The Grand Forest never gave them peace for long.
By the time Alaric had learned to hold a spark of mana in his chubby little hands without setting his swaddle on fire, Ashen had already led them deeper into uncharted territory.
Alaric was one year and a few months old now. Still small, still helpless, still relying on being carried everywhere like luggage—but at least now he could gurgle smugly while making moss glow on command.
Ashen didn't react much to this newfound "talent," but Alaric was convinced that the undead had paused once—just a fraction of a second too long—after he managed to light up a patch of fungi without collapsing.
That counted as pride in zombie-dad language.
Still, the forest pressed heavier the deeper they went. Shadows grew darker. The air felt older. Even the trees seemed twisted, bark etched with strange lines like veins.
It was during one of these endless treks that Alaric noticed it.
A faint thrum beneath the earth, like a heartbeat echoing through stone. He squirmed in Ashen's arms, golden eyes narrowing.
…That's new. Please don't tell me it's another giant lizard waiting to snack on us.
Ashen halted at the same moment. His silver-gray eyes swept the forest floor, the roots, the rocks half-hidden beneath moss. Then, wordlessly, he turned toward the source of the thrum.
They found it at dusk.
A cavern mouth, half-collapsed by roots and stone, yawned at the base of a hill. Faint light pulsed from within, blue and green, like fireflies trapped in glass.
The air seeping from it was cold, damp, heavy with the smell of stone and something older, something that made the skin prickle.
Alaric's eyes widened slightly.
…Oh. Great. Creepy glowing cave in the middle of monster territory. Perfect place to live, obviously.
Ashen ducked inside without hesitation.
The passage was narrow, the ground slick with condensation. Strange fungi clung to the walls, glowing faintly, illuminating carvings half-hidden under moss. The deeper they went, the brighter the glow, until the cavern opened wide.
And what they found was less of a cave, more… like a ruin.
Stone pillars lined the chamber, cracked but still standing. Fragments of murals clung to the walls, faded images of figures reaching toward suns and shadows. At the center, an altar-like platform jutted from the ground, surrounded by shallow pools that glimmered faintly with light.
The ceiling was high, the air heavy, every sound echoing too loud.
Ashen stepped onto the stone floor, his boots silent despite the weight of the place. He lowered the child carefully onto a bed of moss by the wall, then straightened, sword in hand.
Alaric blinked up at the ruin, his golden eyes wide.
…Okay. Not gonna lie, this is kinda cool. Creepy, sure, but cool. Like stumbling into a dungeon at level one. Please tell me there's treasure and not just more monsters.
Ashen moved quietly through the chamber, inspecting the walls, the altar, the shadows. His presence was calm, but his sword never left his hand.
Alaric squirmed on the moss, craning his tiny neck to see better. The murals caught his eye. Shapes of people—no, not quite people—etched in poses of prayer or battle. Some held light, others shadows.
Life and death.
The threads inside him stirred faintly in recognition, warm and cold currents pulling at his chest.
He frowned, or at least tried to, though it only came out as a scrunch of his baby face.
This place feels… connected. Like it's calling me. Which probably means it's dangerous. Because of course it is.
Ashen returned after his silent inspection and crouched beside him. He adjusted the swaddle, making sure the child was warm, then rested his pale hand against the stone floor.
For the first time, Alaric saw his expression shift—barely, but enough. A furrow in his brow.
Something was alive in the stone. Not beasts, but mana. Thick currents of it, seeping from the ruin like breath.
Ashen looked at Alaric, their eyes meeting.
The child smirked faintly.
Yeah. I feel it too.
That night, the ruin became their shelter.
Ashen chose a corner by the wall, away from the altar, where moss grew thick and dry. He laid the child down, surrounding him with makeshift padding, then sat vigil beside him as always.
But the ruin was not silent.
The air hummed faintly, the glow of fungi pulsing in slow rhythm. The pools rippled without wind, their surfaces reflecting strange shapes. Murals seemed to watch, their faded eyes catching light in ways that made them appear alive.
Alaric stared up at the ceiling, listening to the hum.
