Chapter 34:
Cracked Earth
Glory of Ash
The ground changed first.
Not gradually. Between one step and the next, the soft soil went hard. Cracked. Dry. The fog thinned—not clearing, just pulling back. Like the forest was letting them see.
Luke stopped. His boots were on something that felt like stone. He looked down. The earth was pale. Veined. Not roots. Something older.
"It's been like this before," Silla said.
Varra limped past her. "When?"
"The maps. The old ones. The ground changes near the gate."
"We're not near the gate."
"I know."
Luke kept walking. His hands were black to the wrists. The stain had reached his collarbone. He couldn't feel his fingertips anymore. He didn't try.
---
The trees were different here.
Not paler. Not darker. Just... still. No movement in the branches. No sound in the leaves. The air was thin. Breathing was work.
Silla's ankle dragged. The blue stain had reached her knee. She didn't complain. She never complained.
"You're slowing down," Varra said.
"I'm matching your pace."
"I'm limping."
"So am I."
Varra didn't argue.
---
They passed a tree marked with cuts.
Not random. Not survival scars. The gashes were clean—too clean, arranged in a pattern that almost looked like writing. The edges had healed over. Old. But not old enough.
Luke touched the bark. The stain on his palm pulsed.
Varra watched him. "What is it?"
"I don't know."
"Then don't touch it."
He pulled his hand back. The warmth lingered.
---
The first creature came from the ground.
A grub, pale and pulsing, its mouth a spiral of teeth. It erupted at Silla's feet—not random. Targeting. The leg she couldn't feel. The ankle that was already dead.
Varra moved. Her blade came down. The grub split. Blue fluid sprayed across Silla's boot.
Silla didn't flinch.
"You're welcome," Varra said.
"I didn't ask."
"You never do."
---
Luke felt it before it came.
A pressure behind his eyes. A warmth in his hands. The stain pulsed—once, twice—and the air shifted.
"Get behind me."
Varra turned. "What?"
"Get behind me."
She didn't argue. She pulled Silla back.
The centipede emerged from the fog. Not large. Not fast. Just wrong. Its segments moved independently, each one twisting in a different direction. Its eyes were human. Each segment had a pair.
It went for Silla's throat.
---
Luke's hand moved.
Not fast. Not slow. Wrong. His arm extended too far. His fingers opened too wide. The air between his palm and the creature shimmered—pale violet, thin as smoke, faster than sight.
The centipede seized. Its segments locked. Its eyes burst.
It dropped.
Dead.
The body blackened. The fluid inside boiled. The smell was sweet. Wrong.
Luke's hand fell to his side.
The stain was darker now.
---
No one spoke.
Varra stared at the creature. At Luke. At the black thing that had been alive a moment ago.
"What was that?"
Luke looked at his hands.
"I don't know."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have."
He took a step. Stumbled. His knees hit the cracked earth.
"Luke—"
His eyes were open. He wasn't seeing.
---
Varra dragged him behind a fallen tree.
Her arms were numb. She didn't feel his weight. She didn't feel the branches scraping her face. She just moved.
Silla watched the treeline. Her blade was drawn. Her leg was dead.
"Is he breathing?"
"Yes."
"Is he in there?"
Varra looked at Luke's face. His eyes were grey. The stain had reached his jaw.
"I don't know."
---
An hour passed. Maybe more.
Luke woke. His nose was bleeding. His hands were shaking. He didn't remember falling. He didn't ask.
Varra was sitting against the tree. Silla was at the edge of the clearing.
"We need to move," Luke said.
"You need to rest."
"We need to move."
Varra stood. Her legs were numb to the hips. She didn't feel the ground.
"Then move."
---
They walked.
The cracked earth stretched ahead. The gate was somewhere beyond. Hours or days. No one knew.
Luke walked in front. His back was straight. His hands hung at his sides.
Varra watched him.
"You're doing it again," Silla said.
"Doing what?"
"Carrying everyone."
Varra didn't answer.
"You don't have to."
"Yes," Varra said. "I do."
---
The forest was silent.
No wind. No birds. No insects. Just the sound of their footsteps on the cracked earth.
Silla looked back. The path behind them was empty. The fog had closed.
"They're not following us."
"Who?"
"The creatures. The things in the fog."
Varra kept walking. "They don't need to follow. They know where we're going."
---
They found a tree with clean cuts.
Luke stopped. Touched the bark. The gashes were deeper than the first. Older. The pattern was clearer—almost writing. Almost a warning.
"Tharo's squad," Silla said.
"Maybe."
"They came this way."
"Everyone comes this way."
Luke pulled his hand back. The warmth stayed.
---
The second creature came at dusk.
A moth. Its wings were violet, wide, beautiful. It drifted toward Luke's face—toward his mouth, his nose, the cough that had been tearing out of him for weeks.
He didn't move.
"Luke—"
His hand rose. The air shimmered. The moth dissolved. Not burned. Unmade.
Dust settled on his face.
He didn't blink.
---
Varra grabbed his wrist.
His skin was warm. Too warm. The stain pulsed beneath her fingers.
"Look at me."
He looked. His eyes were grey.
"You're not doing this alone."
"I'm not doing anything."
"You're walking into the fog like you don't care if you come back."
He didn't answer.
She slapped him.
His head turned. The sound was loud in the silence.
He touched his face. The sting was real.
"Why do you care?"
Varra thought about Vikt. The cough he tried to hide. The way he said "be careful" instead of "stay."
"Because someone has to."
---
They walked.
The hounds came at night. Needle-Hounds, thin and grey, their eyes pale. They didn't attack. They blocked the path. Rows of them. Watching.
Luke walked toward them.
"Luke—"
He didn't stop.
The hounds parted. Not afraid. Deferent.
Silla stared. "They're letting us through."
"No," Varra said. "They're letting him through."
---
They walked until dawn.
The cracked earth was harder now. The gate was closer. Luke could feel it—not see it, feel it. The pull. The slope. The way the ground led home.
His hands were black to the wrists.
His face was grey.
He didn't tell anyone.
He didn't need to.
Please sign in to leave a comment.