The forest was no longer silent.
The roar of magic still echoed through the trees, rippling across the ground like a distant thunderstorm. Irin could feel it vibrating inside his bones, singing through the mark on his wrist.
Ashborn.
The name wasn't just a whisper now. It clung to him. Changed him.
He stumbled out of the cavern, blinking into the broken moonlight. His legs shook, but not from fear. From the power still burning under his skin — wild, heavy, alive.
Across the clearing, the Watcher was waiting.
Its silver mask gleamed coldly. Black runes floated around its form like smoke, shifting with every shallow breath it took.
"You should not exist," the Watcher said.
Irin tightened his grip around the air, instinctively calling to the fire inside him. He didn't know what he was doing. Only that he couldn't let himself fall again.
"You're too late," he said hoarsely. "I'm not yours to take."
The Watcher lifted a hand, and the air bent. Shadows twisted into a long spear, sharp enough to tear the sky.
Irin raised his palm.
This time, the magic didn't fight him. It came willingly — surging outward in a wave of heat and gold.
The spear shattered mid-flight.
The Watcher reeled back a step.
For the first time, Irin saw it hesitate.
Not invincible after all.
He didn't waste the moment.
He turned and ran, weaving through the ruined stones, the trees flashing by in a blur. Every step felt like it carried him further from who he had been — and closer to something new. Something dangerous.
The forest reacted to him.
Branches bent away. Leaves curled into ash as he passed. The ground smoked under his boots.
The Ashborn was no longer hiding.
He found Lera a mile down the old path, crouched behind a fallen log, her eyes wide and wild. She scrambled up when she saw him.
"You're alive!" she gasped. "I thought—"
"No time," Irin said, grabbing her hand. "We have to move."
She didn't argue. She just ran.
They didn't speak as they pushed through the twisted woods, heading west, always west. Irin led, but he barely knew where he was going. The pull inside him guided his feet more than his mind did.
The Ashstone, pressed against his chest, grew warmer with every step.
By dawn, they reached a ridge overlooking a wide valley.
Below, a river snaked through blackened fields, and beyond it — far beyond — rose the shattered spires of a forgotten city. Half-buried in ash, the ruins stretched for miles. Towers crumbled into skeletal fingers clawing at the sky.
Even from here, Irin could feel it.
The city called to him.
The Ashborn called to the ashes.
Lera stood beside him, shivering under her cloak. "What... is that place?"
"I don't know," Irin said honestly. "But we have to get there."
The wind shifted.
Behind them, from deep within the forest, a new sound rose.
Horns.
Three short blasts.
Not Watchers this time.
Hunters.
Irin's blood turned cold.
The Mage Houses had felt the disturbance.
They were sending others now — trained ones. Soldiers. Magic users. Maybe worse.
"We have to move," Irin said. "Fast."
"But there's no cover," Lera whispered, staring at the exposed valley below.
"I know."
He took a step forward.
The mark on his wrist flared.
The ashes stirred.
The valley itself seemed to shift, the old ground cracking open in thin, winding lines. Wisps of smoke curled upward from ancient bones buried deep beneath the soil.
Ash answered ash.
Irin didn't fully understand it — but the land itself was waking up because of him.
He focused, heart pounding.
The cracks widened.
A low mist began to pour out from the ground, thick and heavy, rolling over the fields like a living thing.
Within moments, the entire valley was swallowed by swirling, choking fog.
A perfect shield.
Lera stared at him, half in fear, half in awe.
"How are you doing this?" she breathed.
"I don't know," Irin said. "But it's the only chance we've got."
He turned to her, serious.
"Stay close. Don't lose me in the mist."
She nodded.
Together, they plunged into the ash-shrouded valley — just as the hunters crested the ridge behind them.
The mist was blinding.
Even with the mark burning against his skin, even with the Ashstone thrumming at his chest, Irin could barely see three feet ahead. Shadows danced at the corners of his vision — some real, some tricks of the smoke.
Lera clung to his cloak, coughing.
Behind them, distant voices shouted — rough, commanding.
Orders.
They were being hunted in earnest now.
Hours seemed to pass inside the mist.
Or maybe only minutes.
Time twisted when you couldn't see the sun.
Irin moved by instinct, feeling his way across cracked earth, guided only by the tug of the Ashstone toward the ruined city ahead.
Then, suddenly — a shape loomed out of the smoke.
Stone walls. Massive. Blackened. Scarred by fire and centuries of ruin.
They had made it.
At least... to the first gate.
Irin pressed a hand to the stone.
It was warm.
Not from sunlight — from something buried deep inside.
Something ancient.
He turned to Lera. "Inside," he said. "We'll find shelter there."
She nodded, too exhausted to speak.
Together, they slipped through a gap in the broken wall — into the heart of a city that should not have existed.
Behind them, the hunters entered the valley.
And the ash closed in.