It started as a hum. A vibration in his teeth, like striking a tuning fork against a rock.
By midnight, it was a voice.
...hunger...
Kael jerked awake, hand flying to the hilt of his sword. The fire had died down to embers. Jax was asleep, wrapped in a tattered cloak, twitching in a nightmare. Elric was breathing, shallow and wet, a sound like tearing paper.
The Ashlands were silent. But the voice was loud.
...feed me...
Kael pulled the obsidian cylinder from his pouch. It was hot. Uncomfortably hot. The purple pulse was faster now, erratic.
"It knows," Elric whispered.
Kael jumped. The old Knight was watching him from across the fire. His eyes were fever-bright, lucid in a way that was terrifying.
"It knows what, Elric?" Kael asked, his voice shaking.
"It knows you're weak," Elric said. "It knows you're afraid. A Soul-Lock doesn't just hold a spirit, Kael.
It digests it. And when it runs out of spirit... it reaches out."
"How do I stop it?"
"You don't. You endure it. Or you let it consume you."
Kael stared at the black stone. He wanted to throw it into the dark. He wanted to smash it. But he couldn't. It felt... precious. Like a piece of himself.
...break the seal... let me out... I can save him...
The voice echoed in his skull. It promised power. It promised healing. It promised that Elric would stand up, whole and strong, if Kael just twisted the cap.
"Don't listen," Elric rasped. "The Ash-King's sorcerers were liars. Their creations are liars."
"It says it can save you," Kael whispered.
"It lies," Elric said. "It would turn me into a husk. A puppet."
Kael put the cylinder back in the pouch. He tied the string tight.
"We need to move," Kael said. "It's getting louder."
"We can't," Elric said. "I can't."
"We aren't dying here."
Kael stood up and kicked Jax awake. "Get up. We're moving."
"Again?" Jax groaned. "It's pitch black, Rat. We'll break a leg."
"Better a leg than our minds," Kael said.
They moved.
The Ashlands changed at night. The shadows stretched and warped. Trees looked like grasping hands. Rocks looked like crouching beasts.
And the whispers didn't stop.
...coward... scavenger... noble-born filth...
They walked until dawn broke, bleeding purple light over a ridge of jagged stone.
"Look," Jax pointed.
nestled in the valley below was a structure. It wasn't a natural formation. It was a ruin. Stone pillars, worn smooth by eons of ash-wind, supported a collapsed roof.
"Shelter," Jax breathed.
"Or a tomb," Elric muttered.
They descended. The ruins were old. Older than the Empire. The stone was etched with script that hurt Kael's eyes to look at.
They found a chamber that was still intact. It was dry, dusty, and—crucially—defensible. One entrance. Thick walls.
Elric collapsed in the corner. He didn't check his bandages. He just closed his eyes.
Kael sat near the door, sword across his knees. The cylinder thrummed against his chest.
...safe here...
"Shut up," Kael hissed.
"I didn't say anything," Jax said, looking up from his boot laces.
"Not you," Kael said.
Jax stared at him. Then he looked at the pouch on Kael's chest. The thief's eyes narrowed. He didn't ask. He just moved his hand closer to his own dagger.
Trust was eroding. The ash was grinding them down.
And the voice was patient.
...sleep, little rat... I will watch...
Kael didn't sleep. He watched the shadows. And he knew, with a certainty that made his blood run cold, that the shadows were watching back.
Something was coming. The cylinder had called it.