The Prophet Finally...!
Chapter 10: The Prophet Finally !
The cave walls wept Black Chord, viscous droplets sliding down stone like tears from an unseen eye. In the furthest recess, where firelight barely reached, the Shroudmarked girl sat cross-legged on bare rock. Her small hands worked methodically, tracing spiral patterns in charcoal across the damp wall.
Liora watched from the cave entrance, cradling her crystallized arm against her chest. The Hollowed's severed hand had fused with her flesh completely, black veins spreading upward past her wrist. Each pulse of pain synchronized with the girl's movements, as if they shared some unseen connection.
"She's been drawing since dawn," Corbin whispered, appearing at Liora's side. Deep circles shadowed his eyes, evidence of sleepless nights spent guarding their makeshift refuge. "Won't eat. Won't speak to anyone but you."
The girl turned suddenly, her gaze finding Liora across the dimly lit space. The Shroudmark on her forehead—once a simple spiral—had transformed, intricate lettering now woven within its coils.
*Alden dies in 20 days.*
"She wants you," Corbin murmured, his hand instinctively moving toward the knife at his belt. "I don't trust her. The mark is spreading."
Liora stepped forward, ignoring Corbin's warning. The cave seemed to contract around her as she approached the child, air growing thick with metallic scent.
"Hello, Mira," she said softly, kneeling before the girl. "Are you finished drawing?"
Mira's eyes—clouded white since the Silentstorm had passed through her village—fixed on a point just above Liora's head. A small, cold smile crept across her face.
"The Eclipse wants to play," she whispered, voice unnaturally resonant in the confined space. "It watches through your eyes now."
Liora's crystallized hand throbbed violently, sending shards of pain up her arm. "What do you mean?"
The girl reached out, fingertips hovering over Liora's corrupted flesh. "You're becoming a window. Like me." Her smile widened. "Soon you'll hear its song."
---
Alden crouched by the frozen stream, filling his canteen with ice chunks that would melt against his body heat. Twenty days. The prophecy echoed in his mind like a death knell.
"Prophecies can be wrong," he muttered to himself, the glass shards of his left eye catching moonlight. Half his face had transformed now, skin replaced by translucent crystal that revealed the dark movement of Chord-tainted blood beneath.
A twig snapped somewhere behind him. Alden's hand moved to his knife, body tensing.
"Just a deer," came Thorne's voice as the weathered Dissident emerged from the trees. Snow crusted his beard, giving him the appearance of an ancient winter spirit. "Though Artificers aren't far behind. They've set up checkpoints along the eastern ridge."
Alden nodded, rising stiffly. Ash Chord had taken its toll—his left leg moved poorly, the knee calcified into near-immobility. "How many?"
"Two dozen, maybe more." Thorne's gaze lingered on Alden's transformed face. "You're getting worse."
"We're all getting worse." Alden gestured toward the cave where Liora tended the prophet child. "The healer's arm is turning black. The child's visions grow darker by the day." He tipped the melting ice into his mouth. "We're running out of time."
Thorne stepped closer, voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "The others are talking. They say we should leave you behind. That you're drawing the Rotstorms."
A bitter laugh escaped Alden's lips. "Maybe they're right."
"I told them we need you." Thorne's expression hardened. "But we need you functioning. No more Chord, Renshaw. Not until we reach the sanctuary."
Alden's hand instinctively brushed the inside pocket of his coat, where a single vial of Grey Chord remained. His last resort. His final oblivion.
"I can't make that promise," he said quietly.
---
Aidan Blackwood moved through the forest like a predator, each step calculated and silent despite the snow. His breath formed crystalline clouds in the frigid air, but he felt nothing—neither cold nor fatigue. The Shroudmark had grown, spreading from his wrist to encompass his entire forearm in spiraling patterns.
"Sir," one of his trackers called softly, crouched by a fallen log. "Footprints. At least six individuals, one with an irregular gait."
Aidan knelt, examining the impressions in the snow. "Renshaw," he confirmed, running his fingers along the distinctive drag pattern of Alden's calcified leg. "They're heading northwest."
"Toward the old sanctuary?" The tracker frowned. "That's Dissident territory."
"Precisely." Aidan stood, adjusting his crossbow. The word "LIAR" gleamed on his other forearm, freshly carved and crusted with blood—his method of silencing the Eclipse's whispers. "We'll flank them from the ridge."
