The valley breathed again. Sulfur had given way to the crisp bite of frost, the sky bruised purple where dawn clawed through the Devourer's lingering haze. Alex stumbled behind the priestess, his boots crunching over glassy black soil. The temple's shadow no longer loomed—its spires, though cracked, stood defiant, their stone veined with gold like scars healing.
"Where now?" Alex asked, his voice ragged. His body felt hollow, as if the act of tearing out the scar had left more than flesh behind.
The priestess didn't slow. She moved like a blade drawn too many times—still sharp, but notched. "The wards are dormant," she said. "They need reigniting. That requires fire."
"Fire?"
"The kind that isn't here." She gestured to the horizon, where jagged peaks bit into the sky. "The Order's oldest forge lies beyond the Spine. If it still stands, its flames could rekindle the wards."
Alex squinted. The mountains looked days away, and the land between was a wasteland of fissures and skeletal trees. "You're sure?"
Her laugh was a dry rasp. "Nothing's sure. But it's the only path that doesn't end with the Devourer picking its teeth with our bones."
They walked in silence. By midday, the frost thawed, revealing patches of sickly grass. The priestess paused to pry a thorned root from the soil, biting into it with grimaced disgust. "Eat," she said, tossing one to Alex. It oozed milky sap.
"What is it?"
"Better than starving."
He choked it down. The sap burned like liquor, settling hot in his gut. "You never told me your name."
She glanced at him, her eyes narrowing. "Names are dangerous."
"So is trust."
For a moment, he thought she'd ignore him. Then she sighed. "Lira."
"Lira." He tested the sound. It fit her—short, sharp, unyielding. "Why help me? Back in the temple, you could've left me to the scar."
She wiped her dagger on her thigh, its edge dulled from battle. "The Devourer marked you. That made you a key. Now you're… something else. A spark. And sparks can start fires."
Before he could press, she stiffened. Her dagger flicked up, pointing to a ridge ahead. "Movement."
Alex followed her gaze. Figures crouched among the rocks—humanoid, but distorted, their limbs too long, fingers hooked like talons. Refugees? Survivors?
"Scavengers," Lira muttered. "The Devourer's rot twists more than stone."
One stood, its spine curling into a hunched arch. Milky eyes fixed on them. A guttural cry tore from its throat, and the pack surged forward.
Alex reached for a weapon he didn't have. Lira stepped in front of him, dagger raised. "Stay back. Their claws are venomous."
The first scavenger lunged. Lira pivoted, her blade slicing its throat. Black blood sprayed, sizzling where it struck the ground. Two more swarmed her, but she moved like smoke—elusive, lethal. Alex grabbed a rock, smashing it into a scavenger's skull as it leapt at him. The creature crumpled, twitching.
A claw raked his arm. Fire seared through muscle. He staggered, vision blurring, as Lira's dagger buried itself in the attacker's eye. She yanked it free, kicking the body aside.
"Poison," she said , inspecting his wound. The skin was already necrotic, veins blackening. "Brace."
She slashed her palm and pressed it to the injury. Her blood steamed, golden light flaring beneath her skin. Alex screamed as the poison burned away, replaced by a cold, clean pain. When she pulled back, the wound was pink and raw, but no longer lethal.
"What are you?" he gasped.
"Alive." She tore a strip from her cloak, binding his arm. "For now."
The remaining scavengers had fled. Lira retrieved her dagger, staring at the bodies. "They were human once. The Devourer's touch warps everything it doesn't devour."
Alex flexed his hand, the ghost of the scar's corruption still itching in his bones. "Will that happen to me?"
She didn't answer.
They found shelter at dusk—a half-collapsed farmhouse, its roof open to the stars. Lira lit a fire with debris, its smoke bitter. Alex watched her rummage through her pack, producing a vial of murky liquid. She drank deeply, shuddering.
"What is that?"
"Distilled starlight. Or poison. Depends on the day." She offered it.
He sipped. It tasted like lightning, jolting his senses. "Why the forge?"
Lira poked the fire. "The Order's wards were forged in celestial flame—a piece of the sun's heart, bound by their covenant. When the Devourer's rot seeped in, the flames dimmed. Reignite them, and the wards could hold for another age."
"And if we can't?"
"Then we die. Or worse." She tossed a branch into the flames. "The forge is guarded. The Order's last sentinels. Or their ghosts."
Alex hesitated. "What happened to them? The Order, I mean."
Lira's face hardened. "They forgot. Forgot that light casts shadows. The Devourer crept through theirs." She lay back, arm over her eyes. "Sleep. Tomorrow's longer."
He dreamed of the void.
Not the Devourer's domain, but a deeper blackness—a place even it feared. Shapes moved there, formless and immense. One turned, and Alex felt its gaze, a gravity that threatened to unravel him.
Child of embers, it whispered. You have opened a door.
He woke to frost on his lips and Lira's hand clamped over his mouth. "Quiet," she breathed.
Outside, the night rippled. The air itself seemed to warp, as if an invisible blade sliced through reality. A low hum vibrated in Alex's teeth.
"Rift-walkers," Lira whispered. "The Devourer's hunters. They've caught our scent."
Peering through a crack in the wall, Alex saw them—three figures clad in shifting armor, their faces obscured by helmets shaped like screaming mouths. Each carried a jagged blade etched with violet runes. One knelt, touching the ground where Alex's blood had fallen hours prior.
"They track by resonance," Lira said. "Your scars may be gone, but the Devourer doesn't forget."
"How do we fight them?"
"We don't." She shouldered her pack. "Run."
They slipped out the back as the rift-walkers breached the front. Lira led him into a ravine, its walls slick with ice. The hunters' hum deepened, closing in.
Alex's breath clouded the air. His legs screamed, still weak from the sanctum's ordeal. Behind them, metal screeched—a blade gouging stone.
Lira skidded to a halt. The ravine dead-ended at a cliff, a hundred-foot drop into darkness. "Well," she said drily. "Plan B."
The rift-walkers appeared, their armor shimmering like oil on water. Lira raised her dagger, but Alex stepped forward.
"Wait."
The void's whisper lingered in his mind. Child of embers.
He focused on the memory of the anchor's explosion—the fusion of gold and violet, the Devourer's rage. His hollow chest ached, but beneath the ache, something stirred. Not the scar, but…
Embers endure.
He slammed his palm into the cliffside.
A shockwave of light erupted—not gold, not violet, but pure white. The ravine trembled, stones cascading as the cliff face split, revealing a hidden path veined with glowing quartz.
Lira stared at him. "How did you—?"
"No idea," Alex panted. "Go!"
They plunged into the passage as the rift-walkers' blades carved the air behind them. The quartz cast eerie shadows, the walls humming with old magic. Lira's dagger glowed brighter as they descended, reacting to the resonance.
"This isn't a natural tunnel," she said. "It's a remnant. The Order's work."
The path spiraled downward, opening into a cavern. Alex's breath caught.
A city lay buried.
Crumbling towers, their architecture alien and elegant, stretched into the dark. Bridges of crystal arched over frozen rivers, and statues of robed figures gazed sightlessly upward. At the city's heart stood a monolith, its surface etched with the same concentric circles as the temple's plinth.
Lira approached, her voice reverent. "The First Sanctum. The Order's original seat. I thought it myth."
Alex touched the monolith. Energy buzzed beneath his fingertips, faint but persistent. "Can it help us?"
Before she could answer, the rift-walkers' hum reverberated through the cavern. They emerged from the tunnel, blades raised.
Lira bared her teeth. "Time to see what those embers can do."
Alex faced the hunters, his palms tingling. The void's whisper curled through him.
Burn.