Chapter 12: The Fractured Path

Part 1: Ashes and Silence

The village was gone.

Aedric didn't know how long they had been running. Hours? Days? Time felt thin, stretched at the edges, slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. The forest swallowed them whole, the towering trees pressing inward, their gnarled branches clawing at the sky. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and charred wood, the last remnants of the sanctuary they had left behind.

No one spoke.

The survivors—what few remained—moved with the silent understanding of those who had nothing left to say. Rhea led the way, her posture rigid, her cloak billowing slightly with each step. Elias walked beside Aedric, his face unreadable, his eyes shadowed with something that wasn't quite exhaustion but wasn't far from it either.

Aedric's mind was still trapped in the village, playing through the final moments over and over. The faceless figures, the way they had moved without urgency, the way they had waited. The key still sat heavy in his pocket, a constant weight against his thigh, its surface warm despite the chill creeping through the air.

He wanted to ask. Wanted to demand answers from Elias, from Rhea, from Osric—what was the key for? Why had they stopped when he held it? But the words lodged in his throat, swallowed by the quiet.

Ahead, the trees began to thin, revealing a clearing bathed in the pale glow of an overcast sky. Rhea finally slowed, her shoulders relaxing marginally as she turned back to them.

"We rest here," she said simply. "We don't stop for long."

Aedric didn't argue. His body ached, his thoughts swam, and for now, stillness felt like something close to mercy.

Part 2: The Weight of the Unspoken

The fire crackled softly, casting flickering light across the weary faces surrounding it. Aedric sat with his back against a fallen log, arms resting on his knees. The flames did little to warm the chill inside him.

Osric stood a short distance away, keeping watch, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his blade. Elias sat across from Aedric, staring into the fire, his fingers absently rolling the silver coin he always carried between them. Rhea was sharpening her dagger, the steady scrape of steel against stone the only sound beyond the rustling trees.

No one asked what came next.

Because no one knew.

Aedric's fingers brushed against the key in his pocket. He turned his gaze toward Elias. "Tell me the truth," he said, voice quiet but firm. "About the key. About the cycle. About what happens now."

Elias exhaled slowly, rolling the coin once more before closing his fist around it. "The truth?"

Aedric nodded. "No more riddles. No more half-answers."

Elias met his gaze, and for a moment, Aedric saw it—hesitation.

Then Elias said, "We don't have much time."

The fire wavered, a gust of wind kicking up embers into the night. Osric shifted slightly, as if sensing something unseen. Even Rhea paused in her work, her knife hovering over the whetstone.

Aedric felt it too.

Something was coming.

Something that did not belong in this world.

The transition was over.

The descent had begun.