They emerged from the catacombs at dawn, the Heart of Elsewhere wrapped in linen and strapped carefully to Elara's back. The air outside had changed—heavier, charged with a quiet dread. The sun rose blood-red, its light dim behind a thick haze.
Rin scanned the horizon, his jaw tightening. "Smoke. From the north."
Sira knelt and pressed her fingers to the earth. "Too far to be a campfire. This is a purge."
They hurried through the forest's edge, rising over a ridge—and froze.
Below them, the once-green hills had turned black. Villages, gone. Trees, turned to skeletons. A firestorm had passed through, but unnaturally fast, as though the land had ignited from within. At the center of the devastation stood a figure robed in darkness, face hidden by a silver mask, staff planted in the scorched soil.
"That's no wildfire," Elara whispered. "That's *him*."
Rin's voice dropped to a growl. "The Ashbringer."
Legends had whispered of a fallen mage—once a guardian like them—who had tried to claim the Heart for himself long ago. Banished, presumed dead. But now the destruction bore his signature: fire that left no ash, only silence.
"We need to move," Sira said, eyes narrowed. "If he senses the Heart, he'll come for it."
They turned to leave—but a sudden gust knocked them off their feet. From the valley below, the masked figure lifted his staff. He had seen them.
"Run!" Rin shouted.
They sprinted into the woods, branches tearing at their clothes, the air behind them shimmering with unnatural heat. The chase had begun.
And now, holding the last hope of Elsewhere, they were no longer hunters.
They were prey.