They left Hazelrun that same evening, with bitter cold settling over the road.
The first day passed calmly, as did the second, but by the third the road had already grown emptier, perhaps too empty. The world was vast enough to make such judgments uncertain. Villages disappeared beyond the horizon, the land stretched without end, the skies opened too widely above them, and the forests seemed deep enough to swallow entire caravans.
Within that immensity, the caravan followed its own unchanging rhythm. They walked, stopped, inspected the wheels, fed the beasts, ate hard bread, and slept with one eye open. Lyn kept to himself while carefully observing the others and gradually mapping their behavior. The longer he watched and listened, the more useful Emberbar appeared. Caravans talked. Their passengers complained, exchanged rumors, and carried information from one settlement to another.
Two more days passed before the forest appeared along the horizon, at first no more than a dark smudge beneath the ash-grey sky. It thickened with every passing hour until the three moons became faint ghosts behind the haze, their light too weak to reach the road. By the time the caravan reached the treeline, night had settled completely. The world had fallen quiet in that peculiar way that made even the creaking of a wagon wheel sound like an intrusion.
The trees were old, their bark cracked and peeling like the skin of something long dead. Their branches twisted together overhead until the road became a tunnel beneath tangled wood. The air grew heavier than it had been on the open plains, carrying the smell of damp earth, old rot, and something else beneath both, something animal and patient.
The red-scaled beasts sensed it. They snorted and shifted within their harnesses, dragging their claws across the stone and leaving grooves behind.
"Be on guard," the caravan master said. His voice remained low, but it carried down the line of wagons with the weight of long experience, he was not a man who startled easily.
"Fire Path Dao Chosen, into position."
Four figures moved toward the perimeter, the first threads of flame already gathering around their hands, their shards floating just behind their heads. Three were young, barely older than Lyn, and their Rank Three Essence escaped in uneven pulses that revealed more nervousness than control.
The fourth was an older woman with grey streaking her hair. Her hands did not tremble, and the flame she held remained steady and contained at Rank Four. Without waiting to be directed, she took the left flank and began searching the darkness between the trees.
Lyn walked beside the second wagon, where he had been assigned on the first day and had remained ever since. The position gave him a clear view of both the road ahead and the forest on either side. He activated Light Cat Eyes with a thread of Essence thin enough to maintain for hours if necessary. Darkness peeled away, leaving behind a grey dreamscape in which every fallen branch and trembling leaf stood out with the clarity of etched glass.
I hadn't noticed until now, but it seems I can activate shards directly from my Vessel Realm.
Lyn allowed the shard to settle into a passive state while his eyes adjusted to the doubled impressions of light and shadow. The caravan continued deeper into the forest, for a long stretch, nothing disturbed the rhythm of the journey. Wheels groaned as they passed over exposed roots, drivers occasionally muttered to calm their beasts, and twigs snapped somewhere in the distance. Each sound might have been caused by the wind, or by something following beyond the road and waiting to be certain.
Lyn watched the grey shapes of the forest pass without speaking. His thoughts turned inward, where they usually remained, while his expression stayed as still as it had been since Hazelrun. Then the howl came, and it was not distant at all. It rose from somewhere ahead and to the left, long and wavering, as though several throats were producing the same cry. The sounds overlapped and braided together until the howl became less a voice than pressure against the ears, leaving a vibration within Lyn's chest even after it faded.
The caravan master raised a closed fist. Every wagon stopped at once. The red-scaled beasts lowered their massive heads and became still with the instinct of prey that knew it had already been seen.
"Positions," the master ordered, neither shouting nor whispering. His voice carried the particular calm of a man who had done this many times before. "Guard the left flank. They'll test us there first."
Lyn narrowed his grey-lit eyes and searched the trees. The wolves emerged like shapes carved from the darkness, low and four-legged, moving with the fluid patience of creatures that felt no need to hurry. He counted eight, then ten, then twelve as more appeared from deeper within the forest. Their bodies were lean, and their eyes caught the firelight in pale green flashes.
