The morning came heavy with silence.
Not the peaceful kind. Not the stillness of early dawn. This silence was thick and wrong—like a held
breath that refused to end. The trees didn't whisper. The wind didn't stir. Even the ground beneath
Torian's boots felt heavier, as if the earth itself wanted them to turn back.
But they didn't.
They kept moving east.
Skarn walked ahead, his massive frame weaving effortlessly between twisted trunks and boulders,
wings folding and unfolding with subtle tension. His paws made no sound, but his muscles were
tight. Every few paces, he stopped to sniff the air or glance sharply to the ridgelines above. He
knew something was coming. He just didn't know when.
Torian followed, sword sheathed across his back, eyes scanning the narrowing trail. The events of
the city still gnawed at him—the burnt banners, the spiral-etched corpses, the crater. He'd tried to
forget the screaming ember-bearer exploding in his vision, but it clung to him like soot in his lungs.
He hadn't spoken much since they left.
There wasn't much to say.
"Skarn," he called softly, just to break the silence. "Anything?"
The beast didn't answer with sound. Instead, he stopped, lowered his head to the ground, and let
out a low, sustained growl.
Torian froze.
There.
A shimmer—barely more than a flicker—moved across the path ahead, like light bent the wrong way.
Then it vanished.
Torian reached for his sword. "I saw that."Skarn moved, slow and deliberate, placing himself between Torian and the trail ahead. His wings
arched out, forming a protective wall of muscle and hide.
They waited.
Then it struck.
A blur of dark armor burst from the tree line, silent and fast, a flash of curved steel aimed directly at
Skarn's exposed flank. The weapon—some kind of hooked spear—glowed faintly at the edge, its tip
blackened like cooled ember.
Skarn spun, too fast to track.
Claws met steel.
The force of impact sent the attacker skidding sideways across the stones. Dust exploded in a cloud
as the armored figure rolled and righted itself in one motion. It stood tall—human-shaped, but taller
than most men, encased in dark plates etched with spiral markings like scars. Its helmet had no
eyes. Only a vertical slit pulsing faintly with red light.
Torian stepped back, blade drawn.
Skarn snarled.
The figure didn't speak.
It lunged.
Skarn met it mid-charge.
The collision cracked the air like a thunderclap. Skarn rammed his full weight into the attacker,
sending both crashing into a boulder that split in half under the force. The armored figure twisted,
landed on its feet, and jabbed the hooked spear toward Skarn's throat.
Blood sprayed.
Torian shouted.Skarn roared in pain but didn't fall. He lashed out with one massive paw, catching the attacker
square in the chest and hurling them twenty feet through a tree. Bark exploded. The trunk cracked
in two.
But Skarn was bleeding.
Torian ran to his side, checking the wound. The spear had pierced the shoulder—not deep, but deep
enough to bleed. The edge shimmered with emberlight… no, not ember—something opposite. Cold.
Reversing. It repelled heat.
The enemy was already back on its feet.
Torian stepped forward. "Hey!"
The attacker turned toward him.
Torian charged.
It was foolish. He knew that. But he had to buy Skarn time. The enemy raised the spear, ready to cut
him in half.
Torian threw himself low, sliding under the arc of the swing. He jabbed upward with his sword,
catching the attacker across the side of the leg. The blade scraped metal but found a gap—sparks
flew.
The figure staggered, slightly off-balance.
Then turned to finish him.
Before it could strike, Skarn slammed into it from behind like a freight train.
The enemy was sent tumbling down the slope, crashing through stones and trees, its weapon
spinning from its hand and skidding across the dirt.
Torian gasped, chest heaving.
Skarn limped toward him, blood running from the shoulder wound, but still strong—still terrifying.The enemy rose again.
No exhaustion. No hesitation.
It raised a hand—and its weapon flew back to it.
Some kind of magnetic pull. Arcane or mechanical, Torian couldn't tell.
Then the enemy did something strange.
It paused.
Looked at Torian—not like a predator sizing up prey, but like a collector seeing a valuable artifact.
And Torian felt it.
Heat surged in his chest.
Not fire.
Warning.
The ember flared—his skin warmed, breath quickened, heart hammered.
He staggered.
The enemy stepped forward.
Torian raised his sword—and the flame inside him snapped.
Just once.
A burst of heat exploded outward in a ring. No fire, no blaze. Just a wave of pressure and warmth
that cracked the stones beneath him and sent the attacker stumbling back.
Skarn moved like lightning, closing the gap in a blur. His jaws clamped around the enemy's arm and
crushed.Metal gave way with a screech.
The enemy let out a sound—no words, just a hiss like steam escaping steel—and vanished in a
shimmer of light.
Gone.
Only the broken trees and scorched ground remained.
Torian dropped to his knees.
Skarn collapsed beside him, panting.
He looked at his hands.
They glowed faintly. Emberlight traced his veins, fading quickly.
"I didn't do that," he whispered. "Not on purpose."
Skarn let out a tired grunt and lay his head on Torian's lap.
Torian looked at the blood still dripping from Skarn's shoulder.
"You saved me."
He reached into his satchel, pulled out what bandages he had, and pressed them against the
wound. Skarn flinched but didn't resist.
"I wasn't strong enough," Torian said. "Not yet."
He stared at the horizon.
The world felt different now.
Someone had sent that thing.
Someone who knew what the ember was.And they were hunting.
⸻
They made camp beneath a ridge that night, hiding beneath the jut of stone.
Skarn slept lightly, one eye always open. His breathing was shallow but steady.
Torian sat near the fire, cradling the broken spearhead he'd taken from the battle. It pulsed faintly,
like it had once held flame… or resisted it.
He stared into the fire.
"What do you want from me?" he asked the ember. "Why me?"
No words came.
But his mind drifted.
A vision:
A mountain of black stone.
Chains wrapped in flame.
A tower split by lightning.
And at the summit, a shadow of himself—eyes ablaze, fire leaking from his fingertips.
He blinked.
Gone.
Just the fire.
And Skarn, breathing slow and deep.
Torian exhaled."We're not ready," he whispered. "But we're still here."
He closed his eyes.
The ember pulsed.
Not with approval.
Not with anger.
But with awareness.
It was listening.