The Ashen Path

The wind howled over the scorched plains, dragging dust like the whispers of forgotten ghosts. A crimson sun hovered low on the horizon, casting long shadows over the cracked earth. In the distance, a single mountain peak loomed, black as obsidian—Mount Karuth, the land of the Ash-Walkers.

Veer stood still, his eyes fixed on the dark silhouette. It was the third path. Fire had tested his courage. Water had judged his heart. And now, the Ash would test his will.

Beside him, Ishaya adjusted the fur-lined scarf around her neck. The heat of the plains clashed strangely with the chill that poured from the mountain.

"They say no one returns from the Ashen Path," she said. "That the dead whisper your name, and your own memories betray you."

Veer remained silent, his fingers brushing the hilt of the Whispering Blade. Ever since his awakening at the River Temple, something inside him had shifted. The visions of the past, the pain of those who came before—it all weighed on him like ancestral chains. But he did not flinch.

"I must go," he said finally. "This tribe holds the strength of the soul. Without them, the others will fall apart."

As they approached the mountain, the color drained from the world. The grass gave way to dust. Trees withered into bone-white spires. And then—footsteps echoed where no one walked.

A thick fog rolled in, gray and suffocating.

And the world went silent.

The Ashen Path was more than a trail—it was a realm.

One step into the fog, and Veer was alone. Ishaya had vanished. The mountain seemed to stretch infinitely upward, its edges warping as if shaped by thought, not stone.

A voice echoed from the mist. Familiar. Distant.

"Veer…"

He turned sharply.

And froze.

Standing before him was a young boy—ragged, eyes hollow, face dirtied by soot and tears.

It was him.

The Veer of the past. The orphan. The one who had watched his village burn, his parents torn from him by the crimson storm. The one who had no name, no hope—only fear.

"What do you want?" Veer asked.

But the boy did not answer. Instead, he turned and walked into the mist.

Veer followed.

The fog thickened, forming shapes—memories, both real and twisted.

He saw his mother's face, smiling… then burning.

He saw his father, strong and proud… then begging for Veer to run.

He heard screams. His own voice calling out. Then silence.

Each step forward made his knees heavier, his breath slower.

But he kept walking.

Until he reached a circle of stone.

There, cloaked in gray robes, sat the Ash-Walkers. Their faces were painted with soot, their eyes like burnt coals—dark but burning. They sat still, as if they had waited centuries for his arrival.

At the center stood an old man, skin etched with ash and scars. A crown of broken bones rested on his head.

"I am Maari, Keeper of the Ash," the man said. "You walk the path of those who seek to become more than men. But you bring fire. You bring water. These do not belong here."

Veer stepped forward, unflinching. "I seek truth. The kind that's buried in ash. I seek unity."

Maari's eyes narrowed. "Unity? There is no unity in death. Only memory."

Then he raised his hand.

And the ground cracked.

From the depths rose a pillar of black stone, and atop it—Veer's parents.

Not their bodies.

Their memories.

The ash sculpted them perfectly—his mother's gentle hands, his father's protective gaze.

But their eyes were lifeless.

Maari's voice echoed again. "The ash remembers all. Your grief fuels it. But if you truly wish to lead the Nine Tribes, you must burn your sorrow. Completely."

A blade appeared before Veer—an obsidian dagger.

"Prove you are no longer ruled by your past. Destroy it. Or be destroyed by it."

Veer stared at the blade.

His hand trembled.

Was this a test of cruelty? A trick?

He stepped toward the stone.

The ash-forms of his parents turned to him. No words. Just faces. Faces that had haunted his dreams since childhood.

He picked up the dagger.

The whispers in the fog grew louder—screaming, chanting, accusing.

"You couldn't save them."

"You were a coward."

"You don't deserve to be king."

Veer's chest tightened.

But then—another voice. Soft. Like the chime of temple bells.

> You are not the boy who ran from fire anymore.

He breathed deeply.

And drove the dagger not into the statues—

But into his own palm.

Blood spilled onto the ash.

And the world shook.

"I do not need to destroy their memory to move forward," he said, voice firm. "They are part of me. Their loss gave me purpose. And I will carry that pain—not hide it."

The fog swirled violently, then lifted.

The ash statues faded. The whispers silenced.

Maari stepped forward, eyes wide.

"Then you… have passed."

> [Trial of Ash Completed.]

[3/9 Tribes Aligned.]

[Title Earned: The One Who Remembers.]

[Ability Gained: Ashen Resolve – Grants immunity to illusions and mental manipulation.]

Maari bowed his head. The other Ash-Walkers did the same.

"You are not just a seeker," he said quietly. "You are the flame that refuses to be snuffed out. The ash will walk with you."

Veer looked up at the black mountain, now bathed in the light of a rising moon.

Three paths walked.

Six remain.

And the boy who had once wept at the edge of a burning village…

Was now becoming the man legends would one day remember.