When Nyata and Aberrane reached the village, the world had already ended.
Smoke drifted through the air like ghosts. The once-lively streets were filled with corpses, and the faint light of burning homes flickered across faces twisted in terror. Undead ghouls staggered between the ruins, feeding on what remained.
Nyata's heart pounded. His fists clenched. Without hesitation, he leapt at the nearest ghoul and drove his fist straight through its skull. The body crumpled, but another took its place, and another. He tore through them, his movements raw and furious, until he reached the square, the source of the chaos.
There, amid the flames and carnage, stood a man in a black cloak, laughter echoing through the devastation.
"HAHAHAHAHA!" the man roared. "This is what happens when you look down on the great Urip Mati!"
Nyata rushed forward, saving a villager from a ghoul's teeth, then turned toward the man.
"What the hell is wrong with you!" he shouted. "That energy… it's the Hearth!"
Aberrane froze, her eyes narrowing at the word. She didn't speak, but for the first time, her usual smugness vanished.
Urip's grin widened, and Nyata felt the temperature shift as though the air itself recoiled.
Nyata sprinted toward him. Aberrane stumbled behind, dragged along by the unseen force that bound them.
"You idiot!" she yelled. "You're dragging me into this mess!"
The ground split open beneath them. A massive ghoul clawed its way out, shrieking with a voice that sounded like breaking glass. It swung one enormous arm toward Nyata. He jumped, landing on the monster's arm and sprinting toward its head.
"Hahahaha! This ghoul is invincible!" Urip bellowed, giddy with power.
Aberrane raised a hand, muttering under her breath, and the air rippled.
"Hagnirmus Ignala!"
A brilliant sphere of bent light formed in front of her, space twisting inward. The ghoul's fist collided with it and stopped cold. Steam hissed as its flesh began to dissolve into nothing.
Nyata used the opening. He leapt from the ghoul's shoulder, shouting midair, "Do you know a man with power like yours, someone who used fire?"
Urip dodged, snickering. "How did you get so close?"
"Answer me!" Nyata barked.
Urip stabbed a dagger into the ground. Shadows rippled outward, and a ghoul rose from the soil holding the same dagger.
"Awaken, Assassin!" Urip commanded.
The creature moved faster than thought. Nyata barely ducked the first slash and countered with a hard punch to its gut. It didn't flinch. It swung back, striking Nyata's spine with the hilt and sending him tumbling. He rolled, kicked the dagger from its hand, and swept its legs, but the ghoul didn't fall. It simply kept coming.
As Assassin scrambled for its weapon, Nyata lunged at Urip, only to be intercepted by another ghoul, taller and broader.
"Behold!" Urip declared, his voice trembling with joy. "Protector!"
Protector didn't strike unless Nyata got close to Urip. It simply stood there, massive and immovable.
Assassin lunged again, blade whistling past Nyata's ear. Nyata ducked and twisted, tripping the ghoul mid-stride. Its momentum sent it flying toward Urip. Protector moved to shield its master, but the two collided, Assassin's dagger plunging deep into Protector's chest. Both fell in a heap, their forms unraveling into dust.
Seizing the chance, Nyata surged forward. He slammed Urip to the ground and struck again and again until the cloaked man stopped struggling.
When Urip awoke, he found himself tied to a post, his own ghouls closing in.
"Wait, no, stop! I'm your mast—AARGH!" His words ended in screams as the ghouls tore him apart.
When the last sound faded, the village was silent. Only fire and ash remained.
Nyata stood over the ruins, breathing hard.
"Still no leads," he muttered.
Aberrane crossed her arms. "Maybe you should make your wish, for a lead."
"I already told you no."
"It would be so much easier if you did."
Nyata turned to her, anger flickering in his eyes. "Do you have any sympathy at all? My master, my father, died in front of me."
Aberrane tilted her head. "So why not let me kill the one who did it?"
"Because I want to do it myself," Nyata said through clenched teeth. "With my own strength."
They glared at each other in silence, both too stubborn to blink.
Nyata sighed. "Fine. Explain your powers, then."
Aberrane smirked faintly. "Oh, now you're curious? You want to spend your wish on that?"
Nyata glared harder. "Just tell me."
"Alright," she said, brushing dust off her hoodie. "My power is called Requests. It's simple in concept. When I speak a power word, I make a request to the universe, and the universe listens. But it's not free. It takes understanding, intent, and language."
She began to pace. "Each Request starts with a Coven: Fire, Water, Earth, Wind, Radiance, or Death. The second word determines the form: Beam, Barrier, Abutting, things like that. With enough precision, you can combine them to create more complex effects. Some take fifty words or more."
Nyata nodded slowly. "So you're bending the world through meaning."
"Exactly." She grinned. "Not bad for a mortal brain."
Nyata paused. "Then what about the Hearth?"
Aberrane's smile vanished. Her posture stiffened.
"That is not something I can explain," she said quietly. "The Hearth isn't learned or requested. It isn't called by language. It's not supposed to exist anymore."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that it's primal. It burns inside those who are born with it. It doesn't answer to rules, or words, or gods. It simply is. And when it awakens, it consumes everything else. Most people who feel it once never live to feel it twice."
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I thought it had died out long ago."
They walked on, leaving behind the smoldering ruins of the village. The night was cold and endless, but in Nyata's chest, that quiet heat still pulsed, steady, waiting, and alive.