CHAPTER 33: WHISPERS OF FORGOTTEN ASHES
Kael’s boots slid along the narrow path leading downhill, tiny pebbles clattering over the edge to vanish into the gray morning mist below. Despite the cautious descent, his side throbbed with each shift of weight, and a fleeting dizziness tugged at the edges of his vision. The hooded woman moved ahead of him, cloak soaked dark by the steady drizzle, while the nameless man brought up the rear. Together, they navigated a world of broken walls and half-sunken streets—ruins that once belonged to a civilization older than Solmaris itself.
Somewhere far behind them, the highest spire of the collapsed temple stood like a jagged tooth, barely visible now through the shifting haze. Though Kael kept his eyes on the path, he couldn’t banish the lingering sense that they were under constant watch, as though ghostly sentinels lurked in every shadow. If the Sovereign’s Chosen still lived, they would be regrouping or perhaps hunting them already. The thought was impossible to ignore.
An abandoned avenue stretched below—pocked with rubble and choked by wild vegetation that crept through cracks in the stone. The buildings, once proud structures of carved granite, lay in various stages of collapse, their windows hollow. Some doorways stood open like gaping mouths, leading to unlit interiors that might hold hidden threats or potential refuge. Rain trickled off broken arches, forming shallow puddles across the uneven ground. In the gloom, every reflection seemed distorted, like the land itself was uncertain of its shape.
Kael paused at the base of the slope, breath labored. The Mark pulsed as if responding to his momentary weakness, and an unwelcome surge of heat radiated through his arm. It was a reminder, a silent warning that this power—so helpful in life-or-death moments—was never without consequence. Too many times, he had felt it awaken to defend him before he fully gave consent, as though the Mark itself had its own awareness. The memory of that frantic battle with the Chosen in the temple corridors still made his pulse quicken.
The hooded woman studied him briefly but said nothing. She merely gestured for Kael to follow as she slipped between two shattered columns into a side passage lined by toppled statues. The nameless man came last, stepping with measured calm. Behind his quiet demeanor, Kael sensed a watchfulness that never let up—a constant readiness to fight or flee at the slightest hint of danger.
They soon emerged into a covered walkway, part of a once-grand courtyard. Moss dripped from carved ledges overhead, and the remains of mosaic floor tiles lay in shattered patterns beneath their feet. Water trickled down from a broken aqueduct that spanned the courtyard’s edge, the faint stream echoing softly in the still air. Under other circumstances, this might have been serene, even beautiful. But the hush here felt ominous, as though the place expected an intruder’s presence and braced for violence.
Something about these structures tugged at Kael’s memory. He had spent years as an Inquisitor, traveling extensively through Solmaris’s dominions, but he had never seen ruins quite like these. The Imperium typically seized any site of historical value, repurposing it or demolishing it outright if it contradicted official dogma. Yet the architecture here was so elaborate—ranging from statues of unknown gods to pillars carved with swirling, interlocking symbols—that Kael found himself wondering why the Imperium had never co-opted this location. Perhaps it was simply too remote. Or perhaps the Imperium feared something lurking here.
The hooded woman ran her fingertips along a faint inscription on a half-collapsed wall. “These markings… they’re not the same as the ones we saw deeper underground. But they share similar motifs—spirals, eyes, branching lines. Could be a related language, or some kind of script that predates most known tongues.”
Kael glanced at her, surprised by the curiosity in her voice. She rarely showed such open interest in anything except their survival. “You recognize any of it?”
She hesitated. “No. But I know enough to suspect this was a sacred site. Possibly a domain of those who studied the Mark. The Imperium might have left it because it already served its purpose—or because it held secrets they preferred to let rot.”
At the mention of the Mark, Kael felt a twinge in his arm. He swallowed a spike of anxiety. “If there are records or artifacts hidden here, they might help us. Or they could be more dangerous than anything we’ve encountered.”
“Both are likely true,” the nameless man interjected from behind them. He stopped alongside a damaged plinth that had once held a statue, the base inscribed with foreign glyphs. “In my travels, I’ve learned that forbidden knowledge is rarely lost without reason.”
Kael watched the nameless man’s expression for a clue—any sign of what he truly thought. But the man’s features remained impassive beneath the partial shadow of his cowl. The only hint of tension was how tightly he gripped the edge of the plinth, knuckles pale against the stone. For a fleeting instant, Kael wondered if the man recognized these ruins from a past he’d never confessed.
The wind gusted, carrying with it a sharper chill. Rain pattered faster, forming rivulets that wove through broken tiles to vanish into cracks below. Kael shivered, the wetness seeping through his battered cloak. The night of flight and the morning trek had worn him down more than he cared to admit. His wounded side felt swollen, though the hooded woman’s minor healing had at least kept it from bleeding too freely.
They made their way deeper into the courtyard, eventually arriving at a wide, door-like opening that led into the base of what looked like a temple annex. The structure was partially caved in, but a handful of intact columns still supported a precariously leaning roof. Grass and vines had claimed the threshold, creating a curtain of green that partially hid the interior.
