Chapter 14: He Who Burned the Sky

  A boom shattered the quiet like a war drum dropped into still water.

  Aeor woke hard, his body tensing before his mind caught up. The fire from the night before had burned low, reduced to a faint cradle of embers. Morning clung to the grass in dew-soaked hush, the air cold and still.

  Dregor stirred at the same time. The trees seemed to hold their breath. Far off, a few birds took flight from a startled branch.

  Zoey and Velora’s bedrolls were empty.

  Aeor stood, grabbing his sword. “They’re gone.”

  “They’re close,” Dregor said, pushing himself up slowly. His eyes scanned the treeline. “That sound came from just beyond the ridge.”

  They moved.

  Crossing the camp’s edge, they passed through tall pines and curling undergrowth. The path sloped gently upward, flanked by moss-covered roots and stone. Shafts of sunlight split the mist in narrow slivers, piercing the gloom and striping the ground.

  The air smelled of heat.

  And something faintly scorched.

  They crested the ridge.

  Below, in a clearing circled by leaning trees and jagged stone, Velora and Zoey stood in the aftermath of a fight.

  Zoey stood near the center, breath quick, her skillet still faintly glowing at the rim. The surrounding dirt was disturbed in a wide, uneven ring.

  Are they sparring? Aeor thought.

  Velora stood a short distance away, composed, her hands relaxed at her sides. A shimmer of mist curled briefly along one arm before vanishing.

  Aeor let out a slow breath.

  Neither had noticed them yet.

  Zoey shook her shoulders. “Okay, so maybe that was a bit much. The power that this pan holds never ceases to amaze me.”

  Her voice was light, almost cheerful.

  Velora gave a patient nod. “Be careful when wielding that pan of yours. Try to become familiar with its rhythm.”

  “What if I melted it down and reforged it into a proper weapon?”

  Velora raised a brow. “Metal of that quality would need more than a regular forge.”

  "Don’t worry," Zoey said, smirking. "We’ve got dragons wandering around. I’ll just borrow one."

  Velora blinked. “Sometimes I genuinely can’t tell if you're joking.”

  Aeor stepped forward, boots pressing into soft ground. “Good morning.”

  Both women turned.

  Zoey grinned. “Hey, you’re up!” Then her smile faltered. "Uh... did we wake you?"

  "We?" Velora asked, glancing sideways. "Last I checked, I am not the one wielding a weapon that announces itself to the entire region."

  “It’s alright,” Aeor said. "It was nearly time to rise anyway. Though I’m not sure the local wildlife would agree."

  “Oops,” Zoey muttered, glancing down.

  Dregor stepped beside Aeor, gaze moving between Zoey and Velora. “You two finished, or are you down for a proper spar? Me and Aeor could use a stretch.”

  "We could?" Aeor looked at him.

  "Oh yes. We could."

  Velora looked at Zoey. They exchanged a small nod.

  “Let’s see what you two have in store.”

  The forest settled again. The scent of singed bark mingled with pine and mist. Light filtered softly through the trees.

  Zoey tapped the flat of her skillet. It gave off a low, metallic hum.

  "First team to disarm a member wins," Velora said. The rules were simple. Execution was not.

  Zoey darted along the edge of the clearing, a bolt of water coalescing in her palm. Across from her, Aeor charged, death essence whispering along the edge of his blade. He lunged, footwork sharp, blade arcing low.

  Dregor barreled toward Velora, slower, but unstoppable. His boots cracked the ground beneath each stride.

  He reached for a tackle.

  And passed through her.

  An illusion.

  "When did she?"

  A glint in his periphery.

  He jumped, narrowly avoiding a spectral dagger. Three more struck the dirt, mist swirling where they landed.

  "Good senses," Velora’s voice echoed, not once, but three times.

  Dregor turned to find three Veloras, each drifting outward, cloaked and poised, moving in perfect sync.

  He struck the closest.

  It faded into mist.

  He growled, shifting toward the remaining two. But they moved differently now, slippery in ways his senses couldn’t follow.

  Aeor pressed forward toward Zoey. She released a water bolt. He sidestepped.

  Then the bolt split into five.

  Caught off guard, Aeor twisted, trying to evade, but it was too late.

  That wasn’t water essence, he thought.

  He narrowed his senses.

  He narrowed his senses and felt it, that subtle pulse of something familiar, but different at the same time.

  Then the realization dawned on him.

  Death essence.

  He swept his gaze around the clearing. Velora, no, multiple versions of her engaged Dregor in a dance of illusion.

