Chapter 45.5 — Ashes Beneath the Trees
POV — Aren Locke
The forest wasn't supposed to be here.
Aren knew that because three hours ago, they'd been walking along a stone road wide enough for merchant caravans. Now? Ancient trees towered overhead, bark twisted like old scars, roots clawing out of the ground as if trying to escape the soil itself.
Someone had taken a wrong turn.
Or worse—someone had planned this.
Aren slowed, hand drifting toward the hilt at his waist. Not gripping it. Just close enough to remind the world that he could.
"Alright," he said calmly, eyes scanning the shadows. "Which one of you idiots followed the 'shortcut'?"
Puck raised a finger immediately. "In my defense, the map did say 'faster route.' It just didn't specify whether that meant time or life expectancy."
"That map was upside down," Shadeblade muttered.
"It was artistically rotated."
Aren ignored them, focusing instead on the air.
It felt… wrong.
Not heavy. Not oppressive.
Expectant.
Like the forest was holding its breath.
They hadn't come here by accident. That much was obvious now.
This was supposed to be the crew's last journey together—one final escort job before Aren and the noble brat were shipped off to the Academy. A simple contract. Deliver a sealed relic to a border city. Feast afterward. Celebrate surviving another arc of their lives.
Instead, the road had bent.
And reality had followed.
Aren raised his hand. The crew halted instantly—no jokes, no questions. That alone told him they felt it too.
Then he saw it.
A faint glow between the trees.
Red.
Not firelight.
Blood-light.
Aren exhaled slowly. "Circle."
They spread out, practiced and silent.
And then they stepped into something they should not have seen.
POV — Unknown Girl
The circle was failing.
No—that wasn't right.
It had already failed.
The chalk lines were cracked, mana bleeding out like a dying vein. Sigils meant to bind were flickering, their meanings collapsing into nonsense.
She stood at the center, hood pulled low, hands trembling as she tried to stabilize the array.
Too late.
She knew it the moment the air screamed.
The summoning wasn't answering her.
It was answering something else.
"No—no, wait—stop—!"
The ground beneath the circle blackened.
Ash rose like snow.
And then—
Footsteps.
Real ones.
Human ones.
Her heart slammed into her ribs.
This wasn't part of the ritual.
This wasn't part of any plan.
POV — Aren Locke
"Black magic," Puck said softly, all humor gone. "And not the fancy academic kind."
The summoning circle sprawled across a clearing like an open wound. Broken sigils. Blood-soaked chalk. Burnt bones—animal, thankfully.
At the center stood a girl.
She couldn't have been more than their age. Cloaked. Hooded. Thin, like she hadn't eaten properly in weeks.
And terrified.
Aren felt it instantly.
Not guilt.
Not malice.
Desperation.
Before anyone could speak, the circle reacted.
The air collapsed inward.
A pressure slammed into Aren's chest—conceptual, not physical—like the world was asking whether he was allowed to exist here.
Aren stepped forward anyway.
The ground resisted.
Reality hesitated.
Then yielded.
The circle detonated.
A shadow tore itself halfway into the world—clawed, boneless, unfinished. A thing that wasn't meant to finish arriving.
"Ah," Puck said brightly. "Academic misconduct."
Aren drew his sword.
No stance. No style.
Just intent.
The creature shrieked.
And for the first time in days—
Aren smiled.
Combat
The thing moved wrong.
Not fast.
Incorrect.
Aren adjusted mid-step, footwork instinctive, blade sliding through a trajectory that didn't exist a second ago.
Steel met shadow.
The impact rang through his bones.
The creature lashed out—tendrils, teeth, something trying to define itself.
Aren didn't give it time.
He cut.
Not wide. Not flashy.
Precise.
Each strike wasn't just against flesh—it was against permission.
You do not belong here.
The ground cracked.
The circle screamed.
The girl covered her head, watching through trembling fingers as Aren advanced like an inevitability.
Shadeblade joined from the left, blades flashing.
Puck hurled a device that exploded into binding light.
Together, they forced the thing backward—back toward the broken circle.
Aren felt something shift inside him.
Not power.
Understanding.
This wasn't a style.
This was a path.
He stepped into it.
And the world stepped aside.
One final strike.
The shadow unraveled—sucked screaming back into nothing.
Silence crashed down.
Then—
The girl collapsed.
Aftermath
Aren caught her before she hit the ground.
She was light. Too light.
Alive, though.
Barely.
He pulled back her hood.
Black hair. Pale skin smudged with chalk and ash. Sharp eyes—even unconscious, they looked observant. Guarded.
An introvert's eyes.
Someone used to watching instead of being seen.
"She summoned that thing?" the noble brat asked, voice shaky.
"No," Aren said quietly. "She tried to summon something else."
Puck crouched beside the circle. "And nearly got eaten by the universe for her trouble."
Aren looked at the forest.
At the broken ritual.
At the girl in his arms.
Their last journey had just changed shape.
Again.
Somewhere far beyond the trees, forces had taken notice.
And this time—
They wouldn't be subtle.