As his men dispersed to their positions, Aidan remained still, eyes closed. The Shroudmark pulsed beneath his sleeve, each throb sending whispered suggestions through his mind.
*Let them go. Follow me instead.*
With deliberate slowness, Aidan drew his knife and pressed it against his marked arm. Fresh pain blossomed, momentarily drowning out the voice.
"You don't command me," he hissed through clenched teeth.
He continued forward, following the footprints until something glinted among the snow. Crouching, Aidan retrieved a small vial, emptied of its contents. Grey Chord residue crystallized around its lip.
"Oh, Renshaw," he murmured, pocketing the evidence. "What memories have you sacrificed today?"
---
The frigid night wrapped around the cave like a shroud. Inside, huddled bodies sought warmth from the meager fire. Liora retreated to the small alcove she'd claimed as her own, separated from the others by a tattered blanket. Her crystallized arm burned with constant pain, the corruption now reaching her elbow.
Sleep came in fitful bursts, each descent into darkness bringing the same vision:
*Emptiness stretched in all directions—not blackness, but nothingness, a void beyond comprehension. Liora floated weightless, her body transparent, internal organs visible through glass-like skin. Before her, space folded inward, creating a maw of impossible dimensions.*
*"Your body is my vessel," came the voice—neither male nor female, neither singular nor plural. It resonated not in her ears but in her bones, in the crystal structures spreading through her flesh. "Your eyes are my windows."*
*The crystallization advanced as she watched, spreading up her shoulder, across her chest, encasing her heart in faceted prison walls.*
*"I have chosen you," the Eclipse continued, the maw drawing closer. "When the Veil falls, you will birth my form into your world."*
Liora jerked awake with a strangled gasp, her good hand clutching at her chest. Beside her, a small figure sat watching—Mira, the prophet child, eyes milky white yet somehow seeing.
"You heard it too," the girl whispered. "The song in the darkness."
Trembling, Liora nodded. "What does it want from me?"
Mira's small hand reached out, touching Liora's crystallized forearm with delicate fingers. "It wants what all gods want," she replied, voice suddenly adult, ancient. "Worship. Flesh. Rebirth."
The child's touch sent currents of ice through Liora's veins. She tried to pull away, but her muscles refused to obey.
"The alchemist fights it," Mira continued, her Shroudmark glowing faintly in the darkness. "But you... you're beginning to listen."
"I'm not," Liora protested weakly.
Mira's smile was knowing, terrible on her childish face. "Then why is your arm changing? The Eclipse rewards its servants."
The girl lifted Liora's crystallized arm, turning it to catch the faint moonlight filtering through the cave entrance. Black veins pulsed beneath the surface, but within the crystal itself, tiny points of light had appeared—miniature stars embedded in the facets.
"Beautiful," Mira whispered, reverence in her voice. "You're becoming celestial."
---
Dawn broke with unnatural stillness, the forest blanketed in fresh snow undisturbed by animal tracks. Corbin stood watch at the cave entrance, crossbow loaded and ready. Behind him, the Dissidents prepared to move, gathering their meager supplies in hushed efficiency.
"They're coming," Mira announced suddenly, her voice carrying despite its softness. All activity ceased as heads turned toward the prophet child. "The hunters with the burning mark. They follow the blood trail."
Thorne approached Alden, voice low with accusation. "You're bleeding Chord again. They're tracking the residue."
Alden's face remained impassive, the glass half impossible to read. "We need to split up," he said finally. "I'll lead them west. The rest of you continue to the sanctuary."
"No." Liora stepped forward, her crystallized arm now prominently displayed rather than hidden. Starlight seemed trapped within its facets, glimmering with each movement. "They'll just follow your trail until you collapse. We need another way."
Mira tugged at Liora's sleeve, eyes fixed on the cave ceiling. "The storm comes. It will hide us all."
As if summoned by her words, a distant rumble shook the ground. The temperature dropped precipitously, frost forming on eyelashes and beards in seconds.
"Froststorm," Thorne breathed, crossing himself reflexively. "Gods preserve us."
"Not gods," Mira corrected, her smile serene. "The Eclipse provides."
Corbin's expression hardened. "We move now. Everyone grab essentials only. If the storm catches us in open ground, we're finished."
The Dissidents mobilized with practiced urgency, abandoning anything not immediately necessary. Liora knelt beside Mira, bundling the small prophet in an extra layer of furs.