  Her control is astonishing.

  Then the air shifted.

  A blast of pressurized water struck Aeor from the side, forcing him to stagger.

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  Zoey stepped forward, skillet in hand, eyes gleaming with joy and mischief.

  "Eyes here, Aeor," she called, already firing another bolt.

  He raised his sword, slicing through the spray. "All right. You have my attention."

  He closed the gap.

  Zoey waited, then leaped back at the last second. Velora’s Illusions flanked him.

  How many can she control? Aeor thought while grounding to a halt.

  Dregor pushed forward, shrugging through a few spectral daggers, others bouncing harmlessly off his stone-hardened skin.

  He regrouped beside Aeor. "She’s leading the rhythm. We need to break it."

  Aeor nodded. "Let’s reset."

  One illusion caught Aeor’s attention. The deathly mist swirling around it felt different. Visually, it looked identical to the others, but there was something distinct in that mist.

  He moved. Dregor followed.

  Aeor feinted high, swept low. Dregor stomped, sending a tremor through the clearing. The ripple tore through the soil, and the illusion flickered. creating an opening.

  Aeor struck.

  Velora blocked. Not fully. His blade slid past, catching only cloth.

  "I’m surprised you caught me." Velora whispered while vanishing into the mist.

  A bolt of water flew toward Aeor. Dregor stepped into it, body braced.

  "Feel like swapping dance partners?" he said, dashing toward Zoey.

  He slammed his foot down, ripples in the ground racing towards Zoey. She faltered then stumbled.

  Dregor pressed in, but Velora's spectral daggers forced him back.

  Aeor scanned the clearing. That unique death essence shimmered on the edge of his senses.

  There.

  Velora emerged surrounded by illusions. The death essence trailing from her felt... familiar.

  The Duskwight. In the cave. The corpse.

  What if I...

  Aeor focused.

  A breath. A nudge.

  Death essence snapped.

  Illusions shattered, falling like ash on the wind.

  "Dregor, now!" Aeor shouted.

  Dregor lunged.

  Velora turned, eyes wide. Her skeletal features tightened with sudden realization.

  Too late.

  Dregor tackled her, driving them both into the ground with a solid crash.

  Silence.

  Zoey froze mid-motion. Aeor lowered his blade.

  Dregor stood slowly, Velora beneath him.

  She didn’t resist.

  Her gaze fixed on Aeor.

  The spar was over.

  Dregor looked at the expression forming on Velora’s skeletal visage. Her gaze never left Aeor.

  "What’s wrong?" he asked, eyes flicking between the two.

  Velora’s voice was quiet, but edged with disbelief. "What... what was that, Aeor?"

  Aeor shifted his stance, uncertain. "Uh... I saw your death essence and tried to... use it?"

  Zoey jogged over. "Hey, what happened?"

  Velora turned to her. "Aeor just manipulated my death essence."

  Zoey blinked. "Is that... not normal?"

  "Very much not," Velora said, brushing the dirt from her robes as she stood. "You have an affinity for water, Zoey. Imagine being able to manipulate the water inside another being. If that being were a water elemental, you could dissolve them. Or imagine a wind-aspected person, pulling the air from beings that relied on it."

  Zoey winced. "Okay. Continue."

  "Essence within a living or constructed form differs from ambient essence," Velora explained. "Everyone learns to control their own, and possibly the environment around them. But not the internal essence of another. That boundary maintains balance."

  She paused, then looked back to Aeor.

  "What you did wasn’t just disruptive. You manipulated my unique death signature. To do that, you’d need either an overwhelming reservoir of death essence or a control significantly more refined than mine."

  She held his gaze. "Neither makes sense. As far as stability is concerned, you’re still Flickering. I’ve reached Stabilized. Not to mention I am a being of death, I exist because of it. You, Aeor, are alive. I still can't comprehend how you conjure, let alone control, death essence."

  Aeor, frowning, reached into his cloak and pulled out his Archive Status. He unfolded it.

  Deathbind Edge

  Tier: Flicker (E)

  Effect: Grants limited manipulation of death-aspected Essence.

  Archive Note: "Death shall be the arbiter of your will."

  He stared at his parchment, then looked up.

  "The ability that grants me control over death is only flicker tier."

  Velora paused, eyes narrowed in thought. "How much death essence can you summon before it starts to strain?"

  Aeor inhaled and let the essence rise. Shadows coiled around his torso, extending in steady threads along his arms. The air grew colder.

