The Withered Flats stretched like a corpse under the gray sky.
Ash walked alone, the ruins of Elarra shrinking behind him. His cloak was ragged. His boots, stolen. Every step sank into cracked ash, the remains of a city long devoured by firestorms. The air smelled of salt and iron. Nothing lived out here. Not even memory.
And yet… he wasn't alone.
He could feel it.
Something was walking beside him—just outside of sight.
Not a beast. Not a ghost.
Something older.
The mark on his side pulsed.
Once.
Twice.
Then spread.
Veins of black ink bloomed across his chest like a slow infection. His breath caught as heat surged through his spine. Images assaulted his mind—shattered altars, hollow gods, a tower made of screams.
And a voice. Not heard. Felt.
They tried to bury me…
But rot cannot hold the divine.
You are my vessel, Ash of no House. My fracture. My echo. My teeth in the dark.
Ash dropped to his knees, clutching his head.
He screamed.
Elsewhere: The House of Blackroots
In the submerged city of Ultherra, where pale lamps burned beneath black waters, a banquet was underway.
The House of Blackroots, once thought extinct, had returned.
The dining hall was a grotesque opera. Masks of bone, flesh-thrones stitched from the disloyal, wine made from emotion siphoned off dying seers. And at the head of the table sat Kirell of the Hollow Grin—a Veilborn who had embraced the madness.
Kirell was shirtless, his torso carved with runes that whispered to themselves. His left eye was missing, replaced by a glowing hollow socket that consumed light.
A servant approached. "The boy… Ash… has crossed into the Flats."
Kirell's grin widened.
"Good," he whispered, licking red nectar off his knife. "Let him awaken. Let him suffer. The Cage is hungry. And I…" He leaned back, arms spread. "…have missed the taste of godflesh."
…
Ash staggered into a forgotten ruin—more like instinct than decision.
The shrine was barely standing. Faded runes circled a cracked statue of a weeping figure with no face. As Ash approached, the shadows moved.
A girl stepped out.
She was maybe seventeen, barefoot, and utterly still. Her hair was silver. Her eyes were black mirrors. And on her back was a massive chain-blade, taller than she was, wrapped in prayer scrolls.
"You're leaking," she said calmly, pointing at his chest.
Ash collapsed.
When he woke, he was inside the shrine. A small fire crackled. The girl sat nearby, watching him with the focus of a sniper.
"You were dreaming," she said. "You screamed names that don't exist."
"Who… are you?" Ash rasped.
She stood slowly, revealing tattoos that spiraled down her spine—symbols in a language older than breath.
"I'm Caela.
Last daughter of the Forgotten Faith.
Marked by the Nameless Hunger.
And the one who's going to train you before you implode."
Ash blinked.
"…What?"
Caela knelt beside him, pushing her hand to his chest. The mark flared again—and this time, it showed her something.
Her face darkened.
"Shit."
"You're not just infected," she said. "You're fused. The Cage chose you. It's not just inside you… it's growing with you."
Ash winced. "What does that mean?"
"It means that if you don't learn to control it, you'll become a tear in reality. A living fracture. Everything near you will unmake."
Ash tried to stand. "Then help me stop it."
Caela didn't move.
"You don't stop what you are. You forge it. Or it forges you."
She rose to her feet and drew the chain-blade. It whispered when it moved.
"Let's see what part of you is still human."
Their fight wasn't elegant.
Caela came at him like a whisper turned blade—relentless, brutal, beautiful. Ash had no training. But something in him responded.
Each time her blade neared, his body vanished, skipping space in a blur of distortion. Her strike passed through empty air.
Unmaking. Not dodging. You're erasing space itself.
Ash felt it.
A thrill.
A hunger.
He reached out with his hand—only to see her twist, pin him, and press the cold flat of her blade to his throat.
"You're sloppy," she said.
"But you're starting to wake up."
Ash coughed blood and smiled.
"I'm just getting started."