Javu_Anele

In the Ashen Reach, a cursed wasteland of black dunes and ember-storms, Torv “Ash” Kren runs alone, hauling glowing ember-shards in a battered sled. Once a raider, he quit when his crew torched innocence—now he trades magic fuel for water, machete chipped, coat patched, one job from death. An ember-storm cracks his sled—shards spill—when Lysa “Ember” Vey stumbles from the haze, half-dead, clutching a red-hot Core Ember worth a fortune or a grave.
Lysa’s an ash-witch—bends shards into fire-blades, hunted by warlord Krax for a 10,000-shard bounty. She offers Torv 2,000 to run her to the Free Drift, rebel camp past the Dune Wall—or leave him dry in the sand. Torv’s gut says ditch her—warlord’s hounds close—but her ember buys time, and his Ash Runner Sense wakes: kills earn miles, power grows. They trek—raiders bleed, storms burn—Torv’s machete sings (+500 miles, Dune Dash), Lysa’s fire cuts deep.
Krax’s dogs tear closer—ember-teeth glint—when the Core cracks, whispering: “Free me, claim all.” Truth hits: Lysa’s bounty’s fake—Krax wants the Core that cursed the Reach. Torv’s past crew died for it—he’s bound to the ash. Miles climb (Ash Veil, 1,000)—lungs scar, Lysa’s shard burns her grip. At the Dune Wall, Krax looms—Torv carves, Lysa flares—Core shatters, Reach shakes. Warlord falls—shards rain—but Torv’s ash-coated, Lysa’s bleeding. A new ember glows west—next run calls.
Grind, fire, survival—will Torv and Lysa outrun the curse, or burn in it?

Ash Runner

Asha's grip tightened on her blade as Milo's scream faded into the wind, leaving a hollow ache in its wake. The entity loomed before her, its liquid-metal form shimmering in the blue light, unreadable and unmoving. Choose. The word hung in the air, heavy as the ash outside, and she hated it—hated the vagueness, the weight it dumped on her shoulders.

"Choose what?" she snapped, stepping toward the figure. Her voice echoed off the chamber walls, sharp against the low hum of the emberstones. "You want the stones? Take them. You want us dead? Try it. But I'm not playing games while he's out there."

The entity didn't flinch. Its voice rumbled again, steady and cold. "The keys unlock. They also bind. One must stay, or all will fall."

Kael pushed himself up from the floor, still clutching the satchel. His eyes darted between Asha and the figure, wide with a mix of fear and fascination. "It's a test," he said, breathless. "The stories—they said the Spire guards itself. It wants a sacrifice."

Asha whirled on him. "A sacrifice? You knew this and didn't tell me?" Her blade twitched in her hand, itching to swing at something—him, the entity, anything that made sense.

"I didn't know," Kael shot back. "I guessed. Fragments, Asha—half-burned logs from runners who never made it back. It's why the Overseers stopped chasing this place. They couldn't pay the price."

Another tremor shook the Spire, smaller this time, but enough to send a shard of crystal crashing from the ceiling. It shattered near Asha's feet, scattering light across the floor. Outside, the silence broke—a guttural shout, then the unmistakable whine of a drone powering up. Milo was still alive, still fighting. She could feel it in her bones.

"We don't have time for this," she said, turning back to the entity. "You want one of us? Fine. Take me. But let him go, and get us out there to him."

"No!" Kael lunged forward, grabbing her arm. "You don't understand—the stones need you. You're the one who got them here. I'll stay."

The entity shifted, its form rippling like water disturbed by a stone. "The choice is made," it intoned, and before Asha could argue, a pulse of blue light erupted from its core. It slammed into Kael, lifting him off his feet and pinning him against the slab. He gasped, the satchel slipping from his grasp as tendrils of light snaked around his wrists, binding him to the stone.

"Kael!" Asha rushed toward him, but the entity moved faster, sliding between them like a wall. Its voice filled her head, louder now, personal. "He stays. You go. The keys are yours."

The ground lurched again, and the passage behind her widened, the rock groaning as it split apart. Through the gap, she saw the ash-laden sky—and a figure staggering across the jagged terrain. Milo, blood streaking his face, one arm limp at his side. A drone buzzed above him, its red eye glinting as it prepared to strike.

Asha didn't hesitate. She snatched the satchel from the floor, the emberstones' heat searing through the fabric, and bolted for the opening. "Hold on, Milo!" she shouted, her voice raw. The entity's light flared behind her, but she didn't look back—not at Kael, not at the Spire's secrets. Not yet.

She burst into the open, ash swirling around her as she sprinted toward Milo. The drone pivoted, its lens locking onto her, but she was already moving—blade up, satchel swinging. She hurled herself at Milo, tackling him behind a rock just as the drone fired. The shot scorched the ground where he'd stood, kicking up a cloud of ash.

"Asha?" Milo rasped, his goggles cracked, his breath ragged. "You're… alive."

"Barely," she said, pulling him upright. "Kael's holding the Spire. We've got the stones. But we're not done running."

Above them, the drone circled, joined by another. In the distance, the rigs' engines roared back to life. The Overseers weren't giving up—and neither was she.

Chapter 15: The Price of Dust