Lyn reached mentally for Light Information. The familiar glass-like surface flickered with basic information before responding to his intent and filtering toward anything related to bestiary entries. Even simple descriptions and common threat classifications would help. He skimmed the entries rapidly, comparing their estimates of size with the shapes he could see through Light Cat Eyes.
He matched the pack's behavior with the available notes on coordinated hunters and eliminated the species that failed to fit until only a few possibilities remained.
Minor class, most likely.
Lyn did not know what the term meant, although the caravan guards probably would.
"Minor rank beasts," he said without turning his head, keeping his voice flat and just loud enough to reach the caravan master. "Pack structure. At least twelve."
The master glanced at him and nodded once before returning his attention to the forest. His hands moved through quick, practiced gestures, directing the Fire Path Dao Chosen to adjust their spacing and prepare for the first strike. Lyn was about to add something about the way the pack was spreading. As The wolves were not circling at random; they were taking positions with a purpose that suggested something beyond ordinary hunger.
The first attack came before he could speak, a mass of fur and muscle dropped from the branches above the lead wagon with no more warning than a shift in the air. The red-scaled beast screamed as jaws closed around its throat. The wagon lurched sideways, throwing the driver from his seat, and the night erupted with shouting, flame, and the wet sounds of violence.
The older Fire Path woman moved before the scream had ended. Both palms thrust forward, releasing a lance of condensed fire that struck the wolf's flank and knocked it away from the beast's throat. Smoke rose from its fur as its snarl broke into a startled yelp.
It staggered but did not fall. Through Light Cat Eyes, Lyn saw the wound already beginning to close. The damaged flesh knitted together at an unnatural speed.
"Light the perimeter!" the caravan master roared.
The three younger Fire Path Dao Chosen obeyed. Orange flame rose in an uneven ring around the wagons, throwing wild shadows against the trees and forcing the wolves beyond its reach. Stillness returned for the length of a held breath. The pack continued circling just outside the firelight, bodies lowered and eyes steady. They were waiting for the flames to weaken or for someone within the perimeter to make a mistake. One of them stepped forward and continued past the edge of the light.
It was larger than the others, easily the size of a draft horse. Silver-white fur covered its body and appeared to glow even before the change began. As it entered the firelight, the glow intensified. Cold silver luminescence pulsed across its pelt like a heartbeat, spreading outward in waves that caught the eye and held it.
Lyn's eyes narrowed. The rhythm of the light was too steady and deliberate to be natural. He had seen something similar described in the bestiary, within a subsection concerning beasts born with shards fused into their bodies. The entry had been thin, offering more warning than explanation, but it mentioned effects that ordinary animals could not produce.
I'm sure this wolf has a shard merged with it. I should warn them.
Lyn opened his mouth, but one of the young Fire Path Dao Chosen was already staring. The boy could not have been more than eighteen. His Rank Three Essence remained unsteady, and the remnants of the flame he had been feeding into the perimeter still lingered around his raised hands. His face went slack, a peaceful expression settled over him, Silver light reflected within his eyes as the flames in his palms guttered out and his arms fell to his sides.He stepped toward the wolf.
"Get back!" someone screamed, a woman's voice cracking on the second word. The boy did not appear to hear her. He walked through the fiery perimeter as though it were not there, passing the lead guard who reached for him and failed to catch his clothes. His stride remained unhurried, his expression blank and content.
The silver wolf waited without moving while the light across its fur grew brighter with each approaching step. When the boy came close enough for Lyn to see the wolf's breath misting in the cold air between them, the creature opened its jaws and bit through his skull, there was a wet, sickening crunch as his skull gave way. His body collapsed. The wolf dragged it backward into the darkness, and the silver glow along its fur flared brighter.
The screams that followed came from several throats at once and blended into chaos. They no longer communicated anything; they were merely the reflexive cries of people who had watched death arrive and understood that it remained hungry.
Two more figures had already begun walking forward. One was a driver from the third wagon. The other was a merchant woman traveling with her husband who had scarcely stopped talking since the journey began. The driver was closer, the grey-haired Fire Path woman reached him in time, caught him by the collar, and hurled him against the side of a wagon with enough force to crack the wood. The impact knocked the hypnosis from his eyes.
