Part Two: Ashes of the Exile
By: Alexander Frick
Segment 1: Hunger and Resolve
[Narrative]
The forest air was sharp with the scent of ash and blood. The remains of the Mawspawn boar drifted like dark snowflakes, dissolving into nothing. The boy sat slumped against a tree trunk, chest heaving, blood drying on his lips. The Tome lay open on his knees, glowing faintly in the morning light.
The crimson runes pulsed like a heartbeat. He flipped through the pages, each new word and ability shining as though freshly carved.
Shadow Fang
Iron Hide
Maw Roar (Lesser)
Maw Boar’s Endurance
Savage Charge
Bone Armor (Lesser)
Lesser Maw Resistance
Every single one had been taken from something that tried to kill him. Every scrap of strength wasn’t a gift—it was stolen.
His hands trembled as he touched the glowing letters.
[Dialogue: Tome Hero]
“…You’re making me into one of them, aren’t you? Piece by piece.”
[Narrative]
The Tome’s runes flickered in response, though no words appeared this time. He let out a bitter laugh, tilting his head back against the tree.
[Dialogue: Tome Hero]
“…Doesn’t matter. If that’s the only way I get to live, then screw it. I’ll take everything this world has.”
[Narrative]
Hours passed before he could stand again. His body screamed in protest, but the Tome’s stolen endurance dulled the pain enough to keep him moving. He followed the stream through the woods, hoping to stumble onto a village—or at least something edible that didn’t want to rip his throat out.
By midday, he found a bush heavy with berries. His stomach growled at the sight. He reached for one… then stopped.
The Tome’s runes flickered, faintly warning.
He narrowed his eyes, plucking a single berry and tossing it to the ground. In seconds, its skin turned black and melted into sludge.
[Dialogue: Tome Hero]
“…Poison. Of course. Figures nothing’s easy here.”
[Narrative]
He kicked the bush in frustration, then sighed. His hunger gnawed at him like knives. He needed food. Shelter. A plan.
Instead, what he got was more company.
Leaves rustled. The sound of metal clinked faintly.
He froze, crouching low. Through the trees, voices drifted closer.
[Dialogue: Rough Voice #1]
“…Told you I smelled smoke. Something’s been killing Mawspawn out here.”
[Dialogue: Rough Voice #2]
“Could be soldiers. Or… could be loot. Either way, keep your eyes sharp.”
[Narrative]
Three figures emerged through the underbrush. Bandits. Their leather armor was mismatched, swords rusted but sharp enough to kill. One carried a crossbow slung over his back.
The boy’s gut twisted. He had no idea how strong normal humans were here—he’d only fought monsters so far. And these weren’t nobles or knights. They were scavengers. Desperate. Dangerous.
He pressed back against a tree, trying to keep out of sight.
But the Tome’s runes pulsed once, betraying him with a faint glow.
[Dialogue: Rough Voice #1]
“There! Someone’s here!”
[Narrative]
The bandits turned, eyes narrowing as they spotted him.
[Dialogue: Rough Voice #2]
“…Is that—hah! That’s the cursed one. The false hero the king tossed out!”
[Dialogue: Rough Voice #3]
“Then he won’t have protection. Easy pickings.”
[Narrative]
They drew their weapons and advanced.
The boy’s grip tightened on the Tome. Fear clawed at him, but behind it was something else. Something colder.
[Dialogue: Tome Hero]
“…Yeah. Come on, then. Let’s see if stealing from monsters works on people, too.”
[Narrative]
The first bandit charged, swinging his sword down in a sloppy arc. The boy sidestepped clumsily, the blade whistling past his ear. Instinct screamed at him to run, but instead he thrust the Tome forward.
Chains erupted, binding the bandit’s wrist. The man cursed, yanking against the glowing links. The boy pulled hard, dragging the man off balance.
The second bandit lunged. The boy threw his free hand out, shouting the first thing that came to mind.
[Dialogue: Tome Hero]
“Shadow Fang!”
[Narrative]
The page flared. A black spectral fang shot forward, tearing through the bandit’s chest. The man screamed, collapsing as his body smoked with violet fire.
The first bandit’s eyes went wide.
[Dialogue: Rough Voice #1]
“What the hell—he’s got magic!”
[Narrative]
The third raised his crossbow, loosing a bolt. The boy ducked, the projectile grazing his shoulder. Pain flared, hot and sharp.
He snarled, more in fury than fear.
[Dialogue: Tome Hero]
“…Mine!”
[Narrative]
The chains tightened around the first bandit, dragging him closer. The Tome opened wide. Crimson light poured forth, ripping the man’s essence into its pages. His scream died in his throat as his body crumbled into ash.
The boy staggered back, staring at the new words burning onto the parchment.
“Ability Acquired: Bandit’s Reflexes.”
His limbs tingled. His body felt lighter, faster.
The crossbowman’s second bolt flew. This time, he twisted aside almost effortlessly, the arrow snapping into the tree behind him.
The man’s face turned pale.
[Dialogue: Rough Voice #3]
“…Demon… you’re a demon!”
[Narrative]
The boy smiled—a sharp, cruel smile that didn’t feel like his own.
