Chapter 15:
The White
Glory of Ash
The gate opened at dawn.
Not with a ceremony. Not with a speech. Just the grind of iron and wood, and the fog rushing in like it had been waiting.
Harkin walked through first. The lantern was dark in his hand.
Dorn followed. Then Silla. Then Varra.
Jorund stopped at the threshold. Looked back at Luke.
"You coming?"
Luke coughed. Wiped his mouth.
"Yeah."
They walked into the white.
---
The Pale Woods were wrong from the first step.
Not scary. Not yet. Just wrong. The trees were too pale. The ground was too soft. Every step sank an inch, maybe two, and the mud didn't squelch—it hissed.
Luke kept his eyes on the treeline. His job during hunts was to watch. To see what the others missed. He'd done it a hundred times on the edges of the forest, during the small patrols, the ones that never went deep.
This wasn't those patrols.
"This isn't those patrols," Silla said, like she'd read his mind.
"No shit," Varra muttered.
---
Dorn found the first marker.
Half-buried. Covered in symbols that looked like cuts. Bren knelt beside it. His hands hovered over the stone.
"This way," he said.
"You sure?" Harkin asked.
"No."
"Good enough."
They kept moving.
---
The lantern started to glow.
Not bright. Just a pulse. Deep in the glass. Like something waking up.
"It's charging," Harkin said. "The nyolin is thicker here."
"How long?" Varra asked.
"Ten minutes. Maybe less."
"That's too long."
"It's how long it takes."
They formed a circle. Dorn faced the trees. Silla faced the fog. Varra watched the path behind them. Jorund stood with his hammer raised. Bren crouched by the marker, his back against the stone, his eyes closed.
Luke didn't stay in the circle.
He walked to the edge of the light.
"What are you doing?" Harkin asked.
"Looking."
"For what?"
"I'll know when I see it."
He stepped into the fog.
---
The fog was colder than he expected.
It pressed against his face, his hands, his chest. He could feel it in his lungs—thick, wet, like breathing through wet cloth.
He moved slow. Quiet. His boots found the soft spots between the roots. His hands brushed the pale bark of the trees.
Behind him, the lantern pulsed. Blue. Faint.
He saw the tracks before he heard them.
Three of them. Clawed. Heavy. Leading from the treeline to the circle and back again. The mud was disturbed—recent. The edges of the prints were still wet.
Luke crouched. Touched one.
Warm.
He stood up. Walked back to the circle.
"There's something out there," he said.
"We know," Silla said.
"You don't know. There's something *close*."
Harkin's hand tightened on the lantern. "How close?"
"Close enough to watch."
---
The ground trembled.
Just a little. Just enough to feel through the soles of their boots.
"What was that?" Jorund asked.
"Nothing," Harkin said.
"That wasn't nothing."
"Then something. It doesn't matter. Keep the circle."
Luke didn't keep the circle. He walked to the other side. Looked out at the trees.
The fog was moving. Not drifting—pulling. Like something was breathing it in.
"There," he said. Pointing.
A shape. Low to the ground. Too fast to track.
"I see it," Dorn said.
"Can you hit it?"
"I can try."
Dorn threw his axe.
The shape moved. The axe hit a tree. The shape was gone.
"Missed," Dorn said.
"I noticed."
---
The lantern pulsed faster.
The light was stronger now. Blue. Almost white. It pushed the fog back in a slow circle, revealing more of the trees, more of the ground.
"How long?" Varra asked.
"Seven minutes."
"That's not ten."
"I rounded down."
"Round up."
"Shut up," Harkin said. "Both of you."
Luke walked to the edge again.
The tracks were still there. Three of them. Clawed. Heavy. But there was something else now. A fourth set. Smaller. Lighter. Walking on two legs.
Human.
"Someone's been here," he said.
"Someone's always been here," Varra said.
"No. Someone's been here *recently*."
The circle went quiet.
Harkin looked at the tracks. At Luke. At the trees.
"How recent?"
Luke crouched. Touched the print.
Wet.
"Today," he said.
---
The shape came back.
Not the low one. A different one. Tall. Thin. Its limbs moved in ways that didn't match its joints—jerky, wrong, like something learning to walk.
"It's watching us," Silla said.
"Don't look at it," Varra said.
"It's looking at me."
"Don't. Look. At. It."
The lantern pulsed. The light flared—blue, then white, then blue again. The shape stopped moving. For a moment, just a moment, it stood still.
Then it took a step forward.
Luke didn't look at it. He looked at the ground. At the tracks. At the way the fog moved around the shape's feet—parting, like water around a stone.
"It's not real," he said.
"What?"
"It's not real. The fog is making it. The nyolin. The lantern. Something." He stood up. "Don't look at it. Don't think about it. Just let it be there."
"That's easy for you to say," Bren whispered.
"No," Luke said. "It's not."
---
The shape came closer.
Luke kept his eyes on the ground. On the tracks. On the way the mud shifted under his boots.
Behind him, he heard Dorn breathing. Heavy. Fast.
"Don't," Luke said.
"I'm not doing anything."
"You're thinking about it. Stop thinking about it."
"I can't."
"Think about something else. The axe. The tree. The way your boots feel in the mud. Anything."
Dorn was quiet.
The shape took another step.
"Three minutes," Harkin said.
"Feels like three hours," Silla said.
"That's because you're looking at it."
"I'm not."
"You're thinking about it."
"I can't help it."
"Think about something else."
The shape stopped. Its head—if it had a head—tilted.
Luke felt its attention shift. From the group. To him.
He didn't look up.
---
The lantern flared.
White light exploded from the glass—bright, blinding, burning. The shape recoiled. Its body twisted, folded, collapsed into the fog.
"It's full," Harkin said. "Let's go."
They didn't run. They walked. Fast. Harkin led, the lantern held high. Dorn followed, his axe in both hands. Silla watched the left. Varra watched the right. Jorund stayed at the back, his hammer raised.
Luke walked beside Bren.
"You didn't look," Bren said.
"No."
"How did you know not to?"
Luke coughed. Wiped his mouth.
"I didn't. I just guessed."
---
They found the ridge.
The fog was thinner here. The trees were further apart. Harkin set the lantern down. The light pulsed. Steady. Strong.
"We need to rest," Silla said.
"We need to keep moving."
"We need to rest."
Harkin looked at Dorn. At his hands, still shaking. At his face, still white.
"Five minutes."
They sat. No one spoke.
Luke stood at the edge of the ridge. Looked out at the forest.
It went on forever. Pale trees. Grey ground. White sky.
"We're being followed," he said.
"We know," Varra said.
"No. Not by the shapes. By something else."
He pointed.
A figure stood at the edge of the treeline. Too far to see clearly. Too still to be an animal.
"Human," Jorund said.
"Maybe."
"It's not moving."
"It's watching."
They watched it. It watched them.
The lantern pulsed.
The figure didn't move.
"Five minutes is up," Harkin said.
He picked up the lantern.
They kept moving.
Please sign in to leave a comment.