Four Years Ago part II
Ash still kissed the early morning air, a grey shroud draping the Sinks in quiet decay.
But beneath the familiar scent of soot and simmering neglect, a fresh, damp earthiness crept in, carried on a subtle shift in the wind. Hatim felt it first—a prickle on his skin that spoke of open spaces and wild things, a stark contrast to the stale, recycled air of the warrens.
Inside Granny Maldri's small dwelling, final preparations unfolded in hushed efficiency.
The hearth, usually a beacon of warmth, was banked low, its blue flames barely licking the blackened pot. Lyra, her braid pulled tight and neat, checked her satchel one last time—empty vials, small digging tools, and a worn leather-bound guide of star charts and herb lore inherited from Granny. Hatim's heart drummed nervously against his ribs as he strapped the familiar, rough-hewn cleaver to his back, its edge dull but ready in the low light.
"Your breath is loud, boy," Granny Maldri rasped, not unkindly, as she extinguished the lamp, plunging the room into near darkness. She strapped a sturdy lamp, fueled by rendered Glimmer-Fish oil, to her wrist. Its faint glow cast long, dancing shadows, pushing back the encroaching gloom from the cracks in the walls.
They stepped out—not into the bustling heart of the Sinks, but into a maze of narrow, seldom-used passages clinging to the district's edge. The path quickly deteriorated from packed earth to crumbling rock, then a treacherous, upward-sloping trail of raw, unworked stone. This was the city's back door to its grim underbelly—a forgotten artery leading straight to the forest.
Hatim's eyes caught crude, faded markings on the rock walls—glyphs left by desperate souls who dared venture out for sustenance. Hunters from the Sinks occasionally risked these fringes, seeking Ash-Antelope or the tough Firecap Fungi sprouting on volcanic vents.
A gamble for food. Necessary for many. Dangerous, but relatively untouched by the deeper corruption.
Granny Maldri, with her rare knowledge of Akar, rarely trusted the well-trodden, 'safe' paths. Her precious Gloom-Lichen grew only where the forest was ancient, where raw currents of Akar pulsed unpredictably.
The air shifted dramatically. The faint metallic tang of the city gave way to the cloying scent of damp earth, decaying leaves, and something else—a faint electric chill prickling the back of Hatim's throat. This was Embermark's true edge, where the sprawling metropolis ended and primordial darkness began. The air tasted of moss and secrets; the oppressive silence pressed like a heavy blanket.
The entrance was no gate, no grand archway, but a gaping maw in the rockface, shrouded by weeping vines and choked with mud and forgotten waste. The Sinks' garbage chute, emptying into a realm few dared tread.
Granny Maldri led, lamp held high, her small frame unburdened by the encroaching gloom. Lyra followed, fluid and silent, her leather satchel bumping softly against her hip. Hatim brought up the rear, grip tight on his cleaver, its edge gleaming dully in the lamp's faint glow. His heartbeat drummed a frantic rhythm against the overwhelming silence of the forest.
Inside, the forest swallowed the meager light whole.
The canopy overhead was a dense, unbroken ceiling of gnarled branches, choked with thick phosphorescent moss. It pulsed with a weak, sickly green light that absorbed rather than reflected, leaving the ground in perpetual twilight. Trees were hulking, twisted titans, bark rough as ancient stone, draped in curtains of Spider-Silk Weep—sticky, nearly invisible strands vibrating at the slightest movement, alerting unseen predators.
The ground was treacherous—a carpet of exposed roots, slick black mud, and hidden sinkholes. Hatim stumbled, catching himself before falling.
"Careful," Lyra whispered, voice hushed as if the forest itself listened. "The roots aren't always what they seem."
Granny Maldri stopped, holding her lamp close to a patch of iridescent fungi glowing faintly on a decaying log.
"That's Glow-Spore Fungi," she murmured. "Harmless to touch, but its spores can cause hallucinations. Makes the unwary see things that aren't there. Or perhaps, things that are." She shot Hatim a knowing glance.
They moved deeper; the air grew colder, denser.
