Chapter 60: Ashes That Whisper
The dawn bled slowly across the horizon, but its warmth never reached the valley. The sky was pale, brittle, like old parchment stretched thin, and beneath it the survivors moved like ghosts—silent, exhausted, broken.
They had seen victory, but it was a hollow thing. The shadows had retreated, yes, but the river still pulsed with darkness, sluggish and thick, waiting. Watching.
Le Wai stood apart from them, staring into the water. His reflection was fractured, golden fissures running through his face, his chest, his hands. The fire within him had not quieted; it breathed with him now, every heartbeat echoing with a hum of embers.
Ryn crept closer. "You're glowing again."
Le Wai forced a smirk, though his throat was dry. "Am I? Maybe I swallowed a lantern in my sleep."
The boy didn't laugh. He reached out, small fingers brushing one of the faint golden cracks on Le Wai's wrist. It was warm—too warm, like skin pressed against a forge.
"Does it hurt?" Ryn asked.
Le Wai hesitated. Then he shook his head. "Not yet."
But the truth coiled bitter in his chest. It didn't hurt—but it hungered.
---
The Council of the Broken
By midday, those who remained gathered in what had once been the command tent. The canvas was torn, the ground blackened, but still they formed a circle.
There were fewer than fifty of them now. Faces gaunt, eyes hollow. Too many had been lost in the night.
A grizzled captain spoke first, his voice harsh. "We can't stay here. Every night they come stronger. Every day we bury more. If we don't leave—"
"Leave and go where?" another spat. "You saw the river! It runs black now. The land's poisoned. You think the shadows won't follow?"
A murmur rippled through the group—fear, anger, despair.
Le Wai stood silent, listening. They looked to him again and again, but he gave no answers. He had none to give.
Until at last Ryn stepped forward, voice trembling but firm. "We can't run forever. Wai… he held them back. He made them retreat. If he can fight them, maybe we can too."
All eyes turned to Le Wai.
The captain's glare was sharp. "You think we should throw ourselves behind a boy with cursed fire in his veins? How long until he burns us as well?"
Le Wai met his gaze evenly. "If you think me a danger, then leave. But know this: running will not save you. The shadows do not stop. They do not tire. They do not forgive. If you wish to live, then fight. And if you cannot fight—" His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. "—then at least stand."
The silence that followed was heavy. But no one left.
---
Whispers Beneath the Flame
That night, Le Wai could not sleep. The fire hummed louder in the dark, a constant murmur beneath his skin.
He stepped away from the camp, down to the river's edge. The black water moved sluggishly, whispering against the rocks.
And then—voices. Not the ember's, not the soldiers'. Something else.
Wai…
He froze. The voice was soft, familiar. Seris.
He turned, but no one was there. Only the water.
You left me, it whispered again, rippling with faint shapes—faces, hands, eyes. The dead, reaching from beneath the surface. You burned, and we burned with you.
Le Wai's chest clenched. His knuckles whitened on his sword. "No… you were taken. I couldn't—"
Couldn't? Or wouldn't?
The ember stirred within him, growling like a beast. Do not listen. The dead are ashes. They cannot bind you unless you let them.
But the water rose, shapes forming—Seris's face, eyes hollow, mouth twisted. You are no savior, Wai. You are kindling.
Le Wai staggered back. His fire flared, gold against the dark, and the vision shattered into ripples.
But the words lingered, curling like smoke in his mind.
---
The Choice of Fire
When dawn came, scouts returned with grim news. The river stretched farther than maps had ever shown, twisting through valleys and mountains alike. Worse—everywhere it flowed, shadows gathered.
"It's spreading," one whispered. "The corruption's moving with the water."
Le Wai's jaw tightened. If that were true, then the river was not just a battlefield—it was the heart.
He stood before the camp, voice steady. "Then we strike at the source."
Murmurs erupted. Fear. Doubt.
The captain barked, "Madness. You'd have us march into the river itself? We'd drown before we touched them!"
Le Wai's eyes burned gold. "Not drown. Burn."
The soldiers fell silent.
The ember stirred, its voice hot in his skull. Yes. At last you see. The fire is not for defense—it is for devouring. Let us consume the river, and all it carries.
Le Wai's hands trembled. Could he? Could he wield enough fire to burn a river black as night? And if he tried, what would remain of him after?
Ryn stepped forward, voice small but fierce. "If Wai says it can be done… then I believe him."
The boy's faith was a blade sharper than any steel. Le Wai felt its weight—and its cost.
He looked to the river, endless, hungry. He thought of Seris, of the dead, of the faces in the water. Of the ember whispering always within him.
And for the first time, he spoke not to it, but with it.
"We burn the river," he said. "Together."
The ember laughed, and this time it sounded like thunder.
---
To Be Fire
Preparations began at once. Torches, oil, weapons—pitiful things against the tide, yet they gave the survivors purpose.
But Le Wai knew the truth. The fire would not come from them. It would come from him.
As the sun set, he stood at the river's edge once more. The water writhed black beneath him, shapes stirring, waiting.
The soldiers gathered behind, silent. Ryn at the front, eyes wide but unflinching.
Le Wai raised his sword. The ember surged, fire roaring through his veins until his body glowed like molten stone. Golden cracks split wider, burning, bleeding light.
The river hissed. Shadows rose, shrieking.
Le Wai's voice rang out, clear, defiant. "I am no kindling. I am flame. And flame does not kneel!"
With a roar, he plunged into the river.
The world became fire.