The merchant woman was farther away and moving faster. No one came close enough to stop her before a second wolf, smaller and darker than the silver one, darted from the treeline and caught her leg between its jaws.
It dragged her screaming into the darkness. Her screams did not last long. A third person had fallen beneath the effect of the infused Shard, a young man clutching a spear he had made no attempt to raise. His feet were already carrying him beyond the firelight toward the waiting silver wolf. Lyn moved before even deciding to move, his body advancing ahead of his thoughts for once. He crossed the distance in a sprint faster than anything he had attempted in years and struck the young man low, driving his shoulder into his hip. They crashed to the ground together in a tangle of limbs and dust, while the spear clattered away into the darkness.
"Close your eyes," Lyn said, the words scraping from a throat unused to urgency.
He was already rolling away and forcing himself back to his feet while mentally reaching for Light Reflect.The silver wolf turned its head toward him. For the first time, Lyn felt the pull. The influence was gentle, warmth began at the edges of his mind and spread inward like the first wave of sleep after prolonged exhaustion. It carried no words, yet it promised something language could not properly contain: stillness, peace, and an end to all the walking, watching, and surviving.
His feet wanted to move. Lyn felt the impulse pass down his spine and into his legs. For a moment that lasted longer than it should have, he understood why the young Fire Path Dao Chosen had walked forward with a smile on his face. He tore himself free with a violent effort. Light Reflect activated through his palm. Nothing visible appeared, yet the wolf snarled and recoiled as its hypnosis shattered for the space of a breath.
"Now!" Lyn shouted across the clearing. "Attack it now!"
The grey-haired Fire Path woman did not hesitate. She had been waiting for an opening, and Lyn had given her one. The flame that erupted from her palms was no longer a lance. It spread into a broad, roaring sheet that engulfed the silver wolf completely. Its fur blackened, and its howl twisted into a shriek.
The two remaining young Fire Path Dao Chosen added their flames to hers until the clearing became a furnace, with the wolf thrashing as a burning shape at its centre. Lyn felt the cost of his action before he saw the result. Light Reflect pulled at him with a constant and ravenous drain. In the urgency of the moment, he had fed the shard without considering the expense, and his Sea was emptying faster than he had ever felt it empty before.
He tried to restrict the flow and force the shard back into dormancy, but his vision blurred. Light Cat Eyes failed in the same instant, causing the grey dreamscape to fold back into ordinary darkness. The world became little more than firelight, shadow, and the sounds of violence he could no longer see clearly enough to act upon.
His Sea was nearly empty. A dry, hollow ache sat behind his ribs like a stone. He had done what he could, and it was not enough. The silver wolf was dying. Its fur had burned away, its flesh was charred, and its movements had weakened into twitches.
Dying, however, was not the same as dead. The shard fused into its body released one final, desperate pulse of silver light that cut through the surrounding flames. At the rear of the caravan, an old grey-haired woman rose from where she had been crouching behind the third wagon. She clutched a bundle against her chest as she began walking forward, her eyes carrying the same blank peace that had appeared upon the young Dao Chosen's face. Lyn watched her pass him. He tried to move, but his body refused.
A guard passed him from behind and to the right. Lyn had never learned the man's name and had only noticed his face in passing during the journey. He was thick-armed, quiet, and carried the steady Essence signature of Rank Four, Stage Two. The man walked forward at an unhurried pace that nevertheless covered the distance quickly. He raised one hand and released a blade of compressed flame no wider than his palm, bright enough to leave a line across Lyn's vision.
The blade passed through the wolf's neck in a single clean stroke. The silver light vanished before its head struck the ground. The old woman stumbled as though waking from a dream. She blinked at the trees, the flames, and the blood covering the ground before collapsing onto her knees in mild confusion. After extinguishing the flame around his hand, he returned to his position along the perimeter with the same tired blankness he had carried before the attack.
