The Ash Plains lived up to their name.
Nothing grew here. Not grass, not moss, not even lichen. The ground was a vast expanse of gray dust and cracked stone, as if the land itself had burned long ago and never forgiven the fire. Wind moved freely, unhindered by trees or hills, carrying ash in slow, whispering waves.
Ashen chose this place deliberately.
If the House of Masks followed them here, they would have nowhere to hide.
They had traveled for two days without stopping. Elyra's wound slowed her, but she refused to rest for long. Lira remained quiet, unusually so, her presence calm but watchful, as if she were listening to something none of them could hear.
Ashen felt it too.
A pressure.
Not pulling.
Not pushing.
Waiting.
They reached a shallow depression near the center of the plains just as dusk bled into night. The sky burned red and violet at the horizon before fading into cold black. Ashen set a perimeter while Elyra made camp; no fire, no light, just a ring of disturbed ash that would show footprints clearly.
Lira sat cross-legged near a stone outcrop, staring at the sky.
"Ashen," she said softly.
He turned immediately. "What is it?"
"It's quiet here," she said. "Too quiet."
Elyra glanced up sharply. "Quiet how?"
Lira frowned, searching for words. "Like something holding its breath."
Ashen's instincts flared.
He moved closer to her. "Do you feel the Spark?"
"Yes," Lira said. "But it's… asleep. Or pretending to be."
Ashen didn't like that answer.
Neither did the land.
The wind shifted suddenly, ash spiraling upward in thin columns across the plains. Ashen's hand went to his blade.
"Down," he whispered.
Too late.
The ground sighed.
Not cracked.
Not broke.
Sighed.
Ashen staggered as the pressure hit him—deep, invasive, familiar in the worst way. His vision darkened at the edges as something slid against his thoughts, testing, probing.
Elyra swore. "Ashen... "
"I know," he hissed through clenched teeth.
The ash before them stirred, rising slowly, shaping itself into something vaguely humanoid. Not solid. Not alive. A silhouette made of dust and shadow.
The Book's echo.
Lira gasped. "It's here."
"No," Ashen said grimly. "It's listening."
The shape tilted its head.
And then...
It spoke.
Not aloud.
Inside him.
You stepped into the circle willingly.
Ashen's knees nearly buckled.
Elyra caught his arm. "Ashen! Focus!"
He forced himself upright, heart hammering. The voice was smooth, layered, ancient. Not loud. Confident.
You would have bound yourself if it mean't she'd live.
Ashen snarled aloud. "Get out of my head."
The ash-figure didn't move, but the pressure intensified.
You've already invited me in.
Memories surged.
Contracts signed in blood.
Names whispered in the dark.
The weight of lives ended because someone else decided they should be.
Ashen clenched his fists until his nails bit skin.
"I chose not to finish it," he said.
And yet you stand where I can reach you.
The ground shook.
Elyra stepped forward, blades drawn. "Back away from him."
The ash rippled, amused.
You are not bound to me Elyras. You are merely broken by similar hands..
Her jaw tightened. "I broke myself free."
So did Ironhand.
The name echoed like a wound reopening.
And see what he became.
Lira screamed.
The ash surged outward, racing toward her like a living tide.
Ashen moved without thought, throwing himself between Lira and the wave. The impact slammed into him like a wall, driving him to one knee.
Pain lanced through his chest.
The chain tried to reform.
Ashen roared and shoved back, not with strength, but with will.
"No," he growled. "You don't get her."
The ash recoiled.
For the first time, the voice sounded… uncertain.
Interesting.
A sharp whistle cut through the air.
Then another.
Elyra spun. "House."
Figures emerged at the edge of the plains, ash swirling around their boots. Ten of them. No—twelve. All masked. All silent.
Mirelle stepped forward, mask pristine as ever.
"Well," she said pleasantly, "this is going better than expected."
Ashen dragged himself to his feet, breath ragged. "You brought it here."
Mirelle inclined her head. "We invited it. There's a difference."
The ash-figure withdrew slightly, hovering behind Ashen like a looming shadow.
They understand me, the voice purred, they listen.
Ashen spat blood into the dust. "They think they control you."
They always do.
The House moved in unison.
Elyra blurred into motion, blades flashing as she intercepted the first wave. Steel rang. Masks shattered. Ash sprayed like blood.
Ashen pushed Lira behind the stone outcrop. "Stay down. No matter what."
She nodded, eyes glowing faintly.
Ashen turned back into the fray.
He fought differently now.
Not as a contractor.
Not as an executioner.
As a wall.
As a man who had something to lose or better yet. Protect.
Every strike he made was defensive. He was redirecting blows, breaking momentum, disarming rather than killing when he could afford to. Elyra, by contrast, was ruthless, carving through the House with practiced efficiency.
But there were too many.
Bolts hissed through the air. One grazed Ashen's side. Another struck Elyra's shoulder, spinning her hard.
Mirelle watched calmly from a distance.
"Do you feel it?" she called to Ashen. "The Book reaching for you?"
Ashen parried a blade and slammed his elbow into a hunter's throat. "I feel you hiding behind it."
Mirelle smiled beneath her mask. "We serve something greater than fear now."
The ash surged again, lashing out indiscriminately. House assassins stumbled, some crushed under sudden weight as the ground turned against them.
The Book did not distinguish between allies and tools.
Chaos is acceptable, it whispered. Growth requires pressure.
Lira cried out.
Ashen felt the Spark flare. It was hot, unstable.
"No," he shouted. "Lira, don't... "
Too late.
The ash froze mid-motion.
Not shattered.
Stopped.
Time seemed to stutter.
The glow from Lira's chest expanded outward, not violently, but firmly, like a boundary being drawn.
The Book's presence slammed into it and bounced.
Silence crashed down across the plains.
The ash collapsed to the ground, lifeless.
House assassins froze, disoriented.
Mirelle staggered back. "That's.. impossible."
Lira stepped out from behind the stone.
Her eyes burned bright now, not wild, not afraid.
Clear.
"I don't belong to you," she said.
The words weren't loud.
But they carried.
The Book screamed.
Not in rage.
In denial.
You are unfinished.
Lira shook her head. "So are you."
The pressure vanished.
Ashen felt it immediately, the sudden absence like a limb gone numb.
The Book had withdrawn.
For now.
Elyra didn't waste the moment.
She lunged.
Mirelle barely had time to react before Elyra's blade stopped inches from her throat.
"Call them off," Elyra snarled.
Mirelle laughed softly. "You think this ends anything?"
Ashen stepped forward, bloodied, furious, alive. "No," he said. "But it ends you."
Mirelle's gaze flicked to Lira, calculating.
Then she smiled.
"Kill me," she said. "The House will remember."
Ashen didn't hesitate.
His blade flashed.
Mirelle fell.
The remaining assassins broke.
They ran not in panic, but retreat, melting into the ash-choked horizon.
Silence returned.
Real silence, this time.
Ashen sank to his knees, exhaustion finally claiming him. Elyra leaned heavily on her blade, breathing hard.
Lira stood between them, glow fading slowly.
"You pushed it back," Ashen said hoarsely.
Lira shook her head. "I told it no."
Elyra stared at her, awe and fear warring in her eyes. "That shouldn't be possible."
Lira looked up at Ashen. "You taught me how."
Ashen swallowed.
He pulled her into a careful embrace.
Above them, the ash settled.
Far away, deep beyond stone and ink and memory the Book waited.
Not defeated.
But no longer certain.
And that uncertainty was the most dangerous thing of all.