The forest thinned by degrees, each tree stretching farther from its neighbor until the canopy no longer pressed down like a ceiling of green. Ahayue noticed it first—the air was different here, sharper, as though it had been scraped across stone edges before filling his lungs. The ground sloped downward, and before long, he and Alusya stood at the lip of a vast hollowed valley.
It was unlike anything Alusya had seen. Her wide eyes reflected the expanse of gray stone pillars jutting from the earth like broken teeth. Some stood straight, weathered but unyielding, while others leaned drunkenly or had shattered into heaps. Their surfaces were etched with lines that might have once been carvings—now eroded into meaningless grooves that the wind caressed with a low moan.
Ahayue set down the pack of dried meat he carried and crouched, studying the place with the wary patience of a hunter. His instincts tightened his chest. This place is not dead. It's waiting.
Alusya stepped closer to the edge, her ragged cloak fluttering in the valley breeze. "It looks like a… graveyard of giants," she whispered, awestruck.
Her words rang uncomfortably true. Each monolith was taller than ten men, wide enough for a group to encircle with arms outstretched. Some bore deep cracks, as if struck by lightning again and again. And scattered among them were remnants of old stone altars—flat slabs, some toppled, others blackened as though by ancient fire.
The valley floor was a mixture of ash-gray soil and pale, stubborn grasses that swayed without sound. What struck Ahayue most was the silence. Not a bird called, not a beast stirred. Even the wind hushed itself when it passed between the stones, whispering instead of howling.
"Stay close," Ahayue muttered. He did not take his eyes off the valley.
Alusya's gaze darted to him, sensing his unease. She wanted to ask what he felt, but her throat closed. She had learned by now that Ahayue often sensed danger long before she did, and when his voice dropped into that steady, grounded tone, she obeyed without argument.
They descended slowly, feet crunching against gravel and dry roots. Each step seemed to echo longer than it should, the sound bouncing strangely between the pillars. By the time they reached the valley floor, Alusya clung unconsciously to Ahayue's side, her small fingers gripping the edge of his sleeve.
"Why is it so empty?" she asked.
"Not empty," Ahayue said, glancing at the nearest stone. The surface shimmered faintly when the light struck at the right angle, almost like wetness, though the stone was dry. "It feels… watched."
The girl shivered and pressed closer.
The First Whispers
They walked among the pillars, weaving a path as the sun tilted westward. The stones stretched farther than they had guessed from above, like a labyrinth sprawled across the valley floor. Occasionally, Alusya reached out to touch one, only to snatch her hand back, muttering that it was "too cold" or "too loud."
"Loud?" Ahayue frowned.
She shook her head quickly. "Not in the ears. In here." She pressed a small fist against her temple.
He studied her, then glanced at the pillars again. A faint unease crept along his spine. He had heard Andalusia warn of places scarred by old gods, where stone remembered prayers long after voices were gone. A god's hunger doesn't die, she had said. It only starves.
Alusya fell quiet after that, but her eyes darted constantly, lips parting as though she listened to someone just beyond Ahayue's hearing. Once, she even tilted her head as though a name had been called.
"Alusya," Ahayue said firmly. She startled, blinking up at him.
"You were drifting."
"I… thought I heard…" She stopped herself, cheeks paling. She bit her lip and walked faster to keep up.
Ahayue narrowed his gaze, scanning the pillars. For the first time, he felt something tug at the edges of his own awareness. A faint susurrus—too low to be words, too persistent to be imagination. Like breath against the back of his neck.
He clenched his jaw and kept moving. Whatever this place was, it would not swallow them easily.
Camp at the Broken Shrine
As night neared, the valley grew colder than the forest had ever been. The stone drank heat and exhaled chill, wrapping their breaths in mist. They found the remains of a broken shrine: a flat slab raised upon three supports, half-collapsed but still sheltered by leaning pillars. Ash blackened the surface as though offerings had been burned here once, long ago.
"We'll rest here," Ahayue decided. He gathered dry grasses from between the stones, careful not to wander too far, while Alusya unpacked their bundle of meat. When he struck flint against steel, sparks jumped eagerly, as though the shrine still remembered fire. Soon, a small flame danced between them, its glow pushing back the dark.