Lyn remained with his back against the wagon wheel, his empty hands hanging at his sides. The cleanup continued until dawn, although dawn beneath the ash-grey sky amounted to little more than a gradual lightening. The three moons disappeared behind the haze while the world turned toward another day. Six bodies were buried in shallow graves near the edge of the forest. The earth was scraped aside with tools and hands, then pressed back into place with the same quiet efficiency that governed everything else the caravan did.
The young Fire Path Dao Chosen had been the first to die, followed by the merchant woman. Four others had been taken during the chaos, when the silver light pulsed and no one had been close enough or fast enough to stop them from walking into the darkness. When their bodies were recovered, their faces still carried the same peaceful expression of surrender. Lyn had felt that calm brush against his own mind and had nearly allowed it inside.
Somehow, he was happy for them. They died in peace, stripped of worry, as though death had granted what life never could. Was death truly a bad thing?
Later, after the graves had been filled and the caravan was slowly preparing to continue, Lyn noticed one of the merchants crouching beside the silver wolf's corpse with a hunting knife in hand. The man was a Light Path Dao Chosen at Rank Two, Stage Three. He was curious and persistent, and he had heard that a shard had been fused into the beast's body.
He cut into the carcass with the careful precision of someone who had butchered animals before, separating fur from muscle and muscle from bone. He peeled the body apart layer by layer while blood cooled across his hands and his expression shifted from hope to confusion, then toward a frustration bordering on anger. Nearly an hour passed before he finally sat back on his heels, the knife resting across his knees and drying blood coating his forearms.
"It disappeared," he said, his voice flat with the particular exhaustion of someone who had hoped to find something and discovered nothing. "The shard vanished when it died. There's nothing here but meat."
A few of them laughed at the sight.
"What did you expect?" one of them said, seated against the tree, as if the question itself were obvious.
Another cut in, shaking their head. "Don't you know this?"
"Shards can't be recovered from Beasts."
The man at this was not flustered at all.
He replied with a dry "I see."
Of what use would it be to him to argue with them?
Those around him did not reply. Instead, they said the caravan master wanted all the wolves skinned, and that he should get to work. Lyn heard their conversation and stored the words away. Nevertheless, he did not know what to make of the situation or the events that had occurred.
He had noticed the danger, issued a warning, knocked one man to the ground, and reflected the beast's light for perhaps thirty seconds. Then his Essence had nearly run dry, leaving him standing uselessly while someone else finished what he had started. His actions had not been meaningless but they were also not enough.
The distance between those two truths was where Lyn found himself as the caravan resumed its journey, sitting with his back against a wagon wheel while he watched the trees thin, the sky widen, and the road continue toward a destination that felt no closer than it had when he left Hazelrun.
By the tenth day, the other travelers began noticing him and approaching with questions. They asked about the ashfall, mining, the ridge, and the attack that had occurred several days earlier. Lyn answered in his usual calm voice, although his attention often remained somewhere else. He had always been able to maintain a conversation while thinking about something entirely different, a skill developed because his mother talked too much.
Most people were simple. They feared being alone, so they spoke about anything that prevented silence from settling around them. That made conversation an excellent means of gathering information.
Fools often forget that remaining quiet is an option too.
By the fourteenth day, people had begun speaking frequently about Emberbar. The town had become unusually busy, with too much movement, growing tension, frightened people buying false life-saving charms, and rumors spreading everywhere. Lyn listened without contributing. The fifteenth sunrise stretched across the sky, and a darker shape gradually appeared in the distance.
Emberbar. Lyn adjusted his cloak.
Tokens, distance, and enough noise to disappear into.
It was exactly what he needed. The caravan slowed as Emberbar changed from a distant smear into something real. Its walls were high without being particularly impressive, which suited a mid-sized trade town. They had been built from layered reinforced stone and hardened stonelight-ore. Damage and repairs covered their surface, leaving them scarred, patched, and ugly in places.
Formations pulsed openly through veins carved into the stone. Anyone who focused upon the walls could see thin lines of red and blue glowing faintly within them, revealing the presence of two different formations. The smell reached them next. Smoke, iron, and sweat thickened the air while too many voices clashed beyond the gates. Emberbar was loud, alive, and careless.
