Chapter 4: Core’s Call

Torv "Ash" Kren gripped Lysa's arm, the broken sled abandoned, black sand smoking beneath his boots as Krax's pack closed in. Six sled dogs snarled, their ember teeth glowing red, riders poised with gleaming spears. The Ashen Reach trembled, dunes quaking under the charge. Nine hundred miles pulsed in Torv's gut, Ash Runner Sense: Lv. 3, Ember Step, each short leap sparking heat through the sand. His gray coat hung tattered, patched with leather, his machete slick with a mix of blood and ash. Lysa clutched the Core Ember, its crimson glow flaring bright, her scarred hand trembling with blisters. The Core's voice cut through, sharp and commanding, "Take it," echoing in Torv's mind—2,000 shards or doom loomed as the pack's hot breath grazed his neck."Move," Torv barked, his voice rough and clipped. He leaped, Ember Step igniting, sand bursting as he landed ten feet ahead, pulling Lysa with him. The dogs lunged, jaws snapping—Torv swung, machete slicing into flesh, +100 miles, a beast crumpled—its rider thrust a spear—Torv twisted, slashed the throat, +200 miles. His speed surged, lungs burning with ash, no water left. Lysa's Core flared, a fire-dagger streaking out, striking a dog's flank—its yelp faded as it fell, +300 miles—her gasp broke, her grip weakening, fire dimming. A spear sailed past—Torv ducked—the tip grazed his shoulder, blood trickling into the sand. Krax's roar thundered, his spiked armor gleaming black as he charged atop his massive sled, ember-axe raised high. Torv leaped again—sand smoked—the axe split the dune behind him, missing clean. He landed, and hacked a dog's skull, +400 miles, as riders circled, four remaining, their spears arcing. Lysa dodged, her fire-dagger scorching a rider's chest—down he went, +500 miles—Torv's chest heaved, Free Drift still days away, Krax's sled looming with rattling skulls."Witch dies!" Krax bellowed, his voice a storm, eyes fixed on Lysa as the Core pulsed brighter. She stumbled, the Core searing her skin—peeling—her scream cut through as fire flared wild, dunes igniting. Dogs scattered—Torv tackled her—sand sprayed—Krax's axe grazed his back, blood soaking his coat—900 miles held steady. "Two thousand—run," he snarled, dragging her up—Krax roared, his pack regrouping, four dogs and riders tightening the net, spears flashing. The Core's glow spiked—Lysa's hand blackened—"Take it!" its voice boomed—Torv's gut twisted, vision blurring, miles thrumming at 800 miles. His fingers brushed it—heat seared—power jolted—system flared—Core Bind: Lv. 1—strength surged, his machete glowing faintly, ash swirling tight around him. Krax's axe swung—Torv parried—blades clashed—shock jolted his arm—+900 miles. Lysa coughed, her fire gone, "You took it," she rasped, eyes dimming as the Core dulled, now bound to him. The dunes cracked—sand sank—an emberstorm blazed overhead—Krax's pack charged anew, dogs splitting the earth. Torv's machete flared—slashed—a dog split open—+1,000 miles—its rider fell, a spear grazing Torv's side, blood dripping, ash stinging. Krax grinned wide, "Bound or not—mine!" His axe rose—Torv leaped—Ember Step—sand smoked—the swing missed—Lysa slumped, the Core pulsing in Torv's grip, its whisper shifting, "Unleash me." Strength swelled—dunes shook—something stirred—Krax's sled roared forward—four spears gleamed—Torv's breath caught—unleash or die.