They ate in silence, both unsettled. Beyond the firelight, the monoliths loomed, their shadows stretching like arms. The air seemed full of listening.
Alusya huddled close to the flames. "Do you think… people used to live here?"
"People always gather near gods," Ahayue said, voice low.
"Then where are they now?"
He looked into the dark, remembering Andalusia's cracked voice when she once spoke of the fall of gods. When prayers stop, when offerings rot, when temples are left to the wind… gods wither. Some die. Some cling. The most desperate whisper until someone answers.
He did not speak the thought aloud. Instead, he placed another stick on the fire and said, "Sleep. We'll move at dawn."
Alusya nodded, though her eyes lingered on the pillars as she curled beneath her cloak.
Dreams of Ash and Chains
Ahayue tried to stay awake, but exhaustion pulled him under quickly. His dreams began with silence, then sound—distant, hollow, like drums beating underwater. He stood upon black sand stretching to a horizon of smoke.
At the center rose a throne of cracked obsidian, massive enough to dwarf mountains. Upon it slumped a figure of shadow, its head bowed, arms bound in chains that gleamed with faint silver light. The chains stretched outward, vanishing into the horizon, tethering the figure to something unseen.
Though its face was a void, Ahayue felt it look at him. The sensation rooted him where he stood. His curse burned faintly along his veins, responding as though in recognition.
A whisper filled the air, layered and broken:
—child of scars… you carry… a piece of me…
Ahayue staggered. His breath caught. "Who are you?"
The voice did not answer directly. Instead, visions crashed into him—flashes of temples burning, priests weeping, idols smashed beneath hammers. A thousand voices crying once in worship, then fading, thinning, silencing.
Forgotten… abandoned… yet not gone.
The shadow-figure lifted its head. Though chained, its presence loomed vast.
Your body remembers pain. I remember silence. We are alike.
Ahayue's chest clenched. "No." His own voice sounded small. "I'm not like you."
The whisper laughed—soft, sorrowful, hungry.
Meanwhile, Alusya dreamed differently. She stood in a meadow bathed in soft light, surrounded by flowers her tribe never grew. The voice came gentle to her, almost kind.
Little one, lost and cast aside. I see you.
Her throat tightened. No one had said such words since her brother.
You do not belong to them, but you belong to me. Stay near. I will not forsake you.
Tears slid down her dream-self's cheeks. "Who… are you?"
The flowers withered, petals scattering like ash. The voice darkened, but its tone remained soothing:
The one they abandoned. The one they forgot. Yet I remember you. That is enough.
Both woke before dawn, breathless. The fire had died, leaving only embers. Ahayue's fists were clenched, his palms damp with sweat. Alusya sat upright, hugging her knees, eyes wide and wet.
They looked at each other across the ashes of the fire. Neither spoke of what they had seen, yet both knew.
And somewhere in the stones around them, a whisper lingered—too faint to catch, too close to ignore.
The first gray light of dawn crawled into the valley, but it did little to warm the air. Mist clung stubbornly between the pillars, curling around their bases like pale serpents. Ahayue stirred the embers of their fire back into life, feeding it scraps of dried grass until flames licked upward again.
Alusya sat opposite him, silent and pale. Her eyes were rimmed red, as though she hadn't slept at all. When she caught him looking, she quickly turned away, pretending to busy herself with their pack.
Ahayue said nothing, though unease pressed against his ribs. The curse along his veins still burned faintly, echoing the dream he would rather forget.
When they broke their fast with dried meat, Alusya suddenly blurted, "It wasn't just a dream."
Ahayue's hand froze midway to his mouth.
Her eyes flicked up, defiant though wet. "I heard a voice. It knew me."
He set the meat aside, watching her carefully. "What did it say?"
"That I don't belong," she whispered, hugging her knees. "That it remembers me, even if no one else does."
Her words cut through him sharper than any blade. For a heartbeat, Ahayue saw her not as the girl who clung to his sleeve or hid behind him in danger, but as a child exiled, stripped of family and tribe. In that hollow, any voice that offered comfort would feel like salvation.