  When I first arrived, I could barely maintain it around my chest. Now it’s spreading further. Control's improved... but not enough for a tier jump, he thought.

  Out loud, he said, "I can manage about this much. Any more, or holding it longer than a minute starts to put a strain."

  Velora studied the swirling essence. "I can conjure nearly twice that and hold it without effort. That still doesn’t explain what you did."

  She folded her arms. "This lack of clarity about essence fundamentals is infuriating. I thought I understood the Archives." She let out a sigh. "I suppose that assumption only worked in isolation. Out here... everything’s more complex."

  "Considering the kid hasn’t even unlocked his class," Dregor added, arms crossed, "the only real wildcard is his traits. One of them’s Woven, right? Who knows what that thing’s capable of?"

  Velora exhaled. "Perhaps we can chalk it up to that. For now."

  Zoey turned to Aeor, a sly grin forming. "Look at you, Mr. Chosen, punching above your weight class."

  "You’re one to talk," Aeor replied. "That skillet of yours nearly leveled the mountain. At least you know what your traits do."

  "Well, I am awesome after all," she said with a dramatic shrug.

  Aeor pulled out his parchment again, eyes narrowing on the section marked:

  Class: Unclassified (Thread Forming)

  "Dregor, you mentioned classes earlier. Mine still says 'Thread Forming.' Do I need to do something to finalize it?"

  Dregor blinked, then nodded. "Right, you were out cold after the titan spawn fight. We talked about this while you were recovering. From what I’ve seen, the Archives usually spend about ten days observing each new Initiate. Then it presents options."

  "Options? How does that even work?"

  "Hard to explain. It’s not verbal. More like a presence in your mind. Like someone whispering... but not in words. Everyone blacks out when it happens. When you wake, the Archives have chosen, or let you choose."

  Aeor frowned. "What if we’re mid-combat?"

  Dregor shrugged. "No idea. I’m just sharing what I’ve observed."

  Aeor fell silent for a beat. "And when it finally forms?"

  "You gain something tied to it, a trait or an ability. That’s how it worked for most in Thar’Ezun. Barek was the exception; he got both."

  "Got it. Thanks."

  Velora looked up. The sky overhead had deepened to a cloudless blue.

  "Shall we pack up and keep moving?"

  Everyone nodded.

  The day of their sparring had been the fifth since they set out.

  The trail they followed had narrowed into a winding passage of red rock and frost-crusted ferns. Dust rose from beneath their boots in soft plumes, and dry branches creaked faintly in the wind.

  Aeor walked near the front, his blade resting across his side. The metal was sharp, forged in Thar’Ezun days earlier. It didn’t sing to him the way his spear had, but it carried weight, enough to feel real.

  Velora trailed behind. She hadn’t spoken much since the spar.

  The memory of her illusions breaking under his will lingered in Aeor’s mind. Not for what it meant.

  But for how it had felt.

  Not power. Not control.

  Correction.

  Like solving a broken pattern. As if the essence had been wrong, and he had made it right.

  Like the Duskwight.

  "This stretch has been too quiet," Dregor muttered from the rear. His voice broke the silence like gravel. "No travelers. No sound. Just those cursed sky-riders above."

  Zoey adjusted the strap across her shoulder. "Maybe everyone’s smarter than us and they are already at key locations."

  "Or they’re dead," Dregor replied.

  She shot him a look. "Great. Super comforting."

  They reached a bend that opened onto a narrow ridge. Below, the forest stretched like layered moss, rolling outward toward dark cliffs that marked the start of deeper valleys.

  Zoey crouched, brushing her fingers over a cluster of strange tracks. "These tracks resemble ones left behind by those long-necked creatures... the ones that stare. Too long."

  "Drifthorns," Velora said. "They don’t approach unless provoked."

  Aeor recalled his Threadgaze from earlier:

  Race: Drifthorns

  Essence Tier: Awakened (E)

  Essence Stability: Stabilized

  Zoey tilted her head. "Is there a reason we’ve been avoiding fights? Are we going to skirt around this one too? I mean... we could probably take it."

  "There’s no need for senseless killing," Velora said. "If they don’t initiate, we don’t escalate. Life has value, not just ours. Theirs, too."

  That made Zoey pause.

  "And if they do?" Aeor asked.

  "Then we make sure we come out on top."

  Above them, golden light pierced the canopy in thin shafts.

  Wings beat overhead.

  A brown-furred avian soared across the sky, a rider perched between its shoulder-blades.

