsh, immediate, and utterly unforgiving. Just as his reserves threatened to bottom out, a blur of motion appeared. A figure, immense and dark, descended into the fray. Kaelen. He moved like a force of nature. His weapon, Gravemaw, a greatsword of jagged, dark stone, arced through the air. It hummed with contained violence. Kaelen didn’t employ subtlety. He didn't seek precision. He simply struck. Bone-shattering impacts echoed across the Flats. Each swing sent bodies flying, rent limb from limb. The ground churned with blood and ash. Silas watched, stunned. Kaelen’s movements were primal. He reveled in the carnage. A low chuckle rumbled from his chest, audible even over the hounds’ snarls. “More! More!” Around Kaelen, a circle of gore rapidly expanded. More than a hundred Cinder Hounds lay broken. Yet he seemed untouched. One hound latched onto his arm, teeth scraping his hardened skin. It was like biting granite. Its teeth shattered. Kaelen merely grinned. He twisted, grabbing the hound's head. A sickening crunch followed. He crushed its skull with a casual flex of his hand. He hurled the mangled carcass into a cluster of approaching hounds. Bones cracked. Bellies split. Entrails spilled onto the ash. Silas had never witnessed such raw, unadulterated power. Kaelen fought without strain. He didn't rely on the 'Veins' for outward expressions of strength. He *was* strength. Then, a larger shadow emerged. The alpha. It towered over the other hounds. A jagged crest of hardened ash ran down its spine, culminating in twin, obsidian spikes above its head. A faint, crackling aura of dust-lightning enveloped its form. It was a creature of true power. Its eyes, colder and more calculating, fixed on Kaelen. Sparks erupted from its obsidian spikes. A bolt of condensed ash-lightning shot forth. It tore through the air, spitting death. Kaelen didn’t flinch. He simply raised a hand. The bolt, potent enough to carve stone, vanished into his open palm. It dissipated without a trace. No impact. No resistance. Just… gone. The alpha halted. Its predatory confidence fractured. A low growl rumbled in its throat. It turned, letting out a sharp, commanding bark. The remaining pack members hesitated, then began to draw back. They scattered. They had learned. Kaelen wouldn’t allow it. “Oh no, not yet.” He flung Gravemaw. The massive stone blade spun, a devastating vortex of sharp edges. It scythed through the retreating hounds. Dismal cries pierced the gloom. Bodies erupted into sprays of gore and dust. The pack fled, but Kaelen pursued with ruthless efficiency. Gravemaw returned to his hand. He launched himself into the air. He soared, propelled by a violent surge in the ground beneath him. He descended like a plummeting meteor. The impact was deafening. Ash billowed outwards. The ground shuddered. When the dust settled, the alpha lay broken. Its body was a mangled ruin. Only one of its obsidian spikes remained intact, jutting from the pulverised head. Kaelen stood over the corpse. He seemed invigorated. A satisfied smirk stretched across his face. He had fought a battle of utter annihilation, yet showed no fatigue. Silas struggled to breathe. He was overwhelmed. Kaelen hadn’t used his 'Vein' manipulation in the way Silas understood it. He was a category unto himself. Kaelen turned. “You lived, boy.” Silas could only nod, his throat dry. Kaelen knelt, pulling the intact obsidian spike from the alpha's skull. He held it up, inspecting its jagged surface. “Useful. Potent with reactive dust-lightning. Good for carving tools.” A small, almost imperceptible tremor ran through the ground at Kaelen’s feet. The air around his hand distorted, a brief, silent gulp of empty space. The obsidian spike vanished. Silas’s eyes widened. Not a Vein manipulation, not in the way he knew. It was something else. A manipulation of space itself, hidden within the earth's currents. A profound mystery. Kaelen pulled a crude stone dagger from his belt. He tossed it to Silas. It landed with a dull clink in the ash. “Time to eat. Most of a Cinder Hound is venomous. Only the flank meat is safe. Dry it well.” He knelt beside a fallen hound. With practiced efficiency, he carved a small portion from its side. Barely a palm-sized piece. Silas watched, memorizing the cut. He understood. Kaelen’s endless jerky supply. He hunted these monsters. This was the source. Silas picked up the dagger. He moved to a different carcass. The blade was rough, but sharp enough. He mimicked Kaelen’s cuts, carefully avoiding the green-black muscle. He had grown up in the Deep Cracks, hunger a constant companion. Edibility trumped revulsion. He wouldn’t be as wasteful as Kaelen. He couldn’t afford to be. He carved more. A bundle of twenty strips of meat, wrapped in his torn outerwear. It was heavy. It was sustenance. “Resourceful,” Kaelen grunted. He sheathed Gravemaw. “Let’s move. Before the scent draws more of the Wastes’ scavengers.” Silas nodded, gathering his meager pack. The rising sun, a bruised orange in the perpetual twilight, cast long, grotesque shadows over the battlefield. Soaring overhead, dust-ravens already circled, their squawks like tearing cloth. This was the law of the Fractured Wastes. The strong consumed the weak. The dead fed all. There was no escape. Silas followed Kaelen, pushing past the pain. He started a low Sand Stride, a rapid, low-friction glide over the ash. He expected to struggle. He had taxed his mana to its limits. Yet, his mana flowed with surprising ease. His control felt sharper, more innate. The fine tremor in his control had lessened. The life-or-death struggle had honed him. He had grown stronger. The path to power was brutal. He would endure. He would follow. He fixed his gaze on Kaelen’s retreating back. Whatever the cost, the strength he needed lay there.

Ashfall Hunt