He reached across the fire and gripped her shoulder gently. "Alusya. That voice isn't a friend. It's something that wants from you."
Her lips trembled. "Maybe it just wants to be remembered. What's so wrong with that?"
Ahayue's grip tightened, though his voice remained calm. "Because when a god is forgotten, it doesn't return whole. It returns hungry."
Alusya turned away, blinking fast, hiding the tears that threatened. He wanted to say more, but Andalusia's voice echoed in his memory: Do not feed hunger with denial—it only makes it sharper. So he released her, rose, and began packing their things.
The sooner they left the valley, the better.
The Stone Choir
As they wound their way deeper between the pillars, the whispers grew stronger. At first it was like a current in the air, too faint to grasp. Then words began to emerge, fractured and stuttering as though pulled from many tongues at once.
—stay—
—listen—
—remember me—
Ahayue gritted his teeth, forcing his focus on the path. He would not give it the satisfaction of response.
But Alusya faltered, head tilting, lips parting slightly. Her small hand brushed one of the pillars as they passed, and her eyes glazed for a heartbeat, as if she were listening to a lullaby only she could hear.
"Alusya."
She blinked, startled, and withdrew her hand. "I… it sounded like my brother."
Ahayue shook his head. "It's not him."
Tears pricked her eyes, but she said nothing more.
They pressed on. The sun finally broke the horizon, shafts of light spilling into the valley. Instead of dispelling the strangeness, it sharpened it—every crack in the pillars glowed faintly, like scars illuminated. Birds should have returned with dawn, but none came. Even insects seemed absent. The only life was the stubborn grass beneath their boots and the two intruders daring to walk this graveyard.
The Whisper's Temptation
By midday, their water skins ran low. The only trickle of water they found pooled in a hollow near the base of a leaning pillar. It was clear, cold, and inviting.
But as Ahayue crouched to scoop it, the surface rippled with no wind. A voice slid into his ears, different from before—closer, intimate.
—thirst is nothing—
—I can give more—
—strength—freedom—release from chains like mine—
His throat constricted. For a breath, he felt the weight of his cursed body again—the scars, the weakness, the years of mockery. A temptation surged to dip his hand fully into the pool, to accept whatever "strength" was offered.
Then Andalusia's memory struck like a lash: Power that asks for belief is never given freely. It is taken, drop by drop, until you are hollow.
Ahayue withdrew his hand sharply, spilling water onto the stones. He filled the skin cautiously without touching the pool again.
When he turned, Alusya was watching him with wide, questioning eyes. She had not heard the same whisper. Relief mixed with guilt in his chest. Better she didn't.
They drank in silence, but unease sat thick between them.
Tokens of the Forgotten
That afternoon, they stumbled upon the first undeniable sign of human presence. At the base of a monolith, someone had left a small offering: a clay bowl filled with dried herbs, its rim marked with ochre handprints. Beside it lay a necklace strung from bone and feather.
The sight sent a chill through both of them.
"Someone was here," Alusya murmured, crouching to peer at the bowl. She reached out instinctively, but Ahayue caught her wrist before her fingers touched the offering.
"Don't," he warned.
Her eyes flicked to his, confused. "It's just herbs."
"It's faith."
She drew back, unsettled.
They moved on, but more signs followed. A cracked idol half-buried in the soil. A pile of stones stacked in careful symmetry. A strip of cloth tied around a pillar's base, faded but deliberate.
Ahayue's jaw tightened. "This god isn't as forgotten as it wants us to believe."
"Then there's still a tribe," Alusya whispered.
He glanced toward the horizon where faint smoke smudged the sky. Not from their fire—this was larger, thicker. A village, perhaps. Or raiders.
His pulse quickened. If the tribe still worshiped here, they might not welcome strangers. Worse, they might see outsiders as vessels to feed their faltering god.
The dream stretched on like a river of smoke, winding deeper into landscapes that belonged neither to memory nor imagination. Ahayue's breath caught as the jungle faded away, leaving him suspended on a plain of ash-grey sand that crumbled to dust underfoot. Overhead, no stars hung in the sky—only a ceiling of endless shadow, a vast dome of silence broken by one trembling heartbeat: his own.