[Dialogue: Tome Hero]
“…You should’ve run when you had the chance.”
[Narrative]
He lunged, the Tome blazing. Chains snapped out, dragging the crossbowman forward into his grasp. The book devoured him as well, his scream echoing through the forest until nothing remained.
The runes pulsed as fresh words etched themselves.
“Ability Acquired: Keen Eye.”
[Narrative]
The boy fell to his knees, gasping. Sweat poured down his face, blood trickled from his wounded shoulder, but he was alive. Stronger.
The Tome pulsed in his grip, satisfied.
He stared at the ashes around him—the remains of men who had been flesh and bone just moments ago. His stomach churned, bile rising.
But then he felt it. Reflexes sharper. His sight clearer. His body quicker.
Stolen, taken, His now.
He laughed weakly, a sound halfway between relief and madness.
[Dialogue: Tome Hero]
“…Guess it works on people, too. Damn.”
[Narrative]
The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows through the trees. He bound his shoulder with scraps of cloth from one of the bandits’ packs, then scavenged what he could—dried meat, a waterskin, a half-broken knife.
As he chewed the tough jerky, his stomach finally quieted. It was the first real food he’d had since being exiled. He almost cried from the taste.
For the first time, he wasn’t starving. He wasn’t helpless.
He was dangerous.
The world had cast him aside, but the wilds were feeding him—piece by piece, life by stolen life.
Segment 2: The Village That Wouldn’t Blink
[Narrative]
By late afternoon the forest thinned, giving way to a gentle slope of rye and barley fields that rolled like waves in the wind. Beyond them, ringed by a low palisade of sharpened logs, lay a settlement: no banners, no marble, just roofs of thatch and clay tiles patched by a hundred careful hands. A single watchtower leaned at an anxious angle over the south gate. Smoke curled from stove vents; the smell of yeast and char drifted on warm air.
The boy paused at the field’s edge, one hand resting on the Tome that dangled from its crimson chain. The boar fight had left him hollowed out; the bandits had left him torn. Yet the village… looked like a place where people woke up, worked, cursed the weather, and slept anyway. He swallowed. His body needed more than jerky and creekwater. It needed rest, bandages, and a roof against rain.
He tugged his hood up—an utterly modern scrap in a medieval world—and walked toward the gate.
A pair of gatehands sat on stools inside the palisade, cards spread between them on an inverted bucket. One wore a dented kettle helm; the other had a wool cap and a scar that threatened to smile even when he didn’t.
[Dialogue: Scarred Gatehand]
“Hoi. Business?”
[Dialogue: Tome Hero]
“…Food. Bandages. Maybe a bed.”
[Narrative]
The scarred man’s eyes drifted down to the iron-bound book chained to the boy’s wrist. His fingers paused over his cards. A long breath went in, came out. He didn’t shout “demon.” He didn’t reach for a spear.
[Dialogue: Scarred Gatehand]
“You’re the one the capital tossed out.”
[Dialogue: Tome Hero]
“That obvious?”
[Dialogue: Scarred Gatehand]
“Only folks wearing city dirt and despair are either refugees or exiles. You smell more like ‘exile.’”
He flicked his gaze to the Tome. “And trouble.”
[Dialogue: Tome Hero]
“I can pay. In work.”
[Narrative]
The two gatehands traded a look. The kettle-helm man shrugged the way farmers do when frost kills the first planting: bitter, resigned, moving anyway.
[Dialogue: Kettle-Helm]
“South row. There’s an apothecary who’ll sell you cloth and salves. Don’t wave that book around.”
[Dialogue: Scarred Gatehand]
“And don’t die under our eaves. Bad for trade.”
[Narrative]
The gate creaked open. The boy slipped inside, aware of eyes peering through shutters, of the instinctive hush that falls when news walks into town on two legs.
He kept to the main lane, boots crunching on shell and gravel. Children stared, then scuttled behind rain barrels to watch him pass. A woman with flour on her apron paused mid-sweep, measuring the chain at his wrist, the blood flaking on his hoodie, the stubborn tilt of his jaw. She said nothing. She went back to sweeping.
South row was a narrow run of timber frames and whitewash. Sprigs of bundled herbs hung from one lintel, their shadows a forest of tiny spears on the plaster. The sign above the door showed a mortar and pestle carved so simply even a storm-drunk traveler would understand.
The bell over the apothecary door made a tired sound.
[Narrative]
Inside, the room smelled like old books, pine resin, vinegar, and something citrus that bit the tongue. Shelves held jars of shredded bark and powder, little paper twists tied with string, bundles of bruised leaves wilting into useful stink.
A woman in her thirties with a linen band around her hair looked up from a ledger. In the lamplight her face had the worn brightness of someone who had learned to be steady because everyone else wasn’t.
Her gaze took in the Tome. She did not flinch.
[Dialogue: Apothecary]
“You’re bleeding on my threshold.”
[Dialogue: Tome Hero]
“Working on stopping.”
[Dialogue: Apothecary]
“Then stop on my table instead of my floor.”
