The Ash Veil rose before Kaelen like a breathing wall — a shifting curtain of grey and ember that whispered and sighed with every gust of wind. Even from the ridge, he could see where it thinned to reveal jagged silhouettes beyond: black spires stabbing at the sky, their stone edges dusted in a constant fall of ash. Somewhere within that fortress, his quarry waited.
The path to it wound down a slope of cracked obsidian, each step sending tiny shards tumbling into the mist. The air here was heavier, thick with the metallic tang of burnt iron. And then came the sound — deep, low, guttural. A growl.
They weren't dogs, not anymore.
The Warden's hounds padded out of the swirling ash like nightmares given flesh. Their forms shifted with the heat of their bodies, skin rippling like molten tar. Eyes burned with a dull orange light, as though lit from somewhere deep within their skulls. Every step they took left behind a faint scorch-mark that smoked in the cool air.
Kaelen dropped low behind a fractured pillar, watching them patrol. Their movements were unnervingly synchronized, each pause and turn the same — as if they shared a single mind. The shard in his pocket pulsed faster now, its faint throb keeping pace with his own heartbeat.
Timing his approach, Kaelen skirted the wall, slipping between the blind spots in the creatures' routes. The fortress wall was old, its stone pitted and cracked from centuries of ash storms. His fingers found the holds almost by instinct, muscle memory from a dozen sieges guiding his climb.
The battlements were empty. Torchlight sputtered in iron brackets, fighting a losing battle against the chill mist.
Inside, the corridors smelled of smoke and rust. The air was so still that each step seemed to echo far longer than it should have. Kaelen moved by memory and feel, guided more by the shard's growing heat than any sense of direction. Somewhere ahead, faint and rhythmic, came the sound of chains.
He found the cell deep in the eastern wing. Wards glowed faintly across the door — not the crude kind meant to keep thieves out, but old runes that hummed with quiet menace. Behind the bars, the figure sat still, head bowed, long hair hiding his face.
Kaelen crouched, pulling the tools from his belt. One by one, the wards flickered and died under his hands. He kept glancing over his shoulder, half expecting the hounds to materialize in the corridor behind him.
When the last rune went dark, the prisoner lifted his head.
Kaelen froze. The air between them shifted, as if the temperature had dropped.
The man's eyes were molten gold — not bright, not blazing, but deep and slow-burning, like an ember buried under ash. He stood, the chains around his wrists clinking, then falling away with a sound more like crumbling stone than metal.
"I was wondering," the man said softly, voice edged with something Kaelen couldn't place, "how long it would take you to find me."
Kaelen swallowed. "You know me?"
The man's lips curved faintly — not quite a smile. "I know what you've been carrying." His gaze flicked to Kaelen's pocket, where the shard pulsed faster than ever.
Kaelen's fingers tightened around it. "Who are you?"
The man stepped closer, the light from the torches bending strangely in his presence. "The name I had… isn't the one you need. For now, it's enough to say I am bound to the Ash — and you have just undone my chains."
Before Kaelen could speak again, a distant growl echoed through the corridor. The hounds were moving.