He glanced behind. Alusya was gone. Even her voice, the faint tether he had clung to in the last fragment of the vision, had dissolved like vapor. Alone now, he turned forward. A figure stood upon a mound of broken stones: cloaked, faceless, yet exuding a pressure that bent the dream-world toward it like a whirlpool.
The whisper came again—not through ears, but directly into the marrow of his bones.
"Do you understand yet, child of the curse?"
Ahayue tried to speak, but the dream thickened around his throat, choking words to silence. His fists clenched; the memory of Andalusia's lessons steadied him. He forced his breath through his chest, shaping sound.
"Who are you?"
The faceless figure tilted its head. Its outline flickered, not solid, as though wind could scatter it into ash.
"Once, I had many names. The tribes called me Keeper, Warden, Shadow-Father. In the mountains, they raised altars of bone and fire in my honor. But men are fickle. They turn their prayers to those who promise easier light, kinder answers. I was… forgotten."
The last word fell heavy. Forgotten. It thudded in Ahayue's ribs like a hammer. He remembered Andalusia once murmuring that gods did not die as mortals did. They starved. They dwindled. And those who dwindled enough—fell.
He licked his lips, dry even in dream. "Why me? Why come to me?"
The faceless god spread its arms. The air trembled, and for a heartbeat, Ahayue glimpsed something monstrous beneath the cloak: a body of shattered stone, ribcage hollowed by time, hands like claws with missing fingers. A broken divinity.
"Because you hear. You carry a curse that tears the veil thin. You bleed on both sides: the waking world and the forgotten places. Others cannot perceive me anymore. They no longer dream of me. But you… you walk in shadows, as I do. You are a door."
A shiver cut through Ahayue. A door. Was that what Andalusia had hinted at, when she said his curse could be either doom or bridge? He steadied himself. "If you're a god, then why whisper? Why not show yourself fully?"
The figure's cloak rippled. "Belief is power. Without it, I am scattered, held together by memory alone. To speak with you, I must cling to the edges of your dreaming. I cannot step wholly into your world. Not yet."
"Not yet?" Ahayue echoed.
The god leaned closer, and though it had no face, he felt its hollow gaze burn into him. "If you will carry me. If you will bear fragments of my essence, I may rise again. Through you, I may be remembered. Worshiped. Whole."
The word worshiped landed like a stone in Ahayue's gut. His instinct screamed danger. He remembered Andalusia's cautions: not all powers that whisper are allies. Some wear kindness as bait.
His voice trembled, but he forced honesty into it. "And if I refuse?"
The silence stretched. Then came a rumble, like distant stone splitting under weight. "Then you will still be hunted. The curse you carry already marks you for death. I offer survival. Without me, you and your fragile companion will be devoured. Already the warriors of flame draw near. Already the beasts taste your scent in the wind. You are too small alone."
Ahayue flinched at the mention of Alusya—his only companion now. Did this forgotten god see into the waking world? Or was it bluffing? He clenched his jaw, remembering her pale, shivering body leaning on him, trusting him without hesitation. He would not let her be caught between his curse and another's hunger.
But the god pressed harder, its voice both velvet and blade.
"Do not mistake me, boy. I do not beg. I endure. Whether you heed me or not, the time comes when you will break, and in that breaking, you will call upon me. It is the nature of your path. Even now, you feel it—the threads of fate tightening around your throat. You are not free. You never were."
Ahayue staggered, clutching his chest. He could feel it. The curse writhed inside him, that serpent of blood and shadow, coiled tight as though answering the god's words. His skin crawled with heat, and visions burst: Andalusia's death, the warriors' fire, Alusya's scream in the jaws of beasts. All failures. All endings.
"No," he rasped, shaking his head violently. "I won't—"
The ground cracked open beneath him. The mound of stones crumbled, and from the fissures rose skeletal hands, grasping, reaching. The forgotten god raised one clawed arm, and the hands surged toward Ahayue like waves of ash.
"Kneel, vessel. Bear me, and your enemies will drown in shadow. Refuse… and you will join the forgotten."