[Narrative]
She patted a scarred oak slab. He eased himself onto it, biting back a groan. She cut away fabric stuck to the wound with a small knife that had cleaned a hundred hurts and would clean a hundred more. She didn’t ask what had done the tearing. Boar tusk, bandit steel, or the teeth of anything that crawled out of a rift—she had a salve for each and a silence for all.
[Dialogue: Apothecary]
“Name?”
[Dialogue: Tome Hero]
“…Kai.”
(He hadn’t meant to give it. The name just slipped out, a bridge back to a world with crosswalks and corner stores.)
[Dialogue: Apothecary]
“Lysa.”
[Narrative]
She poured something amber and cruelly clean into the gouge. Stars burst behind his eyes. The Tome’s chain rattled as his hand clenched.
[Dialogue: Lysa]
“Breathe. If you faint, you’ll hit the floor, and then I’ll have two problems.”
[Dialogue: Kai (Tome Hero)]
“…What’s the second?”
[Dialogue: Lysa]
“Cleaning the floor.”
[Narrative]
A thread and needle appeared. The stitches went in, neat and unhurried, like fence posts down a property line.
[Dialogue: Lysa]
“Bandits?”
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“Partly. Mostly… the world.”
[Dialogue: Lysa]
“Mm.”
She nodded at the Tome. “That will draw eyes. More than you’ve seen.”
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“I’ve seen plenty.”
[Dialogue: Lysa]
“You’ve seen teeth. You haven’t seen attention.”
[Narrative]
She finished the last knot, smeared an herb paste that smelled like crushed coin and rain, then bound it with clean linen.
[Dialogue: Lysa]
“Two silvers. Or you can stack wood and scrub jars until I’m sick of looking at you.”
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“I have… one silver. And work.”
[Dialogue: Lysa]
“Then work. The stove eats kindling like a drunk eats soup.”
[Narrative]
He set the Tome on the table; its runes pulsed once, disapproving. Lysa’s eyes flicked to the light but she refused the bait of curiosity.
[Dialogue: Lysa]
“Put that away when you step outside. Half the village will look and one will talk. They always do.”
[Narrative]
Kai tucked the Tome beneath his cloak—not hidden, never hidden, the chain ensured that—but less loud. He hauled a crate from beside the stove and stepped into the small back yard scattered with herb beds and a chopping stump. He split kindling while his shoulder protested each swing and the sky burned gold through the palisade.
By the time the crate was full and the sweat cooled, the lane had changed. Dusk pulls people home or out to doorsteps where stories breed. Kai returned the wood and paused. At the apothecary’s front window a paper notice had been pasted while he worked. The wax seal at its corner was red as a wound. The ink had been pressed by someone who believed in the weight of law.
He moved closer. Lysa came to stand at his side, drying her hands on a clean rag.
[Narrative]
The notice was a bounty.
Wanted for Blasphemy and Assault: The so-called Tome Bearer, falsely summoned, exiled for crimes against crown and virtue.
Reward: Fifty gold suns, payable upon delivery to Solaria’s Inquisition.
Note: Dangerous. Avoid direct contact. Mark with tar for collection.
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“…They sent Inquisitors.”
[Dialogue: Lysa]
“They send dogs when they’re afraid of wolves.”
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“Fifty.”
[Dialogue: Lysa]
“It’ll make stupid men brave.”
[Narrative]
A murmur worked along the lane as others read. Some faces tightened with greed. Others with pity not strong enough to risk anything. Doors closed. Bars dropped.
Lysa tore the notice free in one motion and fed it to her stove’s mouth. The paper curled, blackened, vanished in a single greedy breath of flame.
[Dialogue: Lysa]
“Not under my window.”
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“You don’t even know me.”
[Dialogue: Lysa]
“I know men who post rewards use coin where proof should be.”
[Narrative]
A bell clanged from the leaning watchtower: three quick strokes, then two. Not alarm—approach. Lysa’s jaw tightened.
[Dialogue: Lysa]
“Eat. I have stew. You can pay with more wood tomorrow.”
[Narrative]
He started to refuse. Hunger made the decision for him. Inside, she ladled stew into a clay bowl. The first mouthful nearly unmanned him—fat, salt, root-sweetness, a memory of kitchens he’d never had. He didn’t realize he was crying until a tear salted the broth. Lysa said nothing. She chopped fennel, humming out of tune.
Boots thudded on the lane. A firm hand rapped the door.
[Dialogue: Lysa]
“In.”
[Narrative]
Two figures entered with the wind. Not soldiers—no clatter of plate. Not bandits—no swagger. These wore long dust-capes the color of rain, with narrow brass pins at their throats: a stylized eye crossed by a rod. Inquisition. The older carried a ledger. The younger carried a calm that was either training or the indifference of a butcher to pigs.
Their eyes found the Tome instantly.
[Dialogue: Older Inquisitor]
“Good evening. We’re surveying for Maw breach survivors. Have you seen anyone unusual?”
[Dialogue: Lysa]
“I see boil rashes the size of plums. And men who think vinegar is magic. I suppose that qualifies.”
[Narrative]
The older smiled with his mouth, not his eyes.
[Dialogue: Older Inquisitor]
“Humor is a balm. We’re also seeking a criminal—exiled by royal decree. Carries a cursed book.”