The hooded woman wiped water from her brow and drew a small blade, using it to cut away some of the vines. “We need shelter, and this might be the best we’ll find for miles,” she murmured. “If it’s stable inside, we could rest, at least until the rain passes.”
“A rest would help us all,” Kael agreed, careful to keep the fatigue out of his voice.
They ducked inside, stepping cautiously over broken stones. The air changed at once, turning cool and stale. The shift in light was abrupt; only narrow slits in the canted roof allowed dim, murky rays to filter through. A hush fell over them, broken only by the dripping of water from leaks overhead. Dust motes swirled in the gloom, disturbed for the first time in ages.
Kael’s heart quickened. There was a presence here. It wasn’t malevolent—not exactly—but it was suffused with the weight of centuries. As if whatever rites or prayers these walls once witnessed still lingered in the echo of the silence. The hair on his arms stood on end.
They eased into what appeared to be a central chamber. Collapsed beams and debris formed small barriers, and half of the floor looked unstable, silt having washed in from outside. Stains marked the far walls, possibly from ancient fires or water damage. Yet in the center of the chamber stood something that made Kael’s blood go cold:
A circular stone dais, its surface carved in painstaking detail with spiral motifs. Intricate lines radiated outward in symmetrical waves, reminiscent of a stylized sun or perhaps an eye. In the middle, a shallow depression had been chiseled out, large enough for a grown man to stand in.
The hooded woman approached the dais, wariness evident in her posture. “This looks deliberate. Like an altar.”
“Or a focal point,” the nameless man added quietly. His uninjured hand hovered near the edge of the dais, but he didn’t quite touch it. “For something far older than the Imperium’s cult. Possibly something to do with the Mark.”
Kael moved closer, fighting the uneasy knot in his gut. “Could it be a place where rituals were performed?” His gaze swept the chamber’s walls. More spiral carvings, more of those interlocking patterns that twisted in ways that made his eyes ache if he stared too long. Water dripped from a fractured roof beam onto the dais’s rim, creating dark trails that traced lines through the dust.
He felt the Mark resonate. Not as a spike of heat or a jolt of pain—rather, a subtle hum, like the faintest pressure in his mind. As if it recognized this place, or at least recognized that it had once been significant. He had felt something similar in the monolith chamber underground, but here it was softer, as though buried beneath centuries of neglect.
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“Let’s see if the walls can hold,” the hooded woman muttered, snapping Kael’s attention back to the practical. “If this structure collapses on us, we’ll trade one grave for another.”
She circled the chamber’s perimeter, examining the partial columns and the leaning roof. Meanwhile, the nameless man did the same on the opposite side, occasionally kicking at loose stones to check for stability. Kael remained near the dais, torching away the dust in his mind with the raw memory of the temple’s destruction. He didn’t want to bring more rubble down on them if the place was too weak, but this crumbling annex might be their only option to rest safely.
Soon, the woman and the nameless man converged near the dais. “We can risk staying here,” she concluded. “The outer walls have collapsed in a way that actually braces part of the roof, though we’ll want to stay away from that far corner—it’s half-rotted.”
Kael looked in that direction, noticing how large cracks in the wall formed a spiderweb of potential disaster. “Agreed,” he said softly. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself, then lowered his aching body to sit on a wide stone slab near the dais. The raw ache in his ribs pulsed with a steady burn, but no new blood darkened his tunic. “We should rest while we can.”
The hooded woman knelt beside him, rummaging through a small pouch at her waist. She produced a strip of dried meat and handed it over. “Eat. You’ll need it.”
He nodded his thanks, chewing slowly. It tasted like sawdust, but hunger reminded him he’d gone too long without sustenance. The woman and the nameless man shared a few meager rations themselves, the atmosphere subdued. Rain drummed outside, echoing through the battered stones, and an occasional rumble of thunder hinted that the weather might worsen.
As they ate, Kael’s thoughts drifted to the days immediately before he’d discovered the Mark. He had been an Inquisitor in good standing—trusted, even. The mission to Vael’Thalos was supposed to be routine: purge heresy, seize any contraband. Yet the moment he found that ancient symbol, everything changed. The Imperium betrayed him, turning on him the instant the Mark chose him. Or perhaps the Mark had forced itself upon him. He wondered if there was truly any distinction.
“What’s on your mind?” the hooded woman asked, noticing his distant stare.
Kael swallowed the last bite of the dried meat. “Wondering if this place has something to do with how the Imperium used to fear the old ways. They hide so much history… maybe they couldn’t—or wouldn’t—bury all of it.”
Her lips flattened. “The Imperium’s power rests on controlling knowledge. Anything that doesn’t fit their narrative gets purged or locked away. If this site was as important as it seems, it’s no wonder it lies in ruins.”
“What if there are records here, or relics?” Kael pressed, nodding at the dais. “We need every advantage we can get.”
The nameless man shifted his weight, leaning against a half-broken column. “We can look. But we must do so carefully. Whatever knowledge remains might be protected by more than just collapsing walls.” His gaze shifted to Kael’s arm, as though acknowledging the Mark. “If these rites were linked to your curse—”
“I’m well aware of the risks,” Kael interrupted softly. “But we don’t have a better plan. Unless you know another safe haven that can keep the Imperium’s hounds off our backs?”