"Stay close to me," she instructed, voice gentle but firm. "Don't wander, no matter what you hear."
Mira's clouded eyes seemed to focus momentarily on Liora's face. "It's too late," she whispered. "You already hear its voice when you sleep. Soon you'll hear it awake."
---
The ridge offered Aidan a perfect vantage point. Through his spyglass, he observed the sudden activity at the cave entrance, figures emerging into the snow-covered clearing.
"They've spotted us," his lieutenant suggested.
Aidan shook his head slowly. "No. They're running from something else." He lowered the spyglass, noting the unnatural darkening of the sky to the north. "Rotstorm."
"We should fall back," the lieutenant urged. "If it's a Froststorm—"
"We hold position." Aidan's voice cut like steel. The Shroudmark beneath his sleeve burned furiously, matching his own determination. "The storm will drive them into the open. We'll take Renshaw then."
His men exchanged uneasy glances but held their positions. Aidan raised the spyglass again, focusing on the distinctive figure limping from the cave—Alden Renshaw, his face half-transformed into crystalline shards.
For a moment, Aidan's vision blurred, memory overlapping reality:
*The laboratory. Glass cylinders filled with Chord variants. Elias Renshaw's voice: "It's working, Aidan. The Eclipse can be contained."*
*Then fire. Screaming. Alden standing over his brother's shattered form, vials of Grey Chord clutched in trembling hands.*
*"What have you done?" Aidan's own voice, raw with horror.*
*"What was necessary," Alden's reply, eyes already showing the first signs of crystallization.*
The memory faded, leaving Aidan momentarily disoriented. The Shroudmark pulsed painfully, as if punishing him for remembering.
"Sir?" His lieutenant's voice pulled him back to the present. "Your orders?"
Aidan's jaw tightened. "Prepare to move. I want Renshaw alive if possible." His gaze shifted to the approaching storm front, swirling with unnatural energy. "We have minutes, not hours."
As his men readied themselves, Aidan drew his knife once more, adding another cut to his forearm—not words this time, but a simple line crossing through "LIAR."
"I remember the truth," he whispered, the pain clearing his thoughts. "And I'm coming for you, alchemist."
---
The Dissidents moved through the forest in single file, Thorne leading while Corbin guarded the rear. Between them, Liora guided Mira through the deepening snow, the child's small hand cold within her human one.
The approaching Froststorm manifested first as crystalline patterns forming on tree trunks, delicate fractals spreading like living things. The air temperature plummeted further, breath freezing into glittering clouds that hung suspended before dissipating.
"We won't outrun it," Alden muttered, falling in step beside Liora. His gait had worsened, the calcified knee barely bending. "The sanctuary is still a day's journey."
Liora glanced at him, noting the progression of his transformation—the glass had spread across his forehead now, reaching toward his remaining human eye. "Then we find shelter and wait it out."
"There's an abandoned mill three miles ahead," Thorne called back, voice nearly lost in the rising wind. "Stone walls, partially collapsed roof, but better than open ground."
A distant crack echoed through the forest—the unmistakable sound of a crossbow. One of the Dissidents cried out, collapsing face-first into the snow, a bolt protruding from his back.
"Ambush!" Corbin shouted, pushing the group toward the sparse cover of a rocky outcropping.
More bolts whistled through the air as the Dissidents scattered. Alden grabbed Liora, pulling her and Mira behind the shelter of a massive fallen tree.
"Blackwood," he hissed, eyes scanning the ridge where dark figures moved against the snow. "He's tracked us."
Liora clutched Mira protectively, the girl's face unnaturally calm amid the chaos. "How many?"
"Too many." Alden grimaced, hand moving instinctively to the inner pocket containing his last Grey Chord vial. "You need to take Mira and go. Follow Thorne to the mill."
"And leave you?" Liora shook her head firmly. "No. We stay together."
Mira's small hand suddenly gripped Liora's crystallized arm with surprising strength. "The storm comes now," she announced, voice rising above the wind. "The hunters become the hunted."
As if summoned by her words, the forest darkened abruptly. The Froststorm's leading edge swept over them like a tidal wave of cold—not snow, but something more primal. The air itself seemed to solidify, particles of ice suspended in perfect stillness before rushing forward with renewed fury.
On the ridge, Aidan's men began to scream.
...