Chapter 30 - The Ashes Speak
The village was gone.
Not just the structures. The spirit. The laughter. The memories.
Elric stood in the ashes, wind brushing through the charred vines, the sigil on his wrist glowing like a heartbeat in mourning.
Keera watched silently from the ridge, arrow notched, though there were no enemies left.
"They took faces," she said softly. "But not voices. The trees don't scream when they burn. They just watch."
Elric looked at the scorched soil. "Then let them remember this."
Behind them, Lira limped toward the clinic ruins, holding what remained of their banner.
"Next time," she muttered, "I vote we run before the possessed villagers start crawling out of the soil."
"You'd miss the drama," Elric said with a faint smile.
"I'd miss the injuries. You're supposed to be a healer, not a warlock in denial."
---
Back inside, Sylas was sketching a map—one red ink blot for every corrupted village. The blot was spreading. Faster.
Veyra cleaned her blades beside him. "The infection's growing. It's not hiding anymore."
Sylas added, "And it's not random. It's moving."
"Toward the capital," Elric said.
They all turned to him.
"I think the Rootwalker isn't just trying to take land," he continued. "It's following memory. And the crown holds a lot of memory."
---
That night, the wind changed.
A single rider arrived at the clinic. Royal uniform. Eyes down.
He handed Elric a sealed letter and left without speaking.
The seal was unbroken for hours.
Until Elric opened it alone.
> "Return to the capital. Or be erased from it."
— King Taran
Attached was a small parchment, separate handwriting.
> "He knows about the Pact. And he's afraid. Come prepared."
— S
---
Lira entered just as he closed the letter.
"Well?" she asked.
"He invited me home."
"You're going?"
Elric looked at the glowing ring on his finger. At the sigil. At the memory of Selene in chains. At the eyes of the Rootspawn wearing his face.
"I don't have a choice," he said.
"Good," she replied. "Because I'm not letting you go alone."
---
Far in the capital, King Taran stood before a mirror.
A red glyph flickered on his neck.
He poured wine into a glass. Then into a second.
He didn't drink either.
He just waited.
---