[Dialogue: Lysa]
“Then you’ve found him. He carries it. He also carries stitches I put in to keep his blood inside where I prefer it.”
[Narrative]
Kai almost choked. The younger inquisitor’s gaze flicked, noting everything: distance to door, weight distribution, the way Kai’s right hand hovered closer to the Tome chain.
[Dialogue: Younger Inquisitor]
“We’ll take custody.”
[Dialogue: Lysa]
“You’ll take dinner when it’s offered in my house. Sit. Or stand outside and be hungry. Those are your choices.”
[Narrative]
Silence held for a heartbeat too long. The older inquisitor’s eyebrows rose a millimeter: surprise, then amusement at the audacity.
They did not sit.
[Dialogue: Older Inquisitor]
“The king’s writ supersedes your hearth.”
[Dialogue: Lysa]
“Not in matters of bleeding.”
[Narrative]
The older man’s smile cooled.
[Dialogue: Older Inquisitor]
“Names.”
[Dialogue: Lysa]
“Lysa of South Row. Apothecary. I sign the births and the burnings. I’ll likely sign yours, too, if you eat my stew cold.”
[Narrative]
The younger stepped forward. Kai’s pulse spiked. The Tome’s runes brightened—a cat arching its back. The chain hummed against his skin, attuned to threat.
[Dialogue: Younger Inquisitor]
“By order of Solaria, the bearer of the Tome Relic is to be conveyed to the capital, alive if possible, ash if not.”
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“Neat phrasing. Rolls off the tongue.”
[Dialogue: Younger Inquisitor]
“You’ll come quietly.”
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“I’ve never been good at ‘quietly.’”
[Narrative]
A breath. The room shrank to the space between a heartbeat and a decision. Lysa’s hand drifted to the stove iron. Not a weapon—an intention.
Kai did not want to fight in the house that smelled like boiling fennel. He didn’t want to bring ash into a room that had kept blood where it belonged. But the younger inquisitor’s fingers touched the rod at his throat-pin, and the rod hummed like a tuning fork struck against a bone—warding, binding, something trained against Maw and man alike.
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“Outside.”
[Narrative]
His voice surprised him: level, not angry. He rose, stew half-eaten, and pushed the door wide. The lane had gathered a handful of watchers, the way lanes will when men in rain-capes choose a doorway to lean justice on. Children were absent now; mothers knew the mathematics of stray blows.
The inquisitors followed. Lysa moved to the threshold and stood there, the stove iron in her hand like a priest’s bell.
Wind dragged the last of dusk across the rooftops. Somewhere, the gatehands pretended to shuffle cards; you don’t leave a table when a story is about to tell itself.
The younger inquisitor drew a baton from his belt, length of darkwood capped with dull iron. Runes crawled along it in pale salt-light.
[Dialogue: Younger Inquisitor]
“Kneel, hands out. Last offer.”
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“Can’t. Bad knee.”
He smiled without humor. “And worse manners.”
[Narrative]
The baton snapped up. Kai moved. Not faster than thought—faster than his old body had ever been allowed to be. Bandit’s Reflexes whispered through tendon and joint; Keen Eye mapped angles; Iron Hide crept like a second skin.
The baton kissed air where his head had been. Kai’s Tome swung—not as a club, but as a key. Chains exploded, scarlet in the blue hour, lashing for the inquisitor’s wrist. The younger twisted, rod ringing against chain. Sparks, salt-white, flew. The ward on the baton drank a link and spat it out crisped.
[Dialogue: Older Inquisitor]
“Wards! Keep the lines!”
[Narrative]
The older flung a fistful of gray dust. It bloomed in the air and fell like slow rain. Where it touched Kai’s chains they guttered, hissing. Suppression powder. Expensive. Prepared.
Kai cut left, felt the weight of the lane, the wall, the curious eyes, the woman at the threshold who had unsewn men from death enough to claim opinion. He could burn this street with Shadow Fang and end these two. He could also end South Row’s patience with him forever.
He set his heels.
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“Out past the palisade,” he said to the inquisitors, surprising everyone including himself. “You want custody? Earn it where the dirt can forget us.”
[Narrative]
The older studied him. The younger’s jaw worked—bravado chewing on caution. At last the older nodded once.
[Dialogue: Older Inquisitor]
“As you wish.”
[Narrative]
They walked through the gate the way men walk to a table with the last of their coin in their pocket. The scarred gatehand lifted his kettle-helmed partner’s sleeve to whisper two quick words that meant: This will either cost us a funeral or a feast-day tale.
Outside the palisade, night had drawn its thin veil. Crickets fiddled at the ditch. Field mice performed brave arithmetic under the rye.
The younger inquisitor didn’t wait. The baton sang, runes brightening as it drank from a reservoir of sanctioned fear. Kai felt the tone like a migraine inside bone. Maw Roar (Lesser) answered from the Tome, a low growl bending air, not shouted so much as exhaled. The young inquisitor faltered—just a half-step—but a half-step is a novel’s worth when reflex has footnotes.
Chains—three, not a storm—shot low. One for ankle, one for wrist, one for the baton. The warded wood jackknifed, parried; the wrist chain missed; the ankle kissed. The inquisitor stumbled. Kai didn’t lunge to finish. He spun, put his shoulder—not the stitched one—into the older inquisitor’s ledger arm and knocked the book to dirt. Pages flowered open: names, dates, accusations, weights of sins.