The caravan entered the outer plaza, where arriving caravans were inspected, taxed, and tolerated. Merchants began arguing before they had even stepped down from their wagons. Someone nearby was already screaming about prices. A child nearly passed beneath a wagon and continued on his way as though nothing had happened.
Lyn stepped down quietly. He didn't thank the caravan master, and the master offered no farewell. They merely exchanged a small nod, the acknowledgment of strangers who respected one another but owed each other nothing.
Then Lyn disappeared into the crowd. Buildings rose in layers, streets divided and rejoined, and stalls occupied nearly every available space. The noise of the town seemed to feed upon itself. Lyn blended in easily. His clothes were clean enough to keep him from appearing pitiful and plain enough not to attract greed.
As he walked through the town, his map memory formed naturally. He marked the main roads, residential districts, cultivation markets, taverns where tongues loosened, and alleys where quiet deals could take place. Near the entrance, he stopped beside a message pillar covered in notices and scanned them without appearing particularly interested.
Fire Path beast sightings. Missing people. Minor bounties. Sect announcements. One subject appeared again and again. Rifts and anomalies in the sky.
Fear disguised as paperwork.
Lyn stored the observation before checking his pouch. Empty. He sighed once and immediately adjusted his plans. That night, he returned to the caravan rest yard and slept beside several crates as though he still belonged there. No one cared. Too many bodies passed through Emberbar each day for anyone to waste effort questioning one quiet presence.
Cold ground and stale air are still better than debt.
He slept lightly, woke early, and blended into the morning crowd before responsibility could find him. By midday, Lyn had mapped three districts, four taverns filled with gossip, two alleys shaped by quiet business, and one plaza where desperate people naturally gathered. He stopped there and sat along the edge of a low stone structure.
"What do I need first?" he murmured.
Income.
He needed people to look at him and believe that he knew something they did not. His fingers tapped thoughtfully against his leg as he studied the passing crowd. Sect disciples carried too much pride. Wanderers had no roots. Merchants were terrified of disasters, while Dao Chosen feared falling behind.
A faint smile touched Lyn's face. He remained seated in the plaza like another tired traveler, his cloak loosely wrapped around him and his posture relaxed but composed. He looked as though he belonged within Emberbar while remaining too unimportant to be remembered. A small scrap of cloth became a beggar's mat beside him.
An impatient tiger might fail to catch any prey.
Before long, three sect disciples passed through the plaza, laughing more loudly than necessary. Their robes carried sect crests, although the cheap fabric betrayed their low standing. Lyn did not call out to them. He waited until they had passed him by five steps before releasing a soft sigh filled with carefully measured regret and sadness.
One of the disciples slowed and looked back. A moment later, the other two followed. The first frowned before curiosity overcame him.
"Sir, what are you sighing about?"
Lyn raised his gaze lazily but did not answer immediately. He behaved as though deciding whether they were worth the effort while murmuring meaningless words beneath his breath. The three disciples leaned closer, attempting to understand him.
"Nothing important," Lyn said at last. "I was only wondering whether I should bother warning strangers. If I speak and I'm wrong, I look like a fool. If I'm right... well..."
He allowed the sentence to remain unfinished and raised his eyes toward the sky, carrying himself like a man who had lost his family and could do nothing except stare upward beneath the weight of quiet grief and despair.
Silence filled the space he left behind.
"What warning?" another disciple asked, unease entering his voice.
Lyn scratched the side of his face. "You're heading toward the merchant quarter, aren't you? You should avoid it for the next few days." The disciples exchanged glances.
"Why?"
Lyn's expression did not change. "Because Heaven does not open rifts randomly," he replied softly. "When ash patterns break twice within the same region, it can only mean that something is preparing to descend. Hazelrun and the ridge were not accidents. They were signals, and they were predetermined."
I made all of that up on the spot...
He found it amusing, the real question lingered in the back of his mind, light but sharp: Would they believe all of his lies?
