The air changed as they crossed the final ridge of the Ashen Pass.
It was subtle at first—a softening of the wind, a gentler bite to the cold. The world behind them, with its scorched cliffs and shadowed hollows, began to fade into memory as the land ahead opened wide and strange. They stood in silence atop the ridge for a moment, catching their breath. Fen's arm was scratched and wrapped hastily in gauze; Cael bore a fresh gash across his shoulder, barely sealed with salve. They were bruised, battered—but alive.
Below them stretched the great Salt Mirror.
It was not truly a mirror, but the nickname suited it. Miles upon miles of salt-flats shimmered like glass under the early sun, reflecting the sky so perfectly that it looked like the world had split in half. Cracks veined the surface in delicate spiderwebs, and distant spires of black rock jutted up like the remains of drowned towers. Here and there, shallow pools of blue water broke the illusion, their edges crusted in pale crystals.
"Looks… peaceful," Fen said, breathless.
Cael nodded, but his eyes were wary. "That's how it tricks you."
They made their descent carefully. The slope was steep, gravel giving way to hard-packed sand. The battle from the previous day still clung to them—muscle fatigue, lingering tension, the sharp memory of the molten beast's roar. Neither of them spoke much as they traveled, but there was no longer silence between them. Only understanding.
By midday, the pass was behind them, swallowed by rising heat and the shimmer of salt light.
They stopped under a jagged rock outcrop that cast a slice of shadow. Fen sat and inspected his bowstring while Cael knelt beside one of the salt pools, refilling the enchanted flask with care. The spell would filter the water, but even so, he whispered a quiet thanks to whatever force still let magic breathe in this place.
"This is a dead zone, isn't it?" Fen asked.
"Used to be a sea," Cael replied. "Long ago. Then came the collapse. The salt stayed."
"And monsters?"
Cael looked out across the flat, blinding expanse. "Fewer. But stranger."
They moved on.
The Salt Mirror had no roads. Their only guide was the rising sun and the worn markings carved into the old obsidian stones placed centuries ago—waypoints for pilgrims, hunters, and Ashwalker hopefuls. These stones were few and faded, some half-buried, others scorched or cracked from forgotten battles.
As the day stretched, heat began to rise from the flats in visible waves. Their boots left no tracks on the hard-packed salt, and the sky above was a relentless blue that never seemed to shift.
In the late afternoon, Fen stopped. "There," he said, pointing.
Something was moving ahead of them—just beyond the horizon where the sky met the earth. A ripple. A shimmer. Then a figure.
It took shape slowly as they approached. A corpse, half-buried in the salt.
Cael crouched beside it. It was old, worn to bone and sun-bleached leather. No signs of battle—no wounds. Just… stillness.
"There's another," Fen said softly. "Over there."
And another. And another.
They were surrounded by the remnants of a long-lost expedition. Ten, maybe more. Some bore the marks of would-be Ashwalkers—scarred palms, sigil tattoos, faded badges. Others looked like guides or mercenaries.
"Why would they all just lie down and die?" Fen whispered.
Cael stood slowly, scanning the horizon. "It wasn't monsters," he said. "It was the salt. This place—it drains you. Not just water. Your will. If you stop moving, if you lose purpose…" He trailed off.
"They didn't fight. They gave up."
Cael nodded. "And the Mirror swallowed them."
They pressed on with renewed caution.
Night fell fast in the Salt Mirror. Without trees or hills to slow it, darkness swept over the flats like ink poured from the sky. They made camp beside a stone marker etched with runes too weathered to read, and Cael used the last flicker of daylight to light a small fire with dried moss and herbs taken from the enclave.
They sat close that night, not from cold, but from a growing unease.
"We keep walking," Cael said, staring into the flames. "No matter what."
Fen didn't answer immediately. Then, softly: "I saw him today."
Cael turned.
"In the salt. For a second, I thought I saw my grandfather. Just standing there."
Cael swallowed. "The Mirror plays tricks."
"Yeah." Fen's voice was tight. "But it felt real."
They didn't speak after that. But neither of them slept deeply.
The second day was worse.
Not because of what they saw—but because of what they didn't. The salt was a void. Hours passed with no change in scenery, no hint of movement or sound. Even their own footsteps felt muted. Cael lost count of the time. His thoughts spiraled. Memories of his father. The last fight. The weight of his blades on his back. The words of Korr ringing again in his head: You screw up out here, no one's coming to help you.
They stopped at midday only because Fen nearly collapsed. The younger boy's skin was pale, sweat clinging to his collar. Cael forced him to drink, then splashed a bit of flask water onto his own face.
"We need to find shelter," Cael said. "Or we'll become bones in the mirror, too."
They altered course, following the black spires now growing larger on the horizon. They reached them by dusk.
The spires were jagged shards of obsidian, remnants of some ancient volcanic rupture. Between them, they found a narrow crevice—just wide enough for two people to sit in the shade it offered. The air was cooler here, the salt wind weaker.
They rested.
And that's when the whispering began.
At first, Cael thought it was the wind. Then it spoke his name.
"Cael…"
He stood up sharply, hand on his hilt. Fen looked at him, eyes wide.
"You heard it too?" Fen asked.
"Yes."
Another voice followed. Softer. Older.
"Why did you leave me, Cael?"
His father's voice.
"No," Cael growled. "It's not real. It's the salt."
The voices rose—some familiar, some twisted into strange, aching tones. Accusations. Pleas. Regret.
Cael drew his blade and stabbed it into the ground.
The whispering stopped.
"You okay?" Fen asked quietly.
"No," Cael said. "But I'm not listening to ghosts."
They slept again, blades in hand.
On the third day, the Salt Mirror began to change.
Hills appeared on the edge of the horizon, distant and blurred—but real. The land began to rise, and with it, color returned. Sparse patches of yellowed grass. Scrub. Even a stunted tree or two. The salt gave way to cracked earth.
They had survived.
As they climbed the first low ridge beyond the Mirror, Fen glanced back. "You ever want to go back?"
Cael didn't look. "No."
"Me neither."
At the top of the hill, they could finally see it.
The Trial Lands.
A wide valley stretched before them, walled in by mountains and touched with green and gold. Rivers wound like silver threads through the rock, and in the far distance, the shapes of old ruins loomed—silent, waiting.
Cael let out a long breath.
"We made it."
"Not yet," Fen said. "This is just the door."
Cael nodded. His blades were heavy on his back—but it was a weight he had chosen to carry. For his father. For himself.
And now, for the future.
They stepped forward, into the valley. The Trials awaited.