[Dialogue: Older Inquisitor]
“You think we are scribes?”
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“I think you are habits.”
[Narrative]
The older drew a thin blade not meant for fields. A priest’s knife: short, sure, sanctified. He advanced with economy rather than flourish. Kai’s mouth went dry. He lifted the Tome—
—and the boar’s memory woke in him: a charge felt in ribs and soil, a world narrowing to a single collision. Savage Charge thrummed like a drum struck in his lungs.
He took one step, gathered the field, and became a line.
The older’s knife traced a ribbon of heat across Kai’s forearm but missed the throat it wanted. Kai’s shoulder slammed the man’s chest. Breath burst from the inquisitor like a wind-bruised bellows. They went down in a tangle.
The younger was up, baton already falling. Kai threw Bone Armor (Lesser) across his ribs—a brittle second cage. The baton cracked it and bruised meat anyway. Pain whited out the edges of the world. He tasted copper, earth, a childhood he couldn’t remember well enough to make it matter.
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“Enough.”
[Narrative]
The Tome opened. Not to a page he knew—to a margin that had waited with the patience of stone. Crimson script uncoiled.
Trial acknowledged: Mortal Opponents (Initiate).
Limitation: Devour on living men yields fragments, not essence.
Consequence: Memory Tithe.
The words weren’t sound; they were consent. He could take from monsters with gluttony. From men? With tax. A price he wouldn’t understand until a lack yawned where a day used to be.
He chose anyway.
Chains bit—not the throat, not the heart. The baton, the brass pin, the little sanctified rod that believed itself a judge. They tore free in a crackle of ward-sparks. The Tome gulped the trinket’s light and belched a new line:
Ability Acquired: Null Ward (Flicker).
The baton dimmed, its runes gone sullen. The younger stared, the sudden nakedness of a tool stripped.
[Dialogue: Younger Inquisitor]
“…What are you?”
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“Hungry.”
[Narrative]
He didn’t finish them. He didn’t bind them for delivery with a notice pinned to their rain-capes. He stepped back, breathing like a bellows, and pointed at the dark rim of trees beyond the rye.
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“You come again, come ready to be ash. Or come with better laws.”
[Narrative]
The older sat up slowly, knife lost, dignity arranged as best he could with dirt on it.
[Dialogue: Older Inquisitor]
“You’re no hero.”
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“I wasn’t when you needed one either.”
[Narrative]
They withdrew, not in rout—Inquisition doesn’t run—but as men who had counted a sum and found it more trouble than the coin had promised. At the gate, the scarred hand lifted the latch with a sigh that might have been relief.
Kai stood in the ditch grass and shook. The price came due: a stutter in his mind, a flicker. What had he eaten last night? He knew the stew. He could not remember the taste of water before the stream. A small theft from his own past, and for what? A trick: Null Ward (Flicker). Enough to dim a baton for a breath or three when the next one fell.
He walked back to the lane because there were still stitches under linen, and men who believed in rods, and women who believed in hot broth, and a body doesn’t run on theory.
Lysa met him at the door, iron still in hand, iron cooling. She looked at his eyes first, then his hands, then the wobble at his knees.
[Dialogue: Lysa]
“You’re shaking.”
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“I’m paying.”
[Dialogue: Lysa]
“For what?”
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“Borrowing.”
[Narrative]
She let the silence be big enough to hold that without cracking. Then she poured him water and put it in his hand. He drank. The hole in his memory didn’t shrink, but its edges stopped tearing.
At the window, a new notice blossomed where the old one had burned. Greed has runners faster than fear. Lysa stared at it until it withered under her regard and the glass fogged with her breath.
[Dialogue: Lysa]
“You can’t stay.”
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“I know.”
[Dialogue: Lysa]
“I’ll pack travel herbs. And a map that lies less than most.”
[Narrative]
He nodded. The Tome pulsed, faint as a heartbeat heard through a wall. Outside, the village resumed the business of pretending nothing had happened right where something had.
Night settled proper. In the tower, the watchman yawned. In South Row, a woman washed a bloody needle and hummed, and a boy with a book watched flames write away a paper future he had not chosen, and chose his own anyway.
Segment 3: Hunters in the Tall Grass
[Narrative]
By dawn, Kai was already walking. Lysa had given him a satchel of dried herbs, a strip of smoked venison, and a hand-drawn map scratched in charcoal on vellum. She didn’t hug him. She didn’t bless him. She only pointed west with the iron still in her hand and said: “Keep the rivers at your left shoulder until the hills. Don’t stop for voices. Not all voices belong to mouths.”
Kai had nodded, because nodding was what you did when someone’s advice felt heavy enough to bury you. Then he left.
The road west snaked through wheat gone yellow at the edges and patches of wild fennel that made the air sweet-sharp. Birds sang too loudly. Their cheer grated on the exhaustion clinging to his bones.
