They turned away from that soul‑freezing vortex of darkness. Marcos's icy whisper still clung to the air, sticky as a spider's web:
"Come in… your fate… awaits you…"
Each step away from that hollow felt like yanking one's foot from mud. The stench of corruption thinned slightly but never left—they still breathed a heavy, sweet‑sour rot. Underfoot lay hard, barren rock streaked with ash‑black fractures, like bones clenching in death throes. The sky overhead was a suffocating leaden gray—daylight itself refused to penetrate this gloom.
Raine marched in the center, the sword‑blank of Starflame wrapped tight against his chest. Its warmth comforted him—and reminded him of the sacrifice of his blood, the weakness that followed. Marcos's poison words about his sister and the cruel bait played on loop in his mind. It was a trap beyond question—but even a one‑in‑a‑million chance of truth felt like a dagger to his heart.
He glanced sideways at Thalia. She brought up the rear, her steps slow and heavy, as though dragging herself forward. Her skin was paler than in the hollow; her lips pressed tight, ghostly. A fine sheen of sweat coated her brow, and damp strands of black hair clung to her cheeks. She exuded fragility, as if she might shatter at any moment. Raine's chest tightened. He wanted to ask about her heart, her secret, why she had reacted so oddly to the vortex—but the words stuck in his throat. The time wasn't right. And besides, what could he ask? She had never spoken of it.
Karrion led on, his squat frame as solid as the rock. Every few paces, he paused, crouching to examine faint marks on the ground. His brow was tightly furrowed—he, too, clearly spooked by Marcos's voice, even though he'd heard no echo of it. A dwarf's instinct for danger was legendary.
"This godforsaken place," Karrion grumbled, "no self‑respecting goblin would even defecate here." He paused, dusting his hands. "Y'know that joke about the one‑eyed giant racing the three‑legged gnome? The giant says…"
No one laughed. Only the wind howled past the barren stones, and Karrion's punch line hung awkwardly in the void. He sighed heavily, finger‑tugging at his braided beard. "Forget I said anything." The atmosphere seemed to clamp tighter.
They pressed on in silence. The landscape offered only despair: ash‑black stones, the skeletons of twisted briars, and stray whitish bones of unknown creatures. This truly was a wasteland—life's forbidden ground. Even corruption itself seemed reluctant to linger, leaving only a faint, stubborn stain.
Night fell without fanfare—not a starry canopy but a slow, suffocating spread of ink‑dark gloom. The few stars that shone were like the flicker of a dying man's eyes: dim, distant, hopeless. The guiding light of old was now stingy and aloof.
Karrion chose a sheltered spot beneath a rock ledge for a makeshift camp. It just fit the three of them. He scraped clear a small patch for a firepit—but hesitated and left it unlit. "Too obvious," he muttered. "Who knows what lurks here?" From his pack, he produced hard jerky and stale biscuits, handing rations to Raine and Thalia.
Raine accepted them but lacked appetite. Leaning against the cold stone, he stared at the dim sky. The decay of the stars was plain to see—not just visually, but in the very fabric of magic around him, which felt sluggish and feeble, like a stream drying to rivulets. He tried to meditate as before, to call on the starlight for even a sliver of power to ease his weakness and the lingering sting of backlash. But when his mind plunged into darkness, there was no comforting glow—only a frozen barrier he could not break. The starlight that once roared through him was now beyond reach, behind icy walls.
Refusing to yield, Raine redoubled his mental push, crashing against that invisible barrier—only to be met with a sudden, brutal shock like lightning searing through his spine. He gasped and curled inward, cold sweat beading on his back. This backlash was fiercer, more vicious than ever—a punishment from the stars themselves for trying to wrest power by force. Every nerve howled as his starblood convulsed in rebellion.
"Raine?" Karrion's voice was tense with alarm. He dropped his tools and knelt beside him.
"Fine… old injury," Raine wheezed, forcing a grim smile despite the tremor in his voice.
Thalia, propped against the rock across from him, opened her eyes at the sound. She watched him with an expression of unreadable worry, then let out a nearly silent sigh before closing her eyes again.
The pain receded into a dull ache, leaving Raine drained and dizzy. For the first time, he truly felt the stars turning their backs, abandoning him. It wasn't merely power waning, but a feeling of being forsaken. He wondered when it began—something intrinsic to his starborn blood, or the handiwork of Marcos, poisoning the ley lines themselves? A swirl of doubts seized his mind, yet offered no answers.
Night dragged on, colder and longer than ever. The three sat in wordless vigil, only their ragged breathing and the wind's mournful howl filling the void. The distance between them felt colder than the wind‑blasted rock.
Suddenly, Thalia's eyes snapped open, her body tensing like a fox startled. Her gaze cut through the darkness beyond their hollow, ears straining for a faint sound.
"What is it?" Raine leapt to his feet, hand on his blade‑hilt.
Karrion rose too, warhammer in hand, ready.
Thalia did not answer. She inhaled sharply, then spoke in a whisper barely above the wind: "Something… is coming near."
"What? Corrupted beast?" Karrion's voice was a low growl as he settled into a fighting stance.
Thalia shook her head. "No… something else. Tracking us." Her voice wavered. "Not one… many. Far, but… coming this way."
"Can you tell the direction? Distance?" Karrion asked, staying calm.
"No… the corruption blurs everything," Thalia said, face tightening. "I sense… southwest."
"Hours away, maybe. But it moves fast," she warned.
Three hours? In this cursed land, hours were lifetimes. And a skilled tracker was closing in.
"We can't stay here," Karrion decided. He erased their camp signs and footprints with rapid efficiency.
"We'll take the hidden path," he announced, unfolding a crude leather map. He pointed down a narrow, treacherous ravine. "Harder to traverse, but safer to vanish. Hunters won't think to follow."
He patted Raine's shoulder. "Stay sharp."
They plunged back into the ink‑dark forest. Karrion led, navigating with uncanny skill—leaving false trails, treading on solid rock to minimize prints. Raine supported Thalia, feeling her icy trembling, her breath growing ever fainter.
The wind moaned through skeletal branches like tormented souls. Under dim starlight, gnarled stones threw monstrous shadows. And behind them, that invisible hunger trailed on silent feet—an unseen blade waiting for the moment they weakened.
They were like candles in a storm, their flame flickering, risking extinction with every breath.