Ahayue's knees buckled. He fell to one side, rolling as the skeletal tide surged. His mind screamed to wake, to claw free, but the dream locked him fast. He remembered Andalusia's voice: When shadows tempt, anchor yourself in what is real. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to remember Alusya's laughter when she burned the stew, the warmth of the cave-fire, the feeling of the hunt. Small things. Human things. He clung to them like lifelines.
The tide slowed. The skeletal hands faltered, crumbling back to dust. The forgotten god hissed, a sound like storms retreating.
"You resist. Good. Resistance tempers. But remember, boy… even steel bends in the forge. When the world bears down, you will call. And when you do—I will answer."
The figure dissolved into ash. The dream broke.
Ahayue woke with a cry, jerking upright. Sweat drenched his body, his breath ragged. The cave walls swam into focus, pale with dawnlight. Beside him, Alusya stirred, half-buried in furs, her small face crumpling with worry.
"You were talking in your sleep," she whispered. "Like someone was in the cave with us."
Ahayue pressed his hand to his chest, still trembling. His curse pulsed faintly, like a smoldering coal. He forced a smile he did not feel. "It was only a dream."
But in his heart, he knew the truth. The forgotten god was real. And it was waiting.
The First Clash
The mist clung to them like damp cloth as Ahayue and Alusya slipped deeper into the trees. Every step crunched faintly against damp earth and brittle roots. Ahayue forced himself to move slowly, carefully, ears straining for the faintest sound. Alusya clung close behind, her hand lightly gripping the back of his tunic, too afraid to let the fog swallow her alone.
Then it came again—crack. A snapped branch, closer this time. He spun, spear angled low, eyes darting into the haze. For a heartbeat there was nothing but drifting grey. Then a shadow coalesced—broad, human-shaped, moving with deliberate slowness.
Ahayue's heart clenched. Warrior.
Another shadow emerged to the left. Then another.
They were surrounded.
Alusya's breath caught in her throat. She pressed against his back, trembling. "Ahayue…" she whispered.
He shifted his stance, whispering back, "Stay behind me."
The first figure stepped into view. The mist parted just enough to reveal painted skin, black and red across his face, a jagged bone blade in hand. His eyes were cold and merciless—the eyes of a hunter. Behind him, more figures closed in, their silhouettes multiplying in the haze. Five at least. Perhaps more.
So the whispers were true. The warriors had found them.
"Witch-spawn," the first one hissed. His voice carried through the mist like a blade cutting cloth. "The boy who shelters with curses. And now… another stray." His gaze flicked to Alusya with disdain.
Alusya stiffened, her nails digging into Ahayue's tunic.
Ahayue gritted his teeth. "We do not want to fight."
The warrior barked a laugh, harsh and mocking. "Then you should not have lived." He raised his bone blade high. "Kill the witch's brood. Leave the girl for the fire."
They surged forward.
Ahayue shoved Alusya aside and lunged, spear thrust snapping through the mist. The tip caught the lead warrior in the shoulder, spinning him with a snarl of pain. The others roared and closed in, weapons flashing.
The clash was sudden, brutal, desperate.
Ahayue ducked under a swinging club and drove his spear into a second man's thigh. The warrior bellowed and stumbled, but another lashed at Ahayue's back. He twisted, barely deflecting with the shaft of his spear. The impact rattled his arms to the bone.
Behind him, Alusya scrambled for rocks, hurling one with desperate strength. It struck a warrior in the face, drawing a curse.
But there were too many.
Ahayue's chest burned—not just from effort, but from the curse stirring, pulsing with heat and hunger. His vision blurred for a heartbeat as the whispers slipped back into his mind:
"Call me. Call me, and their blood will scatter like ash."
He clenched his teeth, refusing. No. Not yet. He would not bend so easily.
Another blade slashed across his arm, shallow but stinging. He cried out, staggered, nearly dropping his spear. A warrior raised his axe for the killing blow—
—and the forest itself seemed to shudder.
From the mist beyond, a low, guttural growl rolled like thunder. The warriors froze, eyes darting. The sound came again, closer, heavier. Not human. Not natural.
