Chapter 2: Chapter 2: Into the Unknown
The pale light of dawn crept over Ember Village, casting long shadows across the charred remains of Ashen's home. Smoke still lingered in the air, mingling with the acrid scent of ash and blood. Ashen stood at the edge of the village, his pack slung over his shoulder, his father's words ringing in his ears.
"Seek the Iron Sky Sect."
Ashen clenched his fists, glancing down at the crude map Gideon had drawn for him. It was simple—a path leading north through the Cinderwood Forest, then east along the Ember River, and finally to the foothills of the Ironspire Mountains. The sect was said to lie atop the highest peak, a fortress of stone and steel where only the worthy were admitted.
"Worthy," Ashen muttered bitterly. What did that even mean? He was no cultivator, no warrior. Just a blacksmith's apprentice with a strange power he barely understood.
Farewell to Ember
Ashen turned to the remnants of his home one last time. The villagers were rebuilding, their resilience a testament to the human spirit. His father had insisted on staying behind, despite his injuries, to help them.
"Your journey is more important," Gideon had said, his voice firm. "What you carry could change the world."
Ashen wasn't so sure. All he carried was a fragment of metal that glowed when it wanted to and a vague sense of purpose that felt heavier than his pack. Still, he knew he couldn't stay. Not when danger was sure to return.
With a deep breath, Ashen tightened his grip on the map and stepped onto the dirt path leading into the forest.
The Dangers of the Cinderwood
The Cinderwood Forest was alive with noise. Birds cawed from the treetops, their cries echoing through the dense canopy. Leaves rustled as small creatures darted through the underbrush, and the occasional growl of a predator sent shivers down Ashen's spine.
He had been walking for hours, the shadows lengthening as the sun climbed higher. Despite the cool morning air, sweat trickled down his neck. The forest felt oppressive, its towering trees like silent sentinels watching his every move.
Ashen's hand hovered near the hilt of his dagger, the weapon his only comfort in the unknown. The memory of the blade's transformation during the battle still lingered in his mind. What had triggered it? Could he control it?
His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden rustling nearby. He froze, his breath catching in his throat. The sound grew louder, closer.
A shadow emerged from the underbrush—a wolf, its eyes gleaming with hunger. Its fur was matted, its body lean and muscular. This was no ordinary predator; Ashen could feel the faint ripple of qi emanating from it.
"A spirit beast," he whispered. His father had spoken of such creatures—animals imbued with qi, their strength far surpassing that of their mundane counterparts.
The wolf snarled, baring its teeth. Ashen drew his dagger, his heart pounding. "I don't want to fight you," he said, his voice trembling. "But I will if I have to."
The wolf lunged.
A Test of Will
Time seemed to slow as Ashen stepped aside, narrowly avoiding the beast's jaws. He slashed with his dagger, the blade cutting a shallow gash across the wolf's flank. The creature howled in pain but quickly recovered, circling him with predatory intent.
Ashen's mind raced. He couldn't rely on brute strength; the wolf was faster, stronger. He needed to think, to adapt. His gaze flickered to the dagger, its plain metal surface glinting in the light. If only it would transform again.
The wolf pounced, its claws raking toward his chest. Ashen raised the dagger instinctively, bracing for impact. Suddenly, the blade glowed, its surface heating until it was too hot to hold. Ashen yelped, dropping the weapon, but the transformation continued.
The dagger elongated, its edges sharpening into a scimitar wreathed in flames. The wolf hesitated, growling uncertainly as it faced the fiery blade.
Ashen reached for the weapon, its heat strangely bearable now. As his fingers closed around the hilt, a surge of energy coursed through him. His fear melted away, replaced by a sense of clarity.
He swung the scimitar in a wide arc, the flames trailing behind it like a comet's tail. The wolf leapt back, but the fire caught its hind leg, eliciting a pained yelp. It retreated into the underbrush, its growls fading into the distance.
Ashen stood there, chest heaving, the scimitar still glowing in his hand. Slowly, the flames died, and the blade returned to its original form.
"What are you?" he murmured, staring at the weapon. No answer came, but he could feel the artifact fragment in his pocket pulsing faintly, as if in response.
The River's Edge
By the time Ashen reached the Ember River, the sun was beginning to set. The water glistened like molten gold, its gentle current a soothing contrast to the chaos of the forest. Ashen knelt by the riverbank, cupping his hands to drink. The cool water washed away some of his exhaustion, but not all.
He glanced at the map, tracing the path east. The Iron Sky Sect was still days away, and the journey was only growing more perilous. His encounter with the wolf had been a harsh reminder of how unprepared he was.
As he rested, his thoughts drifted to the Infernal Forge System. It had saved him twice now, but he still didn't understand it. What triggered its activation? Why did it feel as though the weapon guided him rather than the other way around?
His musings were interrupted by a voice. "You look lost, traveler."
Ashen jumped, his hand darting to his dagger. A figure stepped out from the shadows, their movements smooth and deliberate. It was a woman, her dark robes embroidered with silver flames. Her eyes glinted with amusement, though her expression remained neutral.
"Who are you?" Ashen demanded.
The woman raised her hands in a placating gesture. "I mean you no harm. My name is Lilia. I saw the flames earlier and thought someone might be in trouble."
Ashen hesitated, studying her carefully. There was a faint ripple of qi around her, a sign of cultivation. She could be dangerous, but she didn't seem hostile.
"I'm fine," he said cautiously. "Just passing through."
Lilia tilted her head. "With a blade like that? You're either very brave or very foolish." Her gaze lingered on the dagger at his side, and Ashen tensed.
"What do you want?" he asked.
Lilia smiled faintly. "To help, if you'll let me. The Cinderwood is no place for a lone traveler, especially one who doesn't know the rules."
Ashen frowned. "Rules?"
"The spirit beasts here aren't random predators," she explained. "They're part of the ecosystem controlled by the Crimson Veil Sect. Killing one without permission can bring... consequences."
Ashen's blood ran cold. "I didn't know."
"I figured as much." Lilia's expression softened. "That's why I'm offering to guide you. You're heading east, aren't you? Toward the Ironspire Mountains?"
"How do you know that?"
She shrugged. "Call it a hunch."
Ashen hesitated. Trusting a stranger felt risky, but so did navigating the forest alone. Finally, he nodded. "Fine. But if you try anything—"
Lilia laughed, a melodic sound that was surprisingly genuine. "Relax, boy. If I wanted to kill you, you wouldn't have seen me coming."
Her words were far from comforting, but Ashen had little choice. As the two of them set off along the riverbank, he couldn't shake the feeling that his journey was about to become far more complicated.