Chapter 11 — Ash and Silence
His mind was in turmoil, pondering his act. He didn't have much time to dwelve deeper in the thought as his eyes snapped open, the corner of his vision shimmered once more. That familiar soft-blue prompt scrawled across his mind like the brush of wind over frost:
"To those who walk the path of stillness, remember this—lay the dead to rest, and you may find the silence echoes back in gratitude."
He frowned, sitting up slowly from his cot, the bones in his back protesting as the cold crept deeper into his joints. It didn't make much sense—none of the hints ever did at first—but this one lingered in his thoughts more than usual.
The eastern ruins still waited, but the weight of this day's kill haunted him more than the meat in his sack. That thing, half-rotten and frozen to its marrow, had once been human. He hadn't seen malice in its eyes, only hunger—a primal need, twisted by the cold into something unrecognizable. His spear had ended that instinct, but it hadn't been easy.
Now, the body lay curled like a broken question on the snowbank near the treeline.
Caleb stood in silence over the corpse for several minutes. The system had offered no reward, no loot, no drop—not even a token. Just a lifeless shell with frostbitten skin and hollow eyes.
Maybe the hint meant this. Maybe the world was giving him a chance to offer dignity in a place devoid of it.
With a grunt, he began to dig.
The ground fought him every step of the way. His axe, dulled by the fight and hard use, chipped ice and dirt in uneven strokes. The topsoil had long since frozen solid, more like stone than earth. He carved a rough circle, chipping it bit by bit. Each strike echoed in his ears like the toll of a bell. After an hour, his hands were raw. After two, blood seeped into his gloves from torn skin.
Still, he dug.
The hole was shallow—barely fifty centimeters—but it would have to do. He didn't have the strength to go deeper. When he was finished, he placed the corpse inside with care, laying it curled on its side like someone sleeping in the snow. No words were spoken. There was nothing to say.
The dirt went back in cold clumps, and when the final handful dropped, Caleb stood over the grave, breathing heavily, sweat freezing on his brow.
No glow. No reward. Nothing.
Only the soft whisper of wind and the quiet, grateful silence.
As the shadows lengthened, he turned toward home. The ruins would have to wait another day.
On his way back, he passed the tree where he had killed the second boar. To his surprise, the corpse was untouched. Not even scavengers had come. Perhaps the cold had masked its scent, or perhaps the forest simply wasn't interested in dead meat anymore.
He set down his spear and began the messy work. The gutting was cleaner this time, faster—practice made perfect. He cut away the organs he didn't need, keeping the heart and liver, just like before. Then, with a heavy grunt, he began dragging the remains back to his hut.
The stars were out by the time he returned.
And somewhere, deep beneath the snow and earth, something ancient stirred in silence.
End of 11th chapter.