Ahayue's stomach dropped. Not only warriors hunted here.
The mist split as a massive shape charged forth—a beast, fur bristling, eyes glowing faint gold. Its jaws snapped with bone-crushing force as it barreled into the nearest warrior, hurling him aside like a rag doll. The man screamed as teeth tore into his shoulder.
Chaos erupted. Warriors shouted, stumbling back. Some turned their weapons on the beast. Others faltered, uncertain.
Ahayue seized the moment, grabbing Alusya's wrist. "Run!"
She hesitated, wide-eyed at the monster, but he yanked her into motion. They plunged deeper into the mist as screams and snarls clashed behind them—steel against fang, human against beast.
But even as he ran, Ahayue knew this was no coincidence.
The whispers had promised beasts. And now, the promise was kept.
Blood in the Fog
The forest was a blur of mist and shadow as Ahayue dragged Alusya through the undergrowth. Branches clawed at their arms and faces, the earth slick with dew and ash. Behind them rose the sounds of slaughter—shrieks of men, the guttural bellows of the beast, the sickening crack of bone.
But the sounds were not fading. They were following.
Ahayue glanced back just in time to see one of the warriors hurled into the air, crashing through a tree with a sickening thud. His body landed limp, half-swallowed by the fog. The beast barreled after another, its glowing eyes cutting through the mist like lanterns. The surviving warriors scattered, desperate, some rushing blindly in the same direction Ahayue fled.
Alusya gasped, stumbling as she tried to keep up. "It's coming this way!"
"I know!" Ahayue hissed, pulling her harder. His lungs burned. His cursed chest throbbed like a drumbeat, each pulse in time with the beast's roars.
The ground trembled behind them. A warrior's scream cut short, drowned by the wet crunch of jaws. Then silence—before another roar ripped through the trees.
They burst into a small clearing. For a heartbeat, Ahayue thought they had escaped into safety. Then a shadow crashed through the undergrowth opposite them—a warrior, face bloodied, eyes wild with terror. He raised his blade at Ahayue, no longer a hunter but a cornered animal.
"You brought this!" the man spat, voice cracking. "You carry the witch's curse—your stink draws the beast!"
His blade flashed downward. Ahayue barely deflected, the strike glancing off his spear shaft. The shock jarred his arms. Alusya screamed, darting back as the warrior lunged again.
Before Ahayue could counter, the beast exploded into the clearing. Its massive body slammed into the warrior, snapping his bones with sickening ease. Blood sprayed across the moss. The beast's glowing eyes locked immediately onto Ahayue and Alusya.
Its jaws dripped red. Its breath came in steaming gusts.
Alusya clutched Ahayue's arm, trembling violently. "Ahayue…"
He shoved her behind him, spear raised though his hands shook. He knew his weapon was nothing against that monster. His curse pulsed hotter, clawing at his ribs, urging him to yield, to open himself, to call.
And the whispers returned, clear, thunderous, undeniable:
"This is the test. Offer yourself, and the beast will kneel."
Ahayue grit his teeth, fighting the voice. He could not. He would not. To call upon the god's strength was to invite a chain around his soul. Andalusia's warnings, etched in his memory, roared against the temptation.
The beast crouched, muscles bunching. It would leap in an instant.
Ahayue thrust his spear forward and roared—not words, but defiance, a sound that carried his fury at gods, curses, and fate itself.
The beast lunged.
Its weight crashed like thunder into the ground. Ahayue twisted at the last heartbeat, spearpoint scraping along its flank. The shaft snapped like brittle wood under the monster's force. He was hurled back, ribs screaming as he slammed into the earth.
"Ahayue!" Alusya shrieked, rushing toward him.
The beast turned on her.
Time slowed. He saw her small figure framed by mist and blood, the beast's jaws opening wide, her face frozen in terror. His body screamed, his curse burned, his heart fractured.
And in that frozen heartbeat, the whisper became not temptation, but command:
"Choose."
The battle was chaos incarnate. Tribal warriors, faces smeared with ash and blood, roared their fury while the beast howled, its massive claws shredding soil and bone alike. The air stank of iron and smoke, the forest itself groaning under the violence unleashed.