  Zoey squinted. "Any idea when we’ll reach the village Gurz mentioned?"

  "Three days," Dregor said. "If the terrain holds."

  "Seems like everyone here prefers traveling via aerial means," Velora noted. "We haven’t seen a single person on foot. I hope the village has access to these mounts."

  Dregor grunted. "Small place. Doubt they’ll waste wings on strangers."

  They walked until the sun dipped below the trees.

  Evening stretched thin. Cold followed.

  They said little as they scouted for camp. Red moss clung to the stones like old blood. The clouds above drifted slowly.

  They stopped beneath a crooked pine at the edge of a rocky ledge. Dregor cleared the ground. Zoey coaxed a flame to life.

  Silence settled in.

  Aeor stood at the edge of the ridge.

  He hadn’t meant to drift from the others. But something in the air pulled at him.

  Not a sound.

  Not a shape.

  Just pressure.

  The kind that comes before a storm.

  The forest below blurred into rust and shadow. The silence pooled thick between the trunks.

  He felt it before he saw it.

  Death essence.

  Overwhelming. Ancient.

  It pressed against his ribs.

  Behind him, Velora looked up sharply.

  The fire crackled.

  Then the sky cracked.

  Far across the eastern horizon, beyond ridgelines and dead cliffs, a vein of red lightning split the sky. It didn’t flash. It bled, a slow fracture crawling across cloud and color, like a wound splitting glass.

  A second thread followed.

  Then a third.

  Each lingered. Not lightning.

  Scars.

  Etched across the sky.

  Aeor drew his blade. The others followed.

  The wind died.

  Moss curled inward. Leaves shriveled on their branches. Trees groaned, not from age or breeze, but as if something deep within them recoiled.

  For a moment, there was silence.

  Then, the air screamed.

  A wave of pressure tore through the forest. Branches snapped like bones. Stones ripped free of the ground. Dust exploded outward. Trees fell sideways like brittle straw.

  "Behind me!" Dregor roared.

  He slammed both palms into the ground, summoning essence. A jagged slab of stone erupted upward, anchoring itself to the bedrock. Velora raised her hand beside him, drawing violet veins of essence through the stone, weaving reinforcement into the wall.

  They ducked behind it.

  Aeor pressed his back to the barrier, heart racing. Zoey crouched low, arms wrapped around her pack. Ash and embers spun through the air like lost fireflies.

  Then the pressure changed.

  Not outward.

  Downward.

  As if the sky itself had weight.

  Aeor looked up.

  The sky had turned red. Streaked with ash and smoke. And in the center, something moved. No, not moved. Floated.

  Its presence commanded the skies.

  A dragon.

  Not like the bronze-scaled one Aeor had seen days ago. This one was death given form. A cathedral of bone and scorched hide, wings spread wide enough to blot stars. Its ribs were latticed with pulsing embers, and black flame seeped from its joints like a breath that never ended.

  It drifted above them.

  The forest bent beneath its passage.

  Zoey didn’t speak. Couldn’t. None of them could.

  Velora's voice came first, low and cracked. "Threadgaze. Now."

  Aeor focused through the haze.

  Vaelkar

  Race: Empyrean Wyrmkin

  Essence Tier: Spark (D)

  Essence Stability: Refined

  Status: Deceased

  Archive Note: The breath that forged kingdoms now exhales its ruin. Once a savior, now a destroyer.

  The dragon that had died a millennium ago to create Vaelkarreth... now soared the skies again.

  It didn’t fight. It didn’t roar.

  It simply passed.

  And the world broke in its wake.

  Where its shadow fell, trees bowed. Cliffs cracked. The sky itself fractured and healed behind it.

  The silence left behind was absolute.

  They all watched in the direction it had gone.

  Zoey spoke first. Voice small. Fragile.

  "I... I think I got that wrong. It said Spark tier? Refined stability? That's… a whole tier above us."

  Aeor and Dregor didn't answer. They didn't know how to.

  Velora started laughing.

  At first, it was a single breath. A crack in her poise. But it rose quickly, sharp and cracked, echoing in the hollow air.

  They turned toward her, stunned.

  "Refined Spark," she gasped. "And we’re supposed to fight that?"

  Images surged in their minds, the Titan Spawn, their desperate retreat, that sense of hopelessness.

  Compared to that, Vaelkar felt like the end of time.

  This wasn’t a monster.

  This was a god.

  And the Archives expected them to challenge it.

  What hope stood against that?

  Until then, may Sol shine its light upon your path.