Cel's eyes remained open, fixed on the broken ceiling above. Stone fragments jutted at odd angles, gaps where ash drifted through in lazy spirals.
His body ached - not the crushing exhaustion that demanded sleep, but the deep throb of muscle pain. The black medicine pulled at his skin where it had hardened.
Time stretched. Minutes or hours - the distinction felt meaningless.
His gaze drifted across the ash-covered floor until it found the Ashlurker's corpse. The serpentine body still lay coiled where it had fallen, dark ichor pooled beneath it.
The hole Silent Moon had carved through its chest gaped wide - flesh torn ragged, organs visible in the wound's depths.
Cel stared at it.
Not from hunger. But because there was nothing else to do.
He pushed himself up slowly, testing his balance. His legs trembled slightly - not from weakness, just the shock of bearing weight after hours of stillness.
Each step toward the corpse was deliberate and measured.
Up close, the stone-like texture of its skin became clear - rough, mottled with darker patches where the worm's heat had cooked it. The single remaining arm twisted at an unnatural angle.
Cel knelt beside it.
The smell was sharp. Fresh. The scent of meat that hadn't yet begun to decay.
He reached out with his left hand, fingers finding the edge of Silent Moon's wound. The flesh was cool. Firm.
'I ate worse.' The thought arrived without emotion.
His fingers dug into the wound. He pulled, and a strip of flesh tore away with a wet sound that echoed off the broken walls.
The meat dangled from his hand - dark, glistening.
He brought it to his mouth.
Movement at the entrance made him freeze mid-bite.
Raven stood in the gap, backlit by crimson light. His eyes fixed on him with sudden focus.
Neither of them moved.
Cel remained kneeling beside the corpse, fresh meat gripped in his left hand.
Raven's expression shifted - something crossing his features that might have been revulsion before his features snapped back into place.
The silence stretched.
Then Raven stepped fully into the ruins, movements careful.
His gaze tracked from Cel's bloodied hand to the torn flesh of the Ashlurker, then back to Cel's face.
"You're… eating it." Not a question. Just observation, stated flat.
Cel brought the meat to his mouth and took another bite, maintaining eye contact.
Chewed.
Swallowed.
Raven's expression flickered. Discomfort. Maybe worse.
"Raw," he added, tone carefully neutral but carrying an edge.
"Yes."
Raven stared at him, as if trying to reconcile what he was seeing with something that made sense.
"Want some?"
Raven's eyes widened. His jaw worked once, twice, as if the words had physically struck him.
"What?"
"Food." Cel gestured at the corpse with his bloodied hand. "There's plenty."
Raven's gaze tracked to the torn flesh, the exposed organs, the dark ichor pooling beneath.
"No." The word came flat. Final. "I'll... find something else."
Cel shrugged and turned his attention back to the corpse.
Raven remained against his wall, but his posture had shifted - coiled tighter, like he was reconsidering something fundamental about the person in front of him.
When Cel finally stopped - stomach uncomfortably full, fingers sticky with ichor - he wiped his hand on his thigh. The blood smeared across Cinderward's dark fabric.
Raven's eyes tracked the movement. "Are you finished?"
"For now."
Raven's gaze lingered on Cel for a moment longer before he turned toward the entrance gap.
"Come. There's something you need to see."
Cel pushed himself to his feet. The ache remained, but his legs held steady. He followed Raven to the gap, emerging into the gray wasteland beyond.
The storm had passed completely. Ash lay thick and undisturbed across the cracked earth, save for the scattered obsidian stones that jutted at irregular angles - vomited debris from the massive predator's molten breath.
Raven pointed toward the horizon.
Cel's eyes tracked the gesture.
A shape rose in the distance - dark against the crimson sky. Not large from here, just a smudge of black that broke the Ashland's endless flatness. But unmistakable.
"A mountain," Cel said quietly.
"That was my destination before I met you."
Cel studied the distant peak. From that height, the view would stretch across the Ashlands in every direction. Rifts were rare, but they had to manifest somewhere - and seeing them from above would be far easier than stumbling through this gray hell blindly.
"How far?"
"Two days. Maybe three if we're slow." Raven glanced at him. "How do you feel?"
Cel turned his attention inward, cataloging damage. His shoulder was the worst - deep punctures where the Ashlurker's claws had sunk in. The claw marks across his chest and back throbbed steadily. His left arm carried charred flesh from the worm's fire breath.
