The air in Ashvale still carried the taste of ash.
When dawn broke, it didn't feel like morning—just another shade of gray spilling over the ruins of night. Frost clung to the ground where the shades had fallen, black stains frozen into the soil. The few villagers who dared step outside did so silently, heads low, as if afraid the dark might notice them still breathing.
They had survived. None of them felt like they'd won.
Riel sat on the steps outside the elder's hall, rubbing at the ache behind his eyes. Kaelith joined him, mug in hand, steam curling faintly in the cold air. Behind them, Seren and Varis slept where they'd fallen—Seren sprawled half off her bedroll, boots still on, her gauntlets propped beside her like sleeping sentries; Varis upright in a chair, chin to chest, fingers still loosely gripping a closed book.
Kaelith took a slow sip, then sighed. "Quiet morning."
"Too quiet," Riel muttered, voice sandpapered raw.
Kaelith chuckled, that low, easy sound that always made Riel hate him a little less. "You complain when there's fighting. You complain when there isn't. There's no pleasing you, is there?"
"I'd settle for a world that doesn't smell like burnt corpses and bad dreams."
Kaelith smiled faintly, eyes soft. "Aim high." He nudged Riel's shoulder. "You'll live longer if you stop looking for doom in every sunrise."
Riel stared at the horizon. "I don't think the sun's been up properly in years."
Kaelith's grin didn't fade, but his tone gentled. "They'll rebuild. People always do. I've seen worse than this."
"You sure?"
"Every time," Kaelith said simply. "Someone always plants again, hope's stubborn like that."
For a moment, the weight on Riel's chest loosened—barely. Kaelith's faith in the world burned like a stubborn candle in a storm, impossible to snuff out.
When Varis and Seren stirred, Kaelith stood, voice bright again. "Rise and shine, scholars and sinners. We've got work before dusk."
Seren groaned into her sleeve. "Can't we just not, for once?"
"Not until I'm dead," Kaelith said cheerfully.
"Tempting," she muttered, but she smiled as she said it.
Varis only rubbed his temples. "If your optimism were measurable, I'd classify it as a disease."
Kaelith clapped him on the back. "And yet, you keep catching it."
They left Ashvale as the fog thickened around the fields. The air grew heavier, colder. By the time they reached the eastern hill, the world had fallen silent—no wind, no birds, just the soft crunch of frost and the rhythmic thud of their boots.
The temple emerged through the mist like a wound in the world. Its once-white stone was blackened with rot, the roof half-collapsed, vines strangling its pillars. The doors hung open, groaning faintly in the windless air.
Kaelith whistled low. "Looks inviting."
Seren elbowed him. "You first, hero."
"Gladly."
They stepped inside.
The air changed immediately—thick, cold, metallic. It smelled like wet iron and old graves. The walls were choked with runes—long, curling marks etched so deep they'd split the stone. The carvings glistened faintly, as though still wet.
Riel lifted his lantern. The light made the symbols shimmer, bending like reflections on disturbed water.
Seren frowned. "Those aren't divine."
Varis stepped closer, studying the markings. His brow furrowed. "They shift when you look too long."
"Runes don't move," Kaelith said.
"They do now," Varis murmured.
Riel stared, uneasy. The symbols writhed just at the edge of sight, breathing in and out like living veins beneath the rock. The air vibrated faintly—low, almost imperceptible, like a heartbeat buried in the walls.
A whisper crawled through the temple—soft, distant, language-less. Not a voice, not words, just a tone that didn't belong to sound. It pressed against their ears like static.
Seren took a step back. "Okay, that's enough church for one day."
Kaelith forced a grin, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Come on, maybe the gods just forgot to dust."
Varis looked at him flatly. "If this is divine, then the gods are sick."
They turned to leave. Riel hesitated a heartbeat longer, eyes locked on the central altar—a cracked slab, slick with black residue that hadn't dried in centuries. The runes around it pulsed once more, as though reacting to his gaze. The whisper rose—then vanished as he stepped back.
Outside, the sky had begun to darken again. Distant clouds burned red, and the air grew heavy with the familiar chill of encroaching dusk.
Kaelith's voice was quiet now. "Let's get back before the night remembers we exist."
No one argued.
They reached Ashvale as the first wisps of fog crept down from the hills. Varis and Seren fell asleep almost the moment they lay down. Kaelith and Riel took first watch, sitting by the dying fire.
Kaelith poked at the embers with a stick, his face flickering between light and shadow. "You ever think we're just passing through someone else's nightmare?"
Riel snorted. "If we are, they've got a sick sense of humor."
Kaelith smiled. "Maybe. But we wake up every morning, don't we? That's got to mean something."
Riel didn't answer. He just stared into the fire until his reflection blurred in the coals.
After a while, Kaelith clapped his shoulder. "Get some rest. I'll keep watch."
Riel started to argue but stopped. His body was too heavy, his mind already fraying at the edges. He lay down, the warmth of the fire fading as his eyelids sank.
And then the world folded.
–––
The swamp welcomed him like an open grave.
The smell hit first—rot and salt, thick enough to taste. Mud clung to his legs as he waded forward, each step a wet, sucking pull. The fog coiled low, clinging to his skin.
He didn't shout this time. He'd learned better.
He summoned the dagger—black and silver light spiraling from his palm, humming with faint, angry life. The blade gleamed like a wound that refused to close.
Ripples spread across the water.
The first creature lunged from the muck, all teeth and muscle. Riel sidestepped, slashing upward. The blade split it from jaw to gut. Black ichor sprayed across his face, hot and stinking. The corpse collapsed into sludge.
Two more came. He pivoted, cutting one's arm clean off, driving his knee into its chest before plunging the dagger through its throat. Blood spattered in arcs, sizzling as it hit the water. The other tackled him, claws raking his side. He screamed, stabbing blindly until it went limp.
The swamp grew quiet again—only his panting and the drip of blood from his weapon.
Then the hum returned.
The surface of the water bulged outward. Bubbles rose. The world seemed to hold its breath.
The creature that surfaced dwarfed the others—its body an endless coil of slick, diseased flesh, its jaw lined with fractured teeth, some human, most not. Its eyes were pits of pale light, unblinking.
Riel charged.
He ducked beneath a strike, slashed across its face. Flesh split open, black fluid pouring down like rain. The stench was unbearable. The beast shrieked—a sound so deep it rattled his bones. He struck again and again, carving furrows into its hide. Each cut steamed as if burning from within.
But it didn't stop.
Its tail swept through the swamp, smashing trees to splinters. One blow caught Riel square in the ribs—he felt the crunch before the pain. He flew backward, crashing through muck and broken wood. His lungs convulsed.
The monster lunged. He rolled aside, mud sucking at his limbs. He stabbed upward, driving the dagger through its gills. A gush of black blood exploded, coating him from head to toe. The creature bellowed, thrashing wildly, half its jaw torn free.
It crashed onto him, crushing him into the mud. His vision blurred red. He tried to push back, screaming, stabbing into its throat again and again until the dagger snapped in half.
The creature reared back one final time, its shriek echoing like thunder. Then it came down.
Riel's world went dark beneath its weight.
–––
He woke choking on air.
The dawn light cut through the window, pale and cold. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead, his hands shaking. For a heartbeat, he swore he could still smell the swamp—the rot, the blood.
Kaelith knelt beside him, eyes wide with concern. "Riel—hey, breathe. You're alright."
Riel stared past him, toward the horizon where the temple's shadow still loomed in the fog.
"Yeah," he whispered, voice hollow. "Fine."
But the cold in his bones said otherwise.
And deep inside, beneath the fading sting of pain, he knew the creature hadn't died.