Beneath the Flesh, the Fire Remembers

The woods had grown quieter since the Devourer's last attack.

Too quiet.

Xerces moved with a subtle limp, bones reknitting in his thigh beneath the illusion of flesh. Even with the mask of humanity stitched over him by cursed sorcery, his body carried the echo of battle. He kept his hand clenched over the hilt of his staff, fingers twitching against the lacquered grip as Mira walked just ahead of him, her soft voice humming a low melody beneath her breath.

Sael walked behind them, ever vigilant, his eyes scanning the twisted canopy of the ancient forest.

It was Mira who broke the silence.

"Do you think… it's watching us?" she asked, not turning. Her tone held the breath of unease, but not fear.

Xerces didn't answer immediately. He studied the trees—gnarled limbs that curled inwards like the broken fingers of buried giants. The wind made no sound through their leaves. The birds had not sung since the night of the last attack.

"Yes," Xerces said finally. "But not with eyes."

She turned to him. "What does that mean?"

"It's listening," Sael said. "It feels through the earth, drinks from the rot. And we're stepping on its tongue."

Mira looked disturbed, and Xerces couldn't blame her. This place—this forest beyond the human lands—reeked of ancient hunger. Every root was a vein. Every hill, a tumor. The further they walked, the more the illusion of peace peeled away, revealing a scarred truth beneath the skin of the world.

They were heading into the old places.

They were heading beneath.

The trio stopped at a clearing where the trees parted around a collapsed ruin, half-buried in moss and bone. Cracked obelisks jutted from the ground like fangs. An altar rested in the center, covered in runes older than any living tongue.

"This is it," Sael whispered. "Where the word first appeared."

Carved into the altar, weathered but unmistakable, was a single word:

BENEATH.

Xerces ran a hand over the lettering. He felt something pull in his chest—like an old door creaking open inside a forgotten hall of his mind.

"You know this place," Sael said, watching him. "Don't you?"

"I don't…" Xerces began—and stopped.

Because something was familiar. Not the altar. Not the ruin.

The shame. The weight.

Like he had stood here before and made a vow that damned the world.

"I think I left something here," Xerces muttered. "A long time ago."

Mira approached and touched his shoulder. Her fingers lingered. "We'll find it together."

That night, as the campfire flickered low, Mira slept close to Xerces, her head resting lightly near his shoulder. Sael stood sentinel, as always, leaning against a tree like a tired ghost.

Xerces did not sleep. He couldn't.

Instead, he sat in silence, staring at his own hand. He dropped the illusion for a moment.

Bone. White. Bare. Clean.

But beneath that bone, in some memory he could not reach, there had once been warmth. Veins. A heartbeat. A daughter's hand held in his.

His fist clenched.

And in the shadows beyond the trees, something answered.

The ground trembled.

A crack burst open beneath the altar in the ruin.

Something climbed out.

A shape made of rotted vines and writhing mouths—a Sentinel of the Devourer.

It hissed through the woods like a centipede made of butchered wolves, eyes blinking across its body like cursed stars. And it was heading straight for the camp.

Combat erupted like thunder.

Xerces rose first, tearing the illusion from his body in one great flare of necrotic flame. His flesh peeled back, his skeletal form blazing with green fire. His staff burned in his hand.

"Mira—get back!" he roared.

But Mira stood her ground, fire crackling in her hands. "I'm not afraid of it! Not anymore!"

Sael surged forward with his blade drawn, carving into the beast's side—but the thing didn't bleed. It laughed as it absorbed the strike, vines reshaping its flesh in seconds.

The creature lunged.

Xerces raised his staff, chanting in a tongue that had not been spoken aloud in centuries.

"Come forth, Reapers. Wake. Drink. Devour in kind."

The ground cracked. Six skeletal knights rose from beneath the earth, their armor rusted but their purpose pure. They charged the beast with spears and swords raised high.

The creature screamed, flailing—but for the first time, it stumbled.

Xerces's magic surged. For a heartbeat, something more flowed through him. Not just death.

Judgment.

Something old.

Something kingly.

And in that moment, Mira looked at him not with fear, but awe.

They destroyed the beast. Its body burned. Its voices died.

But as the fire faded, Mira took a hesitant step toward him.

"Xerces…" she said, her voice soft. "You weren't just… casting spells."

He turned.

"You looked like someone who had done that before. Like this was your land. Like you were… remembering."

He said nothing. He didn't have the words.

But in the silence between them, something ancient stirred. And somewhere far below the earth, a throne of bone cracked open.