His right hand flexed experimentally. The fingers twitched. Just slightly - not full movement, but more than the complete numbness that had plagued him since using Frostmark.
"I can walk," Cel said.
Raven's crimson eyes studied him, as if weighing whether to believe the answer or push for something more honest.
Cel held the gaze. His body hurt, yes. But pain was familiar. Expected. He'd walked through worse.
Finally, Raven nodded once. "Then we leave."
Cel glanced back at the Ashlurker's corpse through the entrance gap.
"Should we bring some of it?" The question came matter-of-fact. "For the journey."
Raven's expression shifted, jaw tightening.
"No." The word came flat.
"Food is—"
"I said no." Sharper this time. Not quite anger, but close. "We'll find something else."
Cel watched him for a moment, then shrugged. More for Raven than himself - the meat would have been practical, but forcing the issue served no purpose.
Raven turned toward the mountain, his posture shifting as if preparing to move.
Cel's hand shot out on instinct, catching Raven's arm.
The young man froze. His gaze dropped to where Cel's fingers gripped his sleeve, then rose slowly to meet Cel's eyes. No hostility. Just silent question.
"There's something out there," Cel said quietly. "Something massive that burrows beneath the ground. It hunts through vibrations."
The memory flashed vivid and sharp - ground collapsing beneath him, the maw snapping shut, darkness swallowing the crimson sky. His pulse quickened despite himself.
"Every step we take could lure it." Cel continued, his grip tightening slightly.
Raven's expression softened. The expression of someone who'd faced the same fear and learned to live with it.
"No creature will attack us," Raven said simply.
Cel's grip tightened. "How can you possibly know that?"
"They won't." Raven's tone carried absolute certainty. "Trust me."
"That's not an answer."
Raven pulled his arm free gently but firmly. "It's the only one you're getting."
The vagueness should have angered him, made him demand a real explanation. But something in Raven's posture - the way he held himself, the quiet confidence in his words - suggested he wasn't lying.
Cel's jaw worked. His instincts screamed that walking across open ground was suicide. That the predator would sense their footsteps and erupt from below to swallow them whole.
But Raven had survived here for a year. Had walked this wasteland countless times without being devoured.
That had to mean something.
"Fine," Cel said finally.
Raven studied him for a moment longer, then turned toward the distant mountain.
"Stay close."
With that, he began walking - boots crunching against ash-covered stone in steady rhythm.
Cel followed, each step deliberate despite the fear coiling tight in his chest.
They walked in silence through the endless gray wasteland, broken only by scattered obsidian stones and the distant shape of that dark peak rising against the crimson sky.
The fabric of Cinderward's tunic moved with him, settling against his chest with subtle weight. Not heavy - just present, like a second skin that acknowledged movement without restricting it. The mantle across his shoulders distributed pressure evenly, the cloak behind him shifting with each stride.
He lifted his left arm experimentally, feeling the dark bracer flex at his wrist. The armor moved seamlessly, no grinding or catching.
His right hand still hung mostly useless at his side, but sensation was returning in slow increments.
The boots were the most notable change. Armored platings rose from ankle to knee, solid but not restrictive. Each step felt... secure. Protected in a way that went beyond simple coverage.
He'd never been allowed to wear divine armor before. Had never understood why Chosen spoke of their artifacts with such reverence beyond mere power.
Now he understood.
Cinderward wasn't just protection. It was partnership - adjusting to his movements, supporting his weakened body, making survival incrementally less impossible.
Ahead, Raven moved with fluid grace across the wasteland. His dark clothing blended with the gray landscape, making him almost ghostlike against the crimson sky. No hesitation in his steps. No checking over his shoulder for threats.
Just steady, confident forward motion as if danger didn't exist.
The wasteland offered nothing but silence and ash. No wind stirred the dust. No distant cries echoed across the emptiness. Just the crunch of their boots.
Minutes stretched into what might have been an hour.
The mountain grew larger on the horizon - still distant, but perceptibly closer than before.
Raven paused ahead.
Cel came to a stop beside him, eyes scanning their surroundings.
"What is it?" Cel asked quietly.
Silence pressed down around them. Absolute and suffocating.
Then Cel felt it.
A tremor.