Ashren stayed on guard.

  Cold air slipped through the narrow gap between the rocks, brushing

  against his blood-soaked clothes and open wounds. Each breath burned.

  Each exhale felt thinner than the last.

  The forest had not attacked again.

  That scared him more.

  No growls.

  No scraping claws.

  No sudden movement.

  Just silence.

  Too perfect.

  Too watchful.

  Ashren tightened his grip on the sword, knuckles white despite the

  tremble in his arms. His body screamed for rest, for unconsciousness—but

  he refused it.

  Not yet.

  He would not die lying down.

  The wind shifted.

  Not colder.

  Focused.

  The forest went unnaturally still.

  Then—

  A voice spoke.

  Not loud.

  Not threatening.

  Clear.

  Centered.

  Unavoidable.

  “What do you seek?”

  Ashren froze.

  His heart slammed once, hard.

  He didn’t answer.

  The silence that followed was heavier than before, pressing down on his chest, crawling into his thoughts.

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  The voice came again.

  Closer.

  Sharper.

  This time—

  It spoke his name.

  “Ashren.”

  His breath caught.

  “What do you seek?”

  Ashren’s fingers tightened around the blade.

  “Who are you?” he demanded, forcing strength into his voice.

  “What are you?”

  For a moment, nothing replied.

  Then—

  “What I am does not matter.”

  The air thickened.

  “Not yet.”

  Ashren let out a bitter laugh that turned into a pained cough.

  “You picked a great time for riddles,” he snapped.

  “Look at me.”

  He shifted slightly—and pain exploded through his ribs.

  He gritted his teeth, voice rising with frustration.

  “I’m wounded. Bruised. Can barely move.

  Alone.

  Bleeding out in the middle of a monster-filled forest.”

  His laugh turned sharp, almost hysterical.

  “I’m probably on my death bed… and you’re asking me what I seek?”

  The stars above flickered behind drifting clouds.

  Ashren’s voice hardened.

  “What do you want me to say, huh?

  Power?

  Strength?

  Immortality?”

  He spat the words.

  “Is that what this is?

  Some last-moment joke before I die?”

  The voice answered immediately.

  Cold.

  Certain.

  “Your wounds are not severe enough to kill you.”

  Ashren stiffened.

  “But the monsters will.”

  The words cut deeper than any blade.

  “So answer.”

  Ashren shook with anger.

  “You really want to know?” he growled.

  “You really want my answer?”

  He forced himself more upright, ignoring the way his vision swam.

  “Fine,” he snarled.

  “Listen. For what it’s worth.”

  His voice cracked—not with fear, but fury.

  A bitter laugh escaped him.

  “If you think I’m here begging for power or glory—forget it.”

  The silence did not respond.

  So Ashren continued.

  “I promised a girl I would help her.”

  His grip tightened around the sword.

  “I promised I would stay by her side.”

  His voice cracked—not weak, but raw.

  “Until she could smile without fear.”

  “Until she was safe.”

  “The forest itself seemed to lean closer.”

  Ashren lifted his head toward the unseen presence.

  His breath hitched, anger and pain tangling together.

  “If my life means anything,” Ashren said fiercely,

  “then that promise is it.”

  He lifted his face toward the darkness, eyes blazing.

  “That’s what I seek.

  To fulfill my promise.

  Even if it costs me everything.”

  His voice dropped—but did not soften.

  “Are you listening?”

  The silence stretched.

  Longer than before.

  Then—

  The air shifted again.

  Not hostile.

  Not kind.

  Measured.

  “A promise,” the voice said slowly.

  To be continued…

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