Chapter 16:
The Deep Path
Glory of Ash
The clearing was wrong before they reached it.
Luke felt it first—a shift in the air, a thickness that pressed against his skin. He stopped. Held up his fist. The squad froze behind him.
"What?" Harkin whispered.
Luke didn't answer. He was trying to breathe. His chest wasn't cooperating. The cough came anyway—wet, deep, tearing out of him like something trying to escape.
"You good?" Silla asked.
"Fine."
"You don't sound fine."
He wiped his mouth. Kept walking.
---
The ground changed.
Not gradually. All at once. One step, solid earth. The next, mud that sucked at their boots like it wanted to keep them.
Dorn cursed. Pulled his foot free. Nearly lost his balance.
"This is wrong," Varra said.
"Everything's wrong," Silla muttered.
Bren was at the back. His hands were shaking. They hadn't stopped shaking since the ridge.
"Bren," Jorund said.
"Yeah."
"You see anything?"
"No."
"Then keep up."
Bren didn't speed up.
---
The trees started whispering.
Not words. Not sounds that made sense. Just a low rustle, like leaves rubbing together, except there was no wind. There hadn't been wind for hours.
Silla stopped. Listened.
"You hear that?"
"Hear what?" Dorn asked.
"That."
No one spoke. The rustle continued. Steady. Rhythmic.
"It's the trees," Luke said.
"Trees don't whisper."
"These do."
They kept walking.
---
The first creature came out of nowhere.
Not stalking. Not hunting. Just... there. A small thing, low to the ground, grey and quivering. Its eyes were too big. Its limbs were too thin.
It wasn't attacking. It was just standing in their path, trembling.
"What is that?" Bren asked.
"I don't know," Harkin said.
"It's not threatening us."
"Everything out here is threatening us."
The creature took a step forward. Its mouth opened. No teeth. Just darkness.
Dorn raised his axe.
"Don't," Luke said.
"Why not?"
"Because it's not alone."
The fog shifted. More of them. Small. Trembling. Standing in a loose circle around the squad.
"They're not predators," Luke said.
"Then what are they?"
"Prey."
Something crashed through the trees.
The small creatures scattered. Fast. Too fast. The thing that crashed was bigger—much bigger—and it wasn't trembling.
Dorn swung his axe.
The thing didn't dodge. Didn't need to. The blade bounced off its hide like stone.
"Run," Varra said.
They ran.
---
Luke fell behind.
His chest was on fire. His legs were heavy. The cough wouldn't stop.
He could hear the thing behind him—not fast, not loud, just steady. Crashing through the trees. Getting closer.
He tripped. Went down hard. His palm hit the mud. His head hit something harder.
He rolled over.
The thing was there. Standing over him. Its eyes were small. Black. Its mouth was open.
Luke reached for his blade.
His hand was empty.
The thing leaned down.
The lantern flared. White light exploded from the glass. The thing recoiled—fast, violent, crashing back through the trees.
Harkin was standing ten feet away, the lantern raised, his face pale.
"You're welcome," he said.
Luke got up. His hand was bleeding. His head was ringing.
"I had it under control."
"You were on the ground with no weapon."
"I had a plan."
"What plan?"
Luke didn't answer.
---
They regrouped at a ridge.
The fog was thinner here. The trees were further apart. Dorn was checking his axe for damage. Silla was pacing. Varra was staring at the treeline.
Bren was sitting on a rock, his head in his hands.
Jorund walked over to Luke. Looked at his hand.
"You're bleeding."
"I noticed."
"Let me see."
Luke held out his hand. Jorund turned it over. The cut was deep—not from the fall. From something else.
"What did this?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"I was too busy running to ask."
Jorund tore a strip from his sleeve. Wrapped it around Luke's palm. Tight.
"Thanks."
"Don't thank me. Thank the idiot who didn't leave you."
---
The lantern was dimming.
Harkin held it up. The light was faint—blue, pulsing, weak.
"It needs to charge," he said.
"We just charged it," Varra said.
"That was hours ago."
"It was forty minutes."
"It needs to charge."
They formed a circle. Dorn faced the trees. Silla faced the fog. Varra watched the path behind them. Jorund stood with his hammer raised.
Luke sat in the center. His head was pounding. His hand was throbbing.
Bren sat beside him.
"You saw something," Luke said.
Bren didn't answer.
"When we were running. You saw something."
Bren's hands tightened.
"What was it?"
"I don't know."
"You're lying."
Bren looked at him. His eyes were red.
"It was my father. Standing in the fog. Watching."
Luke said nothing.
"It wasn't him. I know it wasn't him. But it knew his face. It knew how he stood. How he looked at me."
Luke looked at the fog. At the trees. At the dark between them.
"The forest knows things," he said.
"That's not comforting."
"It's not supposed to be."
---
The lantern pulsed. The light grew brighter.
Luke walked to the edge of the ridge. His hand was bleeding through the bandage. His chest was tight.
He looked out at the forest.
The trees went on forever. Pale. Silent. Watching.
He felt it again—the warmth. On his neck. On his face.
He turned.
Nothing. Just fog. Just trees.
But the warmth stayed.
---
Dorn found something.
A weapon. Embedded in a tree. The blade was rusted. The handle was cracked. The wood around it had grown over the metal, swallowing it slowly.
"Jarrell's," he said.
"How do you know?"
"I recognize the make."
They kept walking.
More weapons. Shields. Armor. All embedded in the trees. All being swallowed.
"They didn't die here," Luke said.
"What do you mean?"
"They were buried here. The forest took them."
Harkin stopped. His hand tightened on the lantern.
"We keep moving."
"Don't you want to know what happened?"
"I know what happened. They died. The forest won."
He walked on.
---
The ground opened up.
Not a clearing—a wound. The earth had split, long and deep, exposing roots that looked like veins. The soil around it was black. Wet. Fresh.
"This wasn't here before," Varra said.
"How do you know?"
"Because I would have remembered."
Luke walked to the edge. Looked down.
The roots were moving.
Not swaying. Not shifting. Moving. Like they were breathing.
He stepped back.
"We need to go around."
"We can't," Bren said. "The markers go straight."
"Then the markers are wrong."
"The markers aren't wrong."
"The markers are leading us into a hole in the ground."
Bren didn't answer.
Harkin walked to the edge. Looked down.
"We go around," he said.
They went around.
---
The structure was waiting for them.
Stone. Old. Covered in symbols that hurt to look at. The entrance was dark—not fog-dark, just dark. Like the light couldn't reach inside.
Harkin raised the lantern.
The light pushed forward.
The darkness didn't move.
"We're going in," he said.
"We're not," Varra said.
"We are."
"You don't know what's in there."
"I know what's out here."
He walked inside.
One by one, they followed.
Luke was last.
He looked back at the forest. At the trees. At the fog.
Something was watching. He could feel it.
He turned and walked into the dark.
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