Chapter 57: The River's Shadow
Dawn broke red across the horizon.
Not the gentle blush of morning, but a burning scar that stained the sky.
Le Wai stood at the ridge, cloak tattered, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade. Below, the valley stretched wide—forests blackened by fire, rivers glinting faintly like veins of glass. The land bore the scars of war, just as he did.
Behind him, the camp stirred. Soldiers rose with stiff limbs, their voices hushed, their faces shadowed by grief. Some still carried wounds that would never heal. Yet they rose, because to remain still was to surrender.
Ryn approached, his boots crunching softly on the ash. He carried two bowls of thin broth, steam curling upward. He offered one to Le Wai.
"You haven't eaten," the boy said.
Le Wai accepted it, though he only stared at the liquid. His hunger had withered since the battle; the ember inside him sustained him in ways food could not. Yet he forced himself to sip, if only to keep appearances.
Ryn watched him carefully. "They're afraid of you."
The words were blunt, without malice. Le Wai let them settle. "I know."
"They should be grateful."
"They are," Le Wai said quietly. "Gratitude and fear often walk together."
The boy tilted his head, as though trying to unravel the weight in those words.
---
By midday, scouts returned. Their armor bore fresh scratches, their faces pale. Seris met them first, and when she looked toward Le Wai, her expression was grim.
"They're gathering," she said, unrolling a dirt-stained scroll. A crude sketch marked the enemy's position. "Across the river. Hundreds, maybe more. Not just remnants. Something organized."
Le Wai's jaw tightened. "Kael's allies."
"Or something worse." Seris's voice lowered. "The scouts saw banners they didn't recognize. Symbols carved in black iron. And the shadows—they moved differently. As if… called."
The ember within Le Wai stirred, a faint pulse in his chest. A whisper, indistinct, but hungry. He clenched his fists to silence it.
"Then we cross before they're ready," one soldier urged. "Strike first."
"No," Seris said sharply. "We're broken. Half the men can't even lift a blade. To push now would be suicide."
The tent fell into heavy silence. All eyes turned, inevitably, to Le Wai.
He hated it—that expectation, that unspoken demand. He was not their king. Yet when he opened his mouth, his voice carried the weight of command nonetheless.
"We hold," he said. "We let the wounded mend, the dead rest. If they come, we stand. But we do not break ourselves chasing ghosts."
Murmurs rippled, reluctant but resigned. The meeting dissolved, soldiers drifting away.
Only Seris remained, studying him. "They'll listen to you," she said finally. "Even if they don't like it. Even if I don't."
Le Wai met her gaze. "And you? Do you fear me too?"
Her lips thinned. "I fear what you carry. But I fear what would happen without you more."
---
That night, the ember's dream returned.
He stood once more in the sea of golden fire, waves crashing without end. But this time, the horizon was not empty. Shapes gathered in the distance—dark, jagged forms rising like towers. The fire recoiled from them, yet could not consume them.
And the voice spoke again.
The river carries them. The shadow beyond has no master. No hunger but its own. Even I cannot claim it.
Le Wai's breath caught. "Then what am I to them?"
The flames surged, faces flickering in the blaze. A torch. Or tinder. The choice is yours.
The ground split beneath him, fire roaring upward. For a heartbeat, he felt himself falling—not into flame, but into a void deeper than shadow. A place where even the ember's light did not reach.
And there, he saw eyes. Thousands. Watching. Waiting.
He woke gasping, his skin slick with sweat, the faint golden glow pulsing beneath his veins. Outside, the campfires burned low, soldiers murmuring in restless sleep.
But beyond them, across the valley, he thought he saw something—faint shapes moving at the river's edge, shadows coiling unnaturally.
---
The following day, Seris brought him grim news.
"Three men vanished on night watch. No signs of struggle. No blood. Just… gone."
Le Wai's hand tightened on his blade. The ember stirred, eager, as though it already knew the answer.
"They're not waiting," he murmured. "They're already here."
---
At dusk, a cry shattered the camp.
Le Wai was the first to rise, sword in hand. Soldiers stumbled awake, torches flaring. From the treeline came screams—short, cut off, swallowed by something vast.
Shapes emerged from the dark. They were not men. They were not Kael's spawn. Their bodies rippled like ink, limbs stretching and twisting, eyes burning with void.
Fear broke the camp before steel ever clashed.
"Shadows!" someone shouted.
Le Wai moved without thought. His sword burned gold as the ember surged, fire crackling across the blade. He cut through the first creature, flame searing shadow, the air itself screaming as the thing dissolved.
The ember roared within him, triumphant. Yes. Burn them. Feed.
Another came. Then another. Dozens, flowing like a tide.
The soldiers faltered, their weapons passing through the creatures as though striking smoke. Only Le Wai's flame held them back.
Ryn stumbled beside him, eyes wide. "They don't die!"
"They burn," Le Wai growled, swinging again, his veins alight with fire. Shadows shrieked as the golden blaze tore them apart.
But with every strike, he felt it—his body weakening, the ember strengthening. The line between them thinning.
And as the night raged on, one truth became clear: this was no mere remnant. This was something else. Something older. Something hungrier.
The river's shadow had come.
And it would not stop until everything burned.