They left the clearing in silence, the weight of unseen eyes trailing them like a second shadow, their every movement observed by forces that neither of them could see nor understand. The air felt thick, almost suffocating, as if the jungle itself were alive, its breath slow and deliberate. Asari's senses were sharp, the air heavy with an unsettling stillness. The path before them was no path at all—roots twisted overhead like skeletal fingers, and flowers breathed spores into the air with soft, pulsing light. The canopy above was dense, only small slivers of sky visible through the leaves, but Asari didn't need the sun to tell direction.
Something was guiding him.
Something ancient.
He could feel it, deep within his bones.
Beside him, Aicha's wheelchair glided over the jungle floor, lifted by a platform of telekinetic force that shimmered faintly under his control. She kept her head down, her eyes wary as they scanned the shifting shadows between the trees. Her voice broke the silence, soft but determined.
"Those people back there…" she began, her words carefully chosen. "They let us pass."
Asari's jaw tightened. He turned to her, his voice low. "They weren't people. Not anymore."
He paused beneath a gnarled tree, its trunk oozing black sap like blood from an open wound. Hanging from one of its twisted branches was a severed arm, long decomposed, its bones white and brittle. It was a gruesome sight, an offering left behind by something old—something malevolent.
"They're called the Scaled Dead," he continued, his gaze lingering on the arm. "A cult of Velmara natives. They worship something buried beneath this land."
Aicha frowned, a shiver creeping down her spine. "Buried? What do you mean?"
Asari looked ahead, his steps purposeful. "They believe the earth itself is alive—and that deep within it sleeps something older than the gods themselves. A being that gave birth to this continent's monsters. They call it the Maw."
The name lingered in the air like a curse, and Aicha felt the weight of it, the oppressive presence of something ancient and forgotten. "The Maw?" she whispered.
Asari's voice dropped even lower. "It's not just a creature—it's a force. An ancient hunger. And it's calling to me."
Aicha's eyes widened in understanding, though she didn't fully grasp what he meant. "And they're welcoming you?"
Asari didn't answer right away. He couldn't. Not because he didn't know, but because he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure if the path he was walking was one he could turn back from. He only knew that he had no choice.
They continued moving through the jungle, the air growing heavier with each step. Trees whispered in languages that shouldn't exist. Insects buzzed, their wings invisible, their presence felt only by the vibration of the air around them. Even time felt warped, like the flow of it had been altered by the land itself.
Hours passed, though the sun never moved, its light swallowed by the eternal canopy above. Eventually, they reached a massive stone gate—its surface half-swallowed by vines and fungi. The stone was dark, jagged, and old, its etchings crawling across the surface like tattoos of forgotten gods—depictions of monsters feasting on stars, men twisting into beasts, and a colossal mouth swallowing a sun.
The gate opened on its own, the stone groaning as if waking from a deep slumber. Beyond it lay not more jungle, but a village. If it could even be called that.
The homes were carved into bones, grotesque and malformed, yet somehow functional. Torches burned with blood-red flames, casting eerie shadows on the ground. Children with slit pupils and scaled cheeks ran through the streets, their laughter hollow and distant. Everything about this place felt wrong—twisted, as if it were a reflection of something long lost, now reclaimed by the land's insidious grip.
And yet, there was no one standing in their way.
No guards. No sentries. No voices calling out to them. They were led by an unspoken command, the very air heavy with expectation.
"They've been waiting for me," Asari muttered, more to himself than to Aicha.
Aicha placed a hand on his arm, her voice trembling with hesitation. "Asari… this place—are you sure we should—"
Before she could finish, a whisper reached them, soft and serpentine.
"You bear the scent."
The voice came from above, and Asari's eyes snapped up. A figure sat atop a ruined statue, cloaked in gray. Its eyes glowed crimson through a bone mask, and skin patterned in scales peeked from its sleeves. It jumped down without sound, landing gracefully in front of them.
The figure studied them both, its gaze lingering on Asari.
"The scent of the Beast's Breath," it said, its voice dripping with reverence and something darker. "The stone."
Aicha inhaled sharply, the realization hitting her like a cold gust of wind. The Stone of Gluttony. Asari had told her little about it, but its presence had always lingered between them—an unknown, a power too dangerous to fully comprehend.
"You have it," the figure whispered, eyes burning with an intensity that made Aicha uneasy.
Asari stood still, his gaze unwavering. "And if I do?"
The figure tilted its head, its grin unsettling. "Then Velmara will either consume you… or crown you."
It raised a clawed hand, pointing toward the distance. Aicha followed its gaze, her eyes drawn to the far horizon—a vast, gaping canyon splitting the earth open, a chasm filled with black mist that seemed to bleed into the sky itself. Roars echoed from within, deep and primordial, the sound of something monstrous—and hungry.
The figure's voice returned, now laced with something almost mocking. "You are the bearer of the Maw's hunger. You carry the seed of its return."
"I didn't come here for cults," Asari replied, his voice firm, though his eyes lingered on the abyss before them.
"No," the figure agreed. "You came for power."
It gestured again, its hand sweeping through the air. "Then step deeper. Into the gorge. Where even we cannot tread. There, the stone will awaken. And either devour your soul…"
The air around them thickened, and a sudden, intense pressure pressed against their chests.
"… Or bless it."
Asari didn't speak. He didn't need to. His eyes locked onto the gorge—the Maw's home—and the hunger calling to him. He couldn't turn away. He wouldn't.
Aicha knew the answer in his silence.
He was going.
He had to.