Hatim scanned the shadows, recalling Maldri's warnings about Ash-Crawlers—multi-eyed insectoids camouflaged by solidified ash, scuttling beneath deadfall. He kept footfalls light, breath shallow, listening for faint scratching signaling their presence. He could almost feel their cold, venomous breath on his skin.
Suddenly, Lyra froze.
"Granny," she whispered.
Ahead, at the base of a titanic moss-covered tree, a cluster of plants hummed with ethereal light. Sunstone Moss—leaves vibrant gold, almost painfully bright, known for accelerating healing and drawing impurities.
Their Akar pulse, Hatim knew, was usually strong and steady—like a healthy heart.
Granny Maldri knelt, lamp casting long, dancing shadows. "Go on, Hatim. Lyra. Feel it. What does it tell you?"
Hatim reached out, fingers hovering above the luminous leaves. He closed his eyes, pushing away chill and distant whispers. He focused on the energy within. A vibrant, warm thrum.
"Strong," he confirmed, opening his eyes.
"Pure," Lyra added softly, a smile touching her lips.
"Good," Maldri said, pride quiet but clear. "This is Akar-born life. It builds. It strengthens. It follows True Akar's will."
They began collecting moss carefully, hands moving with practiced ease.
Deeper into the gloom, the metallic tang returned—stronger, almost bitter. Hatim's unease grew. He scanned the trees.
A high-pitched, almost human shriek echoed through the oppressive silence—closer now.
Memory-Screechers.
Bat-like creatures with distorted, human-like faces, hunting by sound. Their shrieks tore at suppressed thoughts. The sound pulled at Hatim's mind—a fleeting image of a younger self, alone and helpless in the dark, before he forced it away.
Lyra stumbled, clutching her head, face pale.
Granny Maldri touched a warding symbol carved into her staff's hilt. The sound dissipated around her.
"Close your minds," she whispered. "Or they'll feast on your worries. They feed on dissonance."
They found another patch of luminous plants—tall, slender stalks with soft blue glowing leaves.
Soul-Soothers.
Rare herbs used to calm frayed nerves and restore clarity.
Lyra gasped softly. "Soul-Soothers! I didn't think they grew this deep."
Maldri held up a hand. "Look closer, child. Feel it."
Hatim approached cautiously, brow furrowed. He extended his hand, seeking the Akar pulse.
The light was beautiful, inviting.
But beneath, he felt… nothing.
Or worse—a cold, empty vacuum.
Not dull. Absent.
A void.
"It's dead," Lyra whispered, eyes wide.
"No… empty," she corrected. "A hungry void."
Maldri nodded, face grim.
"This is Ghost-Glow, a mimic.
Born of the Unbinding's touch.
It appears as life but feeds on Akar.
Draws you in with promise, leaves you hollow.
Its glow feels cold because it is cold.
Chaos disguised as order.
The forest is full of such deceptions."
Dread pricked Hatim's spine.
The danger wasn't just lurking creatures, but the very ground, the very air.
The Unbinding was a silent, insidious poison.
Silence pressed heavier, closing in from all sides.
Hatim felt the air shift—not just cold, but thin.
Reality stretched taut, about to tear.
Glow-Lichen pulsed erratically, flickering sickly purple.
A low, discordant hum resonated—not in his ears, but inside his chest.
A vibration fundamentally wrong.
Maldri's grip tightened on her staff.
Her eyes—usually warm—were wide with ancient, primal fear.
"It's near," she whispered.
"The Unbinding. It has found us."
A deeper shadow detached from the ancient tree trunk.
Blacker than the surrounding gloom.
Not flesh or bone.
A shifting, wavering form.
Limbs bending at impossible angles.
Movement defying natural sway.
Flowing rather than walking.
Its surface rippled, blurring and sharpening like a bad reflection.
A mockery of solid existence.
This was a direct manifestation.
A chilling whisper of the Unbinding Akar.
A fragment of the Whispered Void.
Pure discord.
Its presence unraveling the forest's harmony.