Ahayue pressed Alusya behind a split boulder, her tiny fingers clinging to his wrist so tightly they trembled. Her breath came in frightened little hiccups, but she didn't cry. She knew—instinctively—that sound meant death in such a moment.
"Stay low," Ahayue whispered, though his own voice was shredded with tension. His gaze swept the battlefield. Warriors lunged at the beast, spears cracking like brittle twigs against its hide. Some were crushed beneath its weight, others torn apart by its teeth. The monster's scream rattled Ahayue's chest like a war drum.
And then—
The whisper came.
"Child of scars… Do you wish to see them fall? Do you wish to protect the girl? My hand is here. Take it."
The Forgotten God's voice licked along the edges of his skull, sweet and venomous all at once. For a moment, the sounds of battle dulled, replaced by the heavy hum of that voice in his veins.
Ahayue gritted his teeth. He had heard the whispers before—in restless dreams, in the silence between heartbeats. But here, now, in the middle of this nightmare—it was louder. Hungrier.
"With a breath, I could make your enemies ash. With a word, I could still the beast's heart. All I ask is a door left open, a wound that never heals. My strength, for your chains. My name, for your soul."
He pressed his palm against the earth, feeling the tremor of the beast's steps drawing closer. A spear clattered nearby, snapped in half by the beast's paw. One warrior's scream was cut short in a wet, final choke.
Ahayue's hand twitched. The temptation was unbearable. To end this, to shield Alusya, to carve out one desperate victory—it was there, offered on a silver blade.
Alusya tugged at his sleeve. Her eyes, wide as moons, were wet but steady.
"Ahayue," she whispered. "Don't leave me."
Something in him snapped. He realized then—the God's offer wasn't strength, not really. It was a leash. He would protect her only to lose himself, and what good would that be?
Still, his heart howled at the thought of doing nothing.
He closed his eyes for a heartbeat, forcing breath into his lungs. When they opened again, he made his choice.
"No," he muttered to the shadow voice, low and sharp. "I will not be your vessel."
But if not that path, then what?
Ahayue's gaze darted back to the battle. The beast's hide was thick—too thick for spears. But its eyes… no armor guarded them. He recalled his hunting lessons, long buried beneath blood and exile. The eyes were always the way.
He shifted Alusya further into the stone's embrace. "Stay here. No matter what happens, stay hidden."
"But—"
"No, little one." His voice cracked with urgency. "Trust me."
He seized a fallen spear, its shaft cracked but its tip still sharp. His muscles screamed with exhaustion, his scarred body aching from days of fleeing. But his grip held.
And as the beast turned, trampling another warrior into silence, Ahayue darted forward.
The whispers shrieked in his skull now, furious and pleading at once:
"You will die without me! You will fail her! Take me, take me, TAKE ME!"
But Ahayue ignored it, sprinting toward the monster's flank. Mud splashed under his feet, blood slicked his boots, and the stench of entrails clung to his tongue. He lunged upward, jamming the broken spear toward the beast's face.
The weapon struck true—jagged wood slicing into the creature's left eye.
The beast roared, rearing back, its fury shaking the canopy. Warriors shouted, seizing the moment to swarm again.
Ahayue clung desperately, his body whipped by the beast's thrashing. His ears rang with both its scream and the Forgotten God's hollow laugh.
"So stubborn… so fragile. But every wound you earn brings you closer to me. When the last of your strength is gone, you will crawl to me yourself."
Ahayue wrenched the spear deeper, his body burning with the effort. The beast staggered, blinded in one eye, its frenzy scattering the warriors.
For now—just for now—the battle tipped.
And yet Ahayue knew the cost. His strength was nearly gone. His scars ached with heat, as if the God's curse pulsed beneath them, waiting for a crack.
He glanced back once, toward the boulder where Alusya hid, her hands pressed together as if in silent prayer.
He wasn't sure who she prayed to. But in that moment, he swore he'd rather die a man with his own will than live as a god's chained puppet.
The beast shrieked again, and the next clash was already upon him.