Chapter 7: Embers of the Abyss
The darkness swallowed me whole, pulling me into a place I couldn't escape. At first, it was silent, but the quiet didn't last. A low hum began to grow, deep and resonant, vibrating through the air like a warning. Then came the whispers. Countless voices, murmuring words I couldn't understand, yet they felt as if they were etched into my very being.
When the world around me came into focus, I was standing in the midst of a battlefield. The ground beneath my feet was cracked and dry, blackened by fire and soaked with blood. The air reeked of sulfur and ash, and above me, the sky churned with unnatural colors, red, black, and a sickly shade of purple. Shadows danced in the distance, shifting shapes that I couldn't quite make out.
Ahead, towering columns of flame erupted from the ground, consuming everything in their path. Between them stood figures, tall and imposing, their armor glinting with an eerie light. One of them stepped forward, its movements slow but deliberate. Its silhouette was shrouded in black, save for the glowing red of its eyes, sharp and unyielding. A massive weapon, a jagged blade too large for any human to wield hung loosely in one clawed hand.
I wanted to move, to run, but my feet were rooted to the ground. The figure raised its head, and for the first time, I realized it was looking directly at me.
Its voice came, deep and resonant, but the words were incomprehensible, spoken in a guttural language I couldn't place. The sound wasn't just heard, it was felt, vibrating through my chest and leaving a strange, heavy ache behind.
I strained to make sense of it, but the meaning slipped through my grasp like sand through fingers. It was as though the words were not meant to be understood, only felt. They carried weight, a promise or a warning.
The figure began to walk toward me, each step deliberate, each echoing like a drumbeat. As it drew closer, the whispers around me grew louder, more frantic, as if urging me to listen, to understand. Though I couldn't comprehend the words, something about the cadence, the tone, stirred something deep inside me. It was familiar, like the echo of a memory I couldn't quite reach.
Before I could react, it raised its weapon, the blade glinting with a fiery light. The whispers turned into screams, and the world around me erupted into chaos.
I woke with a start, my chest heaving as I gasped for air. My body was drenched in sweat, and the faint glow of dawn seeped through the cracks in the wooden walls of the house. My hands were trembling, my heart pounding so hard it felt like it would break through my ribs.
The fire from the dream was still there, faint but present, a warmth deep in my chest that refused to fade. I pressed a hand to my sternum, as if I could extinguish it, but it only seemed to burn brighter.
The smell of cooking brought me back to reality. I could hear the faint crackle of the hearth in the other room, and the low murmur of voices. My body felt heavy as I forced myself to sit up, the ache in my muscles a stark reminder of my fight with Eric.
When I entered the main room, my mother was there, crouched by the fire as she stirred a pot of something that smelled rich and hearty. She glanced up at me, her expression softening as her eyes met mine.
"You're awake," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "Good. You'll need your strength today."
I hesitated in the doorway, unsure of what to say. She didn't seem to expect an answer. Instead, she stood and walked to the table, where something was draped over one of the chairs. It was dark and rough, the edges uneven, but as she lifted it, I realized what it was.
A vest, crafted from thick fur and reinforced with pieces of bone and sinew. The fur was unmistakably from the wolf I had killed, its dark gray pelt shining faintly in the firelight. The bones were polished and smoothed, forming crude but sturdy plates over the chest and shoulders.
"I made this for you," she said, holding it out to me. "It's not much, but it'll keep you warm. And it's strong enough to take a hit or two."
I stepped forward, reaching out to take it. The weight of it surprised me, not heavy, but solid, as if it carried more than just its physical mass. My fingers brushed against the fur, and for a moment, I felt the same strange mix of pride and guilt that had hit me after the fight.
"Thank you," I said quietly, my voice rough.
She smiled faintly, stepping back. "You earned it."
I slipped the vest on, the fur warm against my skin. It fit snugly, the bone plates resting comfortably without restricting my movement. It wasn't elegant or refined, but it felt… right. Like it belonged to me.
Before I could say anything more, the door creaked open, and my father stepped in. The chill of the morning followed him, clinging to his cloak as he shook off the snow. He glanced at me, his eyes lingering on the vest for a moment before he nodded.
"Looks good," he said simply. "You'll need it." Kaldar's lips twitched, not quite a smile but something close. "We're heading to the garnizon," he said. "It's time you saw more of the north. And if we're lucky, you'll learn something useful."
His tone left no room for argument. My mother's expression tightened, but she didn't say anything, instead turning back to the fire. I didn't miss the way her hands clenched the edge of the pot, though, as if she wanted to protest but knew it wouldn't matter.
"When do we leave?" I asked, straightening slightly.
"Now," Kaldar said, motioning to the door. "Get your boots. It's a long walk."
I cast one last glance at my mother, who gave me a small, encouraging nod. Then I turned and followed my father out into the snow, the fire from my dream still flickering faintly in my chest.