The Tome swayed against his side, its runes quiet but warm. He kept glancing at it as though it might sprout teeth. Last night’s fight with the Inquisitors hadn’t left him unscathed. The memory tithe it demanded still echoed in his head: holes where familiar things should’ve been. He remembered the stew’s heat, but not whether he’d ever eaten stew back on Earth. His past was being mortgaged piece by piece.
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“…Guess I’ll have to write my own history before you steal it all, huh?”
[Narrative]
The Tome didn’t answer, though one rune blinked, like an eye closing.
By midday, the road cut through tall grass. Shoulders of green reached his chest, rippling under the wind. His nerves spiked. This was hunting ground: good cover for prey, better cover for predators.
A whistle sliced the air. Not bird. Not wind. Instinct screamed.
Kai dropped. A shaft hissed through the space where his head had been, quivering in the dirt road. The fletching was clean, the tip barbed steel. A professional’s shot.
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“…Of course.”
[Narrative]
He rolled into the grass as another arrow thudded into the road. The blades whipped his face, but he crawled fast, Tome pressed tight to his chest. The third shot never came. Silence. Too much silence.
Then:
[Dialogue: Female Voice]
“Stand up. Slowly. Or the next one goes through your spine.”
[Narrative]
Kai froze. The voice was calm, cool, with the steady edge of someone who’d killed before. He stood, raising his hands. The Tome dangled heavy from its chain.
Across the clearing, a figure emerged from the grass. A bow was drawn, arrow nocked, aimed right at him. Silver hair, braided. Eyes sharp and unyielding.
The Bow Hero.
[Dialogue: Bow Hero]
“…So it’s true. The cursed one lives.”
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“Depends who you ask. Half the kingdom thinks I’m already ash.”
[Dialogue: Bow Hero]
“I saw you thrown out with my own eyes. And yet here you are. Stronger than when you left.”
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“…Didn’t exactly have a choice. Your king made sure of that.”
[Narrative]
Her bowstring didn’t slack. The grass whispered around them, the wind carrying the faint stench of rot. Kai stiffened. That smell… Mawspawn.
The Bow Hero’s eyes narrowed as she noticed it too. She shifted, bow tilting toward the treeline.
[Dialogue: Bow Hero]
“They’ve followed you.”
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“Pretty sure they just follow everything.”
[Narrative]
The ground trembled. Tall grass parted as a Mawspawn pack surged through—wolves dripping tar, their eyes glowing violet, flanking something worse. A stag, its antlers twisted into black iron, its throat gaping open with a second mouth full of fangs.
The Bow Hero loosed her arrow. It split mid-air into three bolts of starlight, dropping the first line of wolves. Kai flung his Tome open, chains snapping out to bind another before Shadow Fang ripped through its skull.
For a moment, the unlikely pair stood back-to-back.
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“Didn’t think I’d end up fighting with one of you.”
[Dialogue: Bow Hero]
“Don’t get used to it.”
[Narrative]
The stag roared, a sound like rusted iron grinding. It charged, antlers slashing the air. The Bow Hero vaulted sideways, loosing another volley. The bolts struck true, but the beast kept coming.
Kai planted his feet, the Tome pulsing. He called forth Savage Charge, energy surging into his muscles. He met the beast head-on, slamming his shoulder into its chest. The impact shook his bones, but the creature stumbled.
Chains lashed its legs.
The Bow Hero’s final arrow pierced its second mouth, exploding in silver light. The stag collapsed, dissolving into ash that scattered on the wind.
The grass grew still. The remaining wolves fled, their violet eyes vanishing into shadow.
[Narrative]
Breathless, Kai dropped to his knees, wiping sweat and blood from his brow. The Bow Hero stood over him, arrow still nocked, though no enemies remained.
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“…You’ve gotta be kidding me. I just saved your ass.”
[Dialogue: Bow Hero]
“And dragged danger to this road. You always attract rot, Tome Bearer?”
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“Yeah, well, rot’s all that welcomed me after your king tossed me.”
[Narrative]
For the first time, her bowstring loosened. She studied him, expression unreadable.
[Dialogue: Bow Hero]
“…You’re not the same boy they threw out.”
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“Guess exile builds character.”
[Narrative]
She frowned, lowering her weapon completely.
[Dialogue: Bow Hero]
“Stay off the main roads. The Inquisition hunts you. And if I see you again, Kai…”
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“You’ll what? Put an arrow in me?”
[Dialogue: Bow Hero]
“…I’ll decide then.”
[Narrative]
She turned, vanishing back into the grass with a hunter’s silence, leaving him kneeling in the dirt. His name still hung in the air where she’d spoken it. She’d remembered it. Somehow, that cut deeper than her arrows.
The Tome pulsed, a page turning by itself. New words etched across it:
“Synergy observed: Relics respond to proximity. Further contact required.”
Kai’s mouth went dry.
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“…Great. Now you’re telling me to play nice with the people who want me dead.”
[Narrative]
The sky darkened. Thunder rolled in the distance. He pushed himself up, grimacing as his body protested. The road stretched west, but the grass whispered like it was alive.
He wasn’t alone out here—not anymore. Heroes, Inquisitors, Mawspawn… the world itself seemed determined to push him into choices. And choices here always came with blood.
