Story 1041: Heir of the Black Shaman

Deep within the Badroot Pines, where crows circle endlessly and the trees bleed sap as dark as tar, a boy was born under a moonless sky. He was nameless for seven days—a tradition among the Blackroot clan. But when the child opened his eyes, every lantern in the house shattered, and the wind howled like it had lungs.

They named him Ashkai.

And the elders whispered that he bore the mark of the Black Shaman.

Long ago, the first Black Shaman made a pact with an elder god buried beneath the earth, trading his people’s future for forbidden power. His soul was too dark for death to claim, so it scattered, waiting for a vessel.

Ashkai was that vessel.

He could hear things—songs in the bones of the trees, laughter in the veins of the stone. By age seven, he could summon fire that screamed and make dolls move with empty sockets.

He was forbidden to leave the Pines. But the dead never respected fences.