Chapter 62: The Path of Smoke
The river steamed for three days.
Mist clung to the valley, thick and heavy, rolling across the charred earth like the breath of some dying beast. The survivors moved through it cautiously, speaking little. Their eyes darted often to Le Wai, though few dared approach.
He sat apart at the water's edge, silent, his sword across his knees. The golden fissures in his skin had dimmed, but not vanished. In the mist, they glowed faintly, as if fire still dreamed beneath his flesh.
Ryn stayed closest. The boy fetched water, scavenged food, and sat beside him even when Le Wai said nothing. His presence was steady, stubborn, like a root breaking stone.
On the fourth morning, scouts returned.
"The river runs north," they reported. "Into the mountains. The corruption's weaker here, but stronger ahead. The land twists around it—as if the river carves a path not through stone, but through us."
Their words stirred unease. The survivors murmured, restless.
The captain frowned, gaze flicking to Le Wai. "If the corruption has a heart, it beats there. In the mountains."
Le Wai lifted his head at last, voice low but certain. "Then that's where we go."
---
The March North
They left the valley behind at dawn, the scorched river winding at their side like a scar. The land bore the wounds of shadow and flame—trees blackened to husks, earth cracked and smoking where fire had boiled the river dry.
At first, they marched in silence. But as the hours stretched, whispers rose among the soldiers.
"Did you see how he burned the water?"
"No man should hold that kind of fire."
"Without him we'd be dead. You want to walk away?"
Fear and faith clashed in every word. The line between the two was thin, fragile.
Le Wai heard it all. He kept walking.
Ryn bristled at the murmurs, fists clenched. But Le Wai laid a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head. "Let them speak. Fear is lighter carried aloud than buried inside."
The boy frowned, but obeyed.
By nightfall, the mountains loomed—jagged spires of black stone cutting the sky. Clouds coiled thick around their peaks, thunder muttering within. The river vanished into a gorge that split the mountains' base, its waters darkening once more.
"We'll camp here," the captain ordered. But his eyes lingered on the gorge as if it might swallow them whole.
---
Night Whispers
Sleep came fitful.
Le Wai lay awake, staring at the stars half-hidden by stormclouds. The ember stirred, restless.
You hesitate, it hissed. The river is not ended. The heart beats stronger in the dark ahead. Why linger?
"I know," he murmured aloud.
Then act. Strike. Burn.
Le Wai closed his eyes, feeling the ember's hunger coil like smoke in his chest. "Not yet. They are not ready."
The ember's laughter was scornful. They are ash already. Do not chain yourself to their weakness.
But as if in answer, soft footsteps approached. Ryn crouched beside him, offering a strip of dried meat.
"You didn't eat," the boy said simply.
Le Wai managed a faint smile. "Neither did you."
They shared the food in silence, the fire's glow flickering over their faces. The ember hissed in disapproval, but Le Wai ignored it.
When Ryn finally slept, curled against his side, Le Wai looked again to the mountains. Shadows shifted in the gorge, shapes that were not stone. And beneath the thunder, faintly, came voices—low, patient, waiting.
---
The Gorge
At dawn they descended.
The gorge swallowed them whole, its cliffs sheer, its depths filled with the river's hiss. Black moss clung to the walls, pulsing faintly like veins. The air grew colder, wetter, heavy with the stench of rot.
Soldiers tightened their grips on spears. The captain barked orders, but even his voice quavered in the gloom.
Le Wai walked at the front, every step guided by the ember's heat. The cracks on his skin glowed faintly, lighting the way. Shadows recoiled from him, yet they did not vanish. They watched, patient, flowing alongside the current.
Hours passed. The gorge twisted deeper. The whispers grew louder.
Wai… Wai…
They came from the water, from the walls, from the very air. The voices of the dead, endless, echoing.
"You cannot save them all," they moaned. "Every step forward, more will fall. Every flame you kindle leaves only ash."
Ryn flinched, pressing close. "Don't listen," he muttered.
Le Wai nodded, though his jaw tightened.
But not all ignored the whispers. One soldier cried out, clutching his head. "They're here! The ones we lost! My brother—he's calling me!"
Before anyone could stop him, he stumbled toward the river.
Le Wai's hand shot out, seizing his arm. The soldier writhed, screaming. Shapes rose from the water—arms, faces—reaching for him.
"Let me go! He needs me!"
Le Wai's fire flared, searing the shadows back. The soldier collapsed, sobbing, his skin blistered where Le Wai's grip had burned.
The captain barked, "Stay close! Break ranks again and you'll be left behind!"
But fear spread like smoke. The whispers did not stop.
---
The Cavern of Roots
By evening, the gorge widened into a vast cavern. The river poured into it like a wound, vanishing beneath twisted roots that coiled from the ceiling like veins. The walls pulsed faintly, alive, black ichor seeping into the water.
The air stank of rot and blood.
Ryn gagged, covering his nose. "What is this place?"
Le Wai's gaze hardened. "The source."
The ember shivered in delight. Yes. The heart of corruption. The root beneath the river. Strike now, and burn it to cinders.
The soldiers fanned out, torches casting long, trembling shadows. Some fell to their knees, retching. Others gripped weapons with white knuckles, eyes wide.
The captain turned to Le Wai, face pale. "What now?"
Le Wai stared at the roots, their veins pulsing thicker with every beat. The ember growled, hungry. His sword burned faintly at his side.
"We end it," he said.
But the river stirred, and the cavern shook. Shadows poured from the water in torrents, writhing into forms—monstrous shapes with too many limbs, too many mouths. The roots throbbed, vomiting black ichor into the tide.
The soldiers recoiled.
"Stand!" the captain roared.
Ryn clutched Le Wai's arm. "We can do this. Together."
Le Wai raised his sword. His body glowed once more, golden cracks blazing against the dark. The ember howled, eager.
He stepped forward.
The cavern roared back.
---
To Burn or Break
The first wave struck like a storm. Shadows lashed from every side, claws rending, jaws snapping. The soldiers fought, but their weapons passed through more smoke than flesh. Every strike cut air, while the shadows reformed again and again.
Le Wai carved a path of fire, his sword blazing arcs that turned monsters to cinders. But for every one destroyed, more spilled from the river.
The ember thundered. Too many! Only fire absolute can scour them! Give yourself, all of you, and let the cavern burn!
Le Wai gritted his teeth, refusing the surge. Not yet. Not until he chose.
"Hold the line!" he shouted to the soldiers. "Keep them from the boy!"
Ryn stood behind him, eyes wide, clutching a fallen spear. His lips moved in silent words—prayers, perhaps, or promises.
The cavern trembled harder. Roots split open, pouring ichor into the tide. From their heart, something vast stirred—a shape not yet formed, but coming.
Le Wai's fire flared, his body blazing brighter than ever. He felt the ember straining, eager to devour, to end everything in flame.
But his voice cut through the roar, steady, defiant:
"I am not kindling. I am fire. And fire chooses where it burns."
With a cry, he plunged deeper into the cavern's heart—toward the roots, the ichor, the rising shadow within.
And behind him, for the first time, the survivors followed not in fear, but in faith.