Segment 4: Smoke on the Road
[Narrative]
The thunder that had rumbled earlier finally broke as Kai trudged west. Rain came in sudden sheets, flattening the grass and turning the dirt road into sucking mud. Each step yanked at his battered sneakers until they squelched like rotten fruit.
The Tome’s runes glowed faintly beneath his cloak, crimson sparks flickering each time a drop of water hissed against its iron bindings. He wasn’t sure if the book hated the rain, or simply hated everything.
Hunger gnawed at him again despite the herbs and venison. His body demanded more—meat, marrow, life. Every stolen fragment of strength was a hunger that never stopped growing.
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“…Yeah, I get it. Feed you or die. Trust me, I’m working on it.”
[Narrative]
The road bent around a low ridge. That’s when he saw the smoke.
Not campfire smoke—thick, black plumes clawing into the sky. His gut twisted. His first thought was Mawspawn. His second thought was people.
He crept up the slope, keeping low. Rain slicked the grass against his palms. When he reached the top, his breath caught.
Below, where the road dipped into a shallow valley, a wagon train had been ambushed. At least a dozen wagons, their wheels shattered, their contents burning. Bodies littered the mud. Not soldiers—farmers, merchants, refugees. Families.
And circling through the wreckage were Mawspawn. Wolves, yes, but also things less recognizable: shapes with too many arms, twisted silhouettes that dripped shadow like tar. They tore through the wagons with glee, dragging survivors into the muck.
Screams rose above the rain.
Kai’s chest tightened. He knew the smart choice. The selfish choice. Slip away, keep walking, live another day.
But the Tome pulsed hot against his ribs, a page fluttering open.
“Trial available: Mass Conquest. Risk: Mortal. Reward: Ascension.”
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“…You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
[Narrative]
Movement at the far end caught his eye. A handful of men tried to fight back—town guards, maybe. Their spears shook in their hands, but they stood between the beasts and the wagons where children cried. Their fear was raw, but they hadn’t run.
Lightning split the sky. For a heartbeat, Kai saw the Bow Hero on a ridge opposite him, her bow drawn, eyes scanning the chaos. She hadn’t seen him yet.
The Tome pulsed brighter.
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“…Yeah. Fine. Let’s burn for it.”
[Narrative]
He charged down the slope. Mud splashed around his ankles. A Mawspawn wolf turned at the sound, snarling, but chains lashed from the Tome and ripped it off its feet. Kai swung the book like a hammer, slamming it into the beast’s skull before tearing its essence into the pages.
“Ability Acquired: Maw Sprint (Lesser).”
Energy surged into his legs. He vaulted a burning wagon, landing hard beside a mother dragging her child from the wreckage. He grabbed her arm, hauling her to her feet.
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“Run! Get uphill—move!”
[Narrative]
She didn’t argue. She bolted, clutching her child, vanishing toward the ridge.
Another beast lunged. Kai flung out his hand.
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“Shadow Fang!”
[Narrative]
The black arc sliced the monster in half. Ash sprayed across his face, mixing with rain.
The guards finally noticed him. One gaped in shock.
[Dialogue: Terrified Guard]
“The cursed one—he came back?!”
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“Less talking, more stabbing!”
[Narrative]
They rallied, emboldened by his presence whether they wanted to admit it or not. Spears jabbed, blades slashed, and Kai’s chains danced with them, binding creatures so steel could finish them.
Above, arrows of starlight rained down—the Bow Hero had joined the fight, loosing volley after volley into the horde. Her presence turned panic into defiance.
[Narrative]
The stag-like Mawspawn appeared again, or one like it, antlers dripping violet slime. It barreled toward the guards, scattering them like pins. Kai roared, activating Savage Charge. He slammed into its flank, chains wrapping its legs.
The Bow Hero’s arrow pierced its skull, dropping it instantly. She met his eyes across the battlefield for a single, fleeting moment.
Then the world shifted.
The Tome blazed crimson, brighter than ever. Its voice—silent yet deafening—burned into his skull.
“Mass Conquest Initiated. Feed or fall.”
The chains around him multiplied, lashing out without command, binding every Mawspawn they touched. Their screams rose as the Tome devoured, page after page filling with fresh abilities. Kai felt strength flooding into him—too much, too fast. His veins burned. His vision blurred red.
He staggered, clutching his chest. The Tome wasn’t just feeding on them—it was feeding through him.
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“…N-no… stop—!”
[Narrative]
The Bow Hero shouted something, but he couldn’t hear. His ears rang with the sound of chains snapping, essence ripping, monsters turning to ash.
Finally, silence fell. The valley reeked of burnt shadow and wet earth. Survivors huddled together, staring at him with wide, terrified eyes.
He stood in the center, panting, his clothes soaked in blood and rain, the Tome’s chains coiled around him like a serpent. Its runes blazed so brightly they lit the storm-dark sky.
The Bow Hero landed lightly from her ridge, bow in hand, arrows still glowing. She studied him like one might study a fire—dangerous, useful, uncontrollable.
[Dialogue: Bow Hero]
“…You saved them.”
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“Yeah. Doesn’t feel like saving.”
[Narrative]
He looked down at his hands. They shook, not with weakness, but with hunger. He could still taste the essence of what he’d devoured. It made his stomach churn and his pulse race at the same time.