So now I live in a haunted cave. I was hoping for a nice treehouse or something, but no, we had to pick "creepy ruins." Figures.
He shifted faintly, his tiny body curling against the swaddle. But despite the sarcasm, his chest loosened.
The ruin was eerie, yes. But it was shelter. Dry, hidden, filled with mana.
And it was theirs.
He closed his eyes, the glow of fungi painting faint colors on his eyelids.
And for the first time since his birth, he thought—
Maybe this could be home.
By the second day, Alaric knew the ruin was more than just stone.
Every time he let his focus drift, the threads inside him — life and death — stirred more strongly here. The warmth of life pressed against him like a faint heartbeat, while the chill of death resonated with the cracked pillars and faded murals.
It wasn't overwhelming, but it was constant, like the cavern itself was whispering.
Ashen noticed too. He walked the perimeter of the chamber several times, pale fingers brushing across stone. His silver-gray eyes lingered longest on the altar in the center, though he never touched it.
When he returned to Alaric's side, his presence was steady, but heavier somehow.
Alaric blinked up at him, his tiny face scrunching.
Don't give me that look. It's not like I'm the one who picked this creepy daycare.
That evening, Ashen fed him again — milk drained with precise efficiency, warmed slightly between his cold palms before pressing it to the infant's lips.
Alaric drank with a dramatic sigh.
Yep. This is the life. Creepy cave crib, glowing fungi nightlight, zombie-dad milk delivery service. My old life had instant noodles. This is technically an upgrade.
When he finished, he smirked faintly, milk dribbling down his chin.
Ashen wiped it away with his sleeve, expression calm as ever.
The baby gurgled a laugh.
Don't act so serious. You're my nanny now. Own it.
For the faintest moment, Ashen paused. His gaze lingered on the sound, then turned back to the shadows without a word.
Days passed.
Ashen began to arrange their shelter more deliberately. He cleared debris from the mossy corner, shifted stones into a crude barrier, and gathered bundles of fungi for faint light.
He never spoke, never showed expression, but the ruin slowly changed under his quiet hand.
Alaric noticed, of course.
You're nesting. Don't think I don't see it. Zombie-dad setting up house. At this rate, I'll wake up to curtains made of spider silk.
Still, his chest warmed faintly every time Ashen adjusted the bedding, or shifted his sword to block drafts of cold air, or stood watch a little closer than usual.
He would never admit it out loud — not that he could yet — but it mattered.
One night, Alaric experimented.
He reached for the warm current inside him, focusing the way Ashen had shown. His baby hand twitched, and the moss beneath him pulsed faintly with green glow.
For the first time, it didn't fizzle out.
The glow spread further, touching the cracks in the stone wall. The carvings on the mural flickered, faint lines of light tracing the faded shapes.
Alaric froze. His golden eyes widened.
Uh… did I just wake something up?
The glow faded after a few seconds, leaving only silence.
But Ashen was already watching him.
His silver eyes were steady, unreadable. He didn't move closer, didn't react sharply — just acknowledged.
Alaric let out a nervous gurgle.
Yeah, yeah, I know. Don't break the haunted cave. I get it.
Still, the cavern didn't reject them.
If anything, it seemed to… accept. The air grew less damp, the moss greener where they stayed, the fungi brighter near their corner.
Alaric noticed, and though he joked, the truth settled heavy inside him.
This wasn't just survival anymore.
This was home.
Not perfect. Not safe. But theirs.
He yawned, eyelids drooping as the fungi painted soft colors on the ceiling. His tiny body curled against the swaddle, his mind drifting.
I guess this is it. My new crib. Haunted ruins, zombie babysitter, magical life-and-death power. Not what I pictured when I said I wanted a second chance, but… it'll do.
His chest loosened, warmth spreading despite the cold stone around them.
Yeah. This time… I'll make it work.
He drifted into sleep, breathing even, the hum of the ruin steady around him.
Ashen sat beside him, sword across his knees, silent sentinel.
His gaze swept the cavern once, lingering on the faint glow of murals, then returned to the sleeping child.
He didn't smile. He didn't move.
But his silence carried weight. Acceptance.
And the ruin itself seemed to listen.