Chapter 15: Ashes of Aranthor
The storm did not fade.
For three days, crimson clouds hung low over the ruins of Aranthor, bleeding rain that stank of iron. The once-proud spires were nothing but jagged stumps piercing the sky, their streets drowned in silence. No birds sang. No fire dared burn. The city was a corpse, and the hymn lingered in its bones.
Lucien and Liora found shelter in the broken shell of a watchtower. The fire they lit sputtered and hissed beneath the steady drizzle seeping through the roof. The meager warmth clung to them, but the cold in Lucien's chest remained.
He sat with Requiem laid across his knees, his reflection shifting in the runes. Every now and then, the blade thrummed faintly, like a heartbeat. He pretended not to notice.
"You haven't slept," Liora said quietly. She leaned against the wall, her cloak wrapped around her, face pale from exhaustion.
"I don't need to," Lucien muttered. It was half true. Sleep was dangerous now—dreams had teeth, and every time he closed his eyes, the masked figure stood waiting in the void, humming the hymn beneath his breath.
Liora studied him for a long moment. "You're changing. That sword is eating you alive, Lucien."
He looked at her, meeting her gaze without flinching. "And without it, we'd both be dead."
"That's not the same as living."
Her words cut deeper than any blade. Lucien's grip tightened around Requiem's hilt. The voice within stirred, amused, as though savoring the tension. He forced it down.
"Aranthor is gone," he said, voice rough. "But this storm… it's spreading. If we leave it unchecked, more cities will fall. More people will suffer."
Liora exhaled, her breath misting in the cold. "Then we find whoever's behind this. The masked one you saw."
Lucien nodded, though unease gnawed at him. The figure wasn't just "behind" this. He was woven into it.
---
By the fourth morning, they left the ruins. The roads leading out of Aranthor were cracked and twisted, lined with toppled statues that once had been men. The rain followed them, painting the land red in their wake.
Travel was slow. Lucien felt heavier with every step, the sword dragging at his spirit. Sometimes, he swore he heard footsteps behind them, though when he turned, only shadows stretched across the broken earth.
At night, they camped near the remains of a collapsed inn. The silence pressed too heavily on Lucien, so he asked, "Why did you come with me, Liora? You could've left when the guild fell."
She gave him a tired smile. "Because I owe you my life. Because you're too stubborn to survive alone. And… because someone has to stop you if you lose yourself completely."
Lucien smirked faintly. "So you're my executioner."
"If I must be." Her tone was firm, but her eyes softened. "But I'd rather be your ally."
For the first time since the cathedral fell, Lucien let out a small laugh. It faded quickly, but it was real.
---
On the fifth night, Lucien's dreams betrayed him again.
He stood in the crimson void, the masked figure looming above.
"You resist well," the voice purred. "But every note of the Requiem sings louder in you. Soon, you won't distinguish your will from mine."
Lucien snarled, gripping the sword that appeared in his hand. "Then I'll silence you."
The figure leaned close, mask cracked, void eyes staring. "You can't silence a song written in your soul."
The hymn surged, crushing Lucien to his knees. His chest burned, his veins lit with red fire. His scream shattered into a thousand echoes—until Liora's hand on his shoulder yanked him awake.
"Lucuen!" she shouted. "You were thrashing in your sleep."
He gasped for breath, drenched in sweat despite the cold night. His hand clung to Requiem, knuckles white. The blade still pulsed faintly, whispering beneath the silence.
"…I'm fine," he lied.
Liora didn't believe him, but she didn't press. She simply sat beside him, her presence a shield against the storm inside his head.
---
By the seventh day, they reached the edge of the Blood Marsh. The land here was different—twisted trees, roots submerged in stagnant crimson water, the air heavy with decay. The storm clouds above thickened, lightning spiderwebbing across the sky.
Lucien stopped, scanning the horizon. "The hymn's stronger here."
Liora drew her sword, wary. "Then we're close."
He nodded. Deep within the marsh, a faint glow pulsed like a heartbeat, crimson light bleeding into the mist. The same aura as the tome.
The voice inside him hissed in delight. "Ah, another verse of the Requiem awaits."
Lucien's grip on the sword tightened. He turned to Liora. "Whatever happens in there… don't hesitate. If I lose control—"
She cut him off, steel in her voice. "Then I'll stop you. But Lucien… trust me to stand beside you before it comes to that."
For a moment, the storm seemed quieter. Lucien gave a sharp nod. "Then let's finish this verse."
Together, they stepped into the marsh, swallowed by red mist and the distant hum of the hymn, each note pulling Lucien deeper toward a destiny he could no longer outrun.
End of chapter 15