The disciples stiffened. They remembered hearing something about Hazelrun, although none of them knew enough to judge his claim. Lyn allowed their uncertainty to deepen.
"I shouldn't say more," he added with mild annoyance. "Outer disciples cannot outrun Heaven anyway."
He scoffed.
"Forget what I said and move on."
Lyn leaned back as though the conversation had already begun to bore him. The disciples were completely hooked.
"Explain more!" one demanded. "How was it predetermined?"
"What are the signals?" another asked.
"Ashrain has a pattern?" the third continued. "Sir, do you know how the weather phenomena begin? How do ashfall and ash winds form?"
Their questions came quickly as worry and paranoia began feeding one another. Most people believed that Heaven itself sent disasters into the world through weather phenomena. Lyn exhaled like someone reluctantly being dragged into trouble.
"There is a pattern," he said. "Even sect records avoid printing it publicly..."
Concern entered his expression. People like them considered libraries too expensive. Most basic knowledge was passed down by parents, which gave them little reason to purchase basic information shards and waste contribution tokens. Had they visited a library, they would have discovered that the sections concerning weather and rifts were almost empty.
"But when Heaven attempts to create something and fails," Lyn continued, "it does not stop. It tries again somewhere nearby, becoming stronger each time."
He watched their throats tighten.
One disciple swallowed. "So... Emberbar is next?"
"I didn't say that," Lyn answered casually. "But if I were you, I would avoid large gatherings, metal structures, and anywhere beneath layered formations."
He stopped again, as he watched their breathing grow heavier.
"Why?" one whispered.
Lyn tilted his head as though considering whether the answer was worth the trouble. "Now we are entering what the sect calls restricted speculation."
His voice lowered. Before continuing, he glanced to the left and right as though afraid someone might overhear them.
"And well... Speculation is never free."
They finally understood. One grimaced. "How much?"
"No cost," Lyn replied.
The three disciples blinked. He allowed their confusion to remain.
"I don't sell lies. If you want nonsense, there are plenty of street fakes. Information is only valuable if it keeps someone alive, so go and enjoy your day."
He pointed lazily toward the crowded marketplace.
"If a rift opens above Emberbar this week, pretend you never met me."
Lyn rose suddenly and turned away as though preparing to leave. They panicked at once.
"Wait!"
A hand closed around his sleeve.
As expected. Now, how much will I get?
"Look," the disciple said with a forced laugh, "we aren't rich, but we aren't broke either. If something is going to kill people, we should at least know how to avoid being among the unlucky ones, right?"
The other two nodded nervously. Lyn allowed them to remain uncertain for several seconds before looking back at them. His eyes appeared calm and tired, as though he were agreeing to do them a favor, he sighed.
"I do not offer complete truth," he said slowly. "Only half-truth. If you accept that, we can speak."
They nodded quickly. Lyn sat down again, and the three disciples leaned closer without being asked. He lowered his voice.
"There are several signs that a city is close to being chosen by Heaven: red afterglow beneath normal sunlight, strange symbols appearing within reflections, animals avoiding the area, and formations losing efficiency."
The disciples absorbed every word like medicine.
"The reason it becomes dangerous," Lyn continued calmly, "is that Heaven repeats failed creation through the same spatial anchors. Territory anchors. Route anchors. Caravan anchors. If a failed creation occurs near Hazelrun..."
He tapped one finger lightly against the stone. "...then its echo will repeat anywhere connected to that road."
One disciple turned pale. Another clenched his jaw, while the third swallowed.
As expected.
Lyn leaned back. "Believe it or don't. Heaven does not care what mortals like us think." The disciples whispered among themselves before giving him several tokens.
Lyn accepted them calmly. "One last piece of advice," he added quietly. "If ash begins falling again, do not run indoors. People hide, and that is why they die. Find somewhere open. There is more air outside, while sealed buildings make it easier for your lungs to burn."
Lyn left without looking back. Rumors always outran truth. That never changed, no matter the World. He disappeared into Emberbar's streets, his cloak blending with the crowd, his pockets slightly heavier and his steps steady.