The Tome whispered in his skull, words only he could hear:
“Ascension Path unlocked: Devourer’s Rite. Continue feeding.”
He clenched the book shut, jaw tight.
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“…Not now. Not ever on your terms.”
Segment 5: The Fear and the Choice
[Narrative]
Rain hissed down on the valley, washing blood and ash into rivulets that snaked toward the road. Survivors clung to one another—muddy, shivering, eyes wide with the look of people who had stared into death’s maw and found their savior staring back with hungrier eyes than the monsters.
Kai stood at the center, swaying on his feet. The Tome’s chains still coiled faintly around him, fading as its runes dimmed. His breaths came ragged. Each inhale carried the taste of shadow, metallic and sharp, like sucking on a coin.
The villagers didn’t cheer. They didn’t thank him. They watched.
One man lifted a shaking hand and pointed.
[Dialogue: Terrified Villager]
“T-The cursed one…”
[Dialogue: Another Villager, whispering]
“He devoured them… all of them…”
[Narrative]
Mothers pulled their children closer. Guards who’d fought beside him tightened their grips on their spears. Every pair of eyes screamed the same thing: You’re not safe. You’re not like us.
Kai felt his throat close. He wanted to shout that they’d all be dead without him, that he’d bled for them, risked everything. But the words died when he saw their faces. It wouldn’t matter. In their eyes, he was just another Mawspawn wearing skin.
The Bow Hero stepped forward, rain dripping from her braid. She kept her bow lowered but ready, eyes sharp, expression unreadable.
[Dialogue: Bow Hero]
“You fought like no one I’ve seen. And yet…”
She glanced at the Tome.
“…that book of yours devours more than monsters.”
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
hoarse “…You think I wanted this?”
[Dialogue: Bow Hero]
“I think the line between savior and monster is thinner for you than for the rest of us.”
[Narrative]
The villagers murmured. Some began to back away, tugging their wagons, desperate to put distance between themselves and him.
A little girl, no more than eight, stared openly at him, clutching a ragged doll to her chest. Her lips trembled, but she didn’t look away.
For a heartbeat, Kai felt the world tilt. He saw his reflection in her wide eyes—not a hero, not a savior, but something in-between. Something dangerous.
He turned sharply, breaking the moment.
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“…I didn’t do this for thanks. Or for you. I did it because it was this or let them tear me apart. You were just in the way.”
[Narrative]
It was a lie, half of it. But lies were easier than explaining the hunger.
The Bow Hero tilted her head, gaze piercing.
[Dialogue: Bow Hero]
“Keep telling yourself that. Maybe one day you’ll believe it.”
[Narrative]
The survivors moved out, herding their wagons back into motion. They didn’t ask him to follow. They didn’t even look back.
Kai stood in the rain until the valley was empty. His shoulders sagged, his chest hollow.
The Tome fluttered open again. New abilities etched themselves across its pages:
Echo Howl
Stag’s Vitality
Pack Instinct (Fragmented)
Each glowed with promise, but Kai could only stare at them with dull eyes.
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“…What’s the point, huh? The stronger I get, the less human I look to them. You’re turning me into exactly what they fear.”
[Narrative]
The Tome’s runes pulsed once. A wordless answer. Not denial. Not comfort. Just hunger.
He snapped it shut with a growl, rain running down his face like tears he refused to shed.
[Narrative]
Night fell as he found shelter in the hollow of a broken oak at the valley’s edge. He tore the venison Lysa had given him into strips, chewing mechanically, though it tasted like ash after what he’d consumed in the battle.
He dreamt badly. Shadows crawling. Chains rattling. Faces of villagers turning to dust as his book pulled them apart. The little girl’s wide eyes, unblinking.
When he woke, the Tome lay open on his chest. New lines of crimson ink spread across its pages as though writing themselves while he slept:
“Path diverges: Predator or Protector. Both consume. Choose not with words, but with deeds.”
Kai stared at the words until they blurred.
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“…Deeds, huh? Figures. Nothing’s free with you.”
[Narrative]
At dawn, he walked again. The rain had cleared, leaving the fields slick and shining. The map Lysa had given him pointed toward the hills ahead—rough country where the Inquisition would hesitate to follow, but where the Mawspawn thrived like weeds.
His steps were heavy, but steady. He didn’t know what he was becoming. He didn’t know if there was a line left to walk.
But he knew this much:
He would not go quietly into chains.
He would not starve for their approval.
And if the world wanted to call him cursed, then cursed he would be—on his own terms.
The Tome pulsed warmly, as if satisfied.
Kai tightened his grip on it, eyes narrowing toward the horizon.
[Dialogue: Kai(Tome Hero)]
“…Fine. Protector, predator, whatever. I’ll be both. And I’ll be the last damn thing this world ever forgets.”
[Narrative]
Somewhere far behind him, word of the caravan’s survival would reach ears in Solaria. Some would whisper of the cursed one who’d turned the tide. Others would whisper of a monster in human skin.
And somewhere ahead, in the hills where rifts split the earth and the Maw’s children prowled, something stirred—waiting for the Devourer to arrive.