Neither the woman nor the nameless man answered that challenge. The silence spoke volumes: no place was truly safe from the Imperium’s reach, not if they were willing to spare enough resources to chase him. The temple battle had proven they regarded Kael and the Mark as a threat worthy of unleashing the Sovereign’s Chosen. And if the Chosen had survived, they would be relentless.
A flicker of lightning outside illuminated the dais for a split second, revealing the swirling carvings in sharper detail. Kael found his gaze drawn to the center of that shallow depression. A question formed in his mind: What if I step onto it? The Mark pulsed again, faint yet insistent, as though urging him to do precisely that.
Before he could rise, the hooded woman sighed. “Let’s secure the entrance, at least. If we’re discovered, I’d like some warning.”
Kael blinked, forcing his attention away from the dais. “Yes. Good idea.” He stood, ignoring the dull protest in his ribs, and made his way toward the half-collapsed doorway. Together, they scrounged what rubble they could find—loose stones, shards of broken columns—and arranged them in a haphazard barrier. It wouldn’t stop a determined intruder, but might buy them a moment to react. The nameless man added a length of fallen beam, wedging it so that any push from outside would shift the improvised barricade with a racket loud enough to wake the dead.
Exhaustion weighed on Kael as they finished. The rain continued to drum overhead, accompanied by sporadic peals of thunder. Darkness clung to the corners of the annex, a gloom that thickened with every passing minute of the overcast morning. Were it not for the tension buzzing in his veins—and the Mark’s ever-present hum—Kael might have let weariness carry him to sleep right then.
He returned to the central dais, his mind torn between caution and curiosity. Even from a short distance, he felt a gentle tug, as though the dais itself was calling him. He remembered the hooded woman’s warning about how the Mark responded to places of power. And he recalled how easily the Mark had overwhelmed him in the temple’s final confrontation. Was it wise to tempt fate again?
Yet he couldn’t deny that they were out of options. With the Imperium closing in, harnessing more knowledge about the Mark might be the only way to survive. And that knowledge might lie buried in these ruins or locked in the dais’s secrets.
The nameless man spoke from behind Kael, his voice subdued. “If you try something, do it carefully. We can’t afford another cataclysm.”
Kael frowned over his shoulder. “I’m not planning to replicate the temple fiasco, if that’s what you mean.” A flicker of resentment sparked in his chest—he hadn’t asked for the Mark’s power to surge the way it had. It simply happened, like a cornered animal defending itself.
“Maybe we should rest first,” the hooded woman said. “You’re injured. We’re all exhausted. If this dais is truly a place of power, approaching it half-dead might be foolish.”
A wave of dizziness washed over Kael, as if to confirm her words. He clenched his jaw, blinking to clear his head. She was right, of course. He needed to be mindful of his limits. The Imperium wouldn’t show mercy to a man who collapsed from reckless ambition.
“All right,” Kael relented. “We rest. Then we decide.” He found a relatively stable spot near the dais where he could lean back against the wall, close enough to remain aware of any shift in the dais’s atmosphere. The Mark still stirred under his skin, but he forced himself to breathe slowly, focusing on the steady rhythm of the rainfall.
The hooded woman settled on a broken pillar not far away, rummaging again through her meager supplies. The nameless man lingered by the annex entrance, keeping watch in the dim light. None of them spoke further; they didn’t need to. The weight of their predicament, combined with the half-fearful fascination of this ancient place, had stolen their words.
As Kael’s thoughts drifted, the memory of swirling shadows and monstrous Hounds intruded unbidden, images of snapping jaws and flickering eyes. Then the echo of the knight’s voice, condemning him as a traitor, a vessel of heresy. But overshadowing all of that was the unrelenting presence of the Mark, that brand pulsing with a slow, patient cadence—thud, thud, thud—like the world’s darkest heartbeat.
We’re never truly safe, he realized. No matter where they hid or how far they ran, the Mark made him a beacon that called to forces beyond the Imperium’s domain. He could sense it in the way the dais “spoke” to him, the way old glyphs on distant walls sometimes seemed to shift under his scrutiny. There was a pattern he hadn’t yet deciphered, a design older than any empire, and he was at its center now.
Lightning flashed again, and thunder rumbled overhead. The hooded woman looked up, worry etched into the lines of her face. The nameless man surveyed the annex with that same stoicism. Kael felt his eyelids grow heavy, but he refused to succumb entirely to fatigue. Rest, yes—but remain ready.
Time. We need more time, he thought. Time to unravel these ruins’ secrets before the Imperium’s next strike. Time to understand the Mark before it decided his fate entirely. Time to gather enough strength and allies to stand against the unstoppable might of the Sovereign’s Chosen.
Yet time was the one resource they had in shortest supply.
Outside, the rain hammered the ancient city, washing away surface grime, revealing more cracks and scars. Kael listened to its steady rhythm, letting the noise lull him into a wary half-sleep. In that in-between state, the Mark’s silent whispers seemed to seep into his mind. He sensed the dais beckoning, heard echoes of ancient voices that might have once chanted in this temple. But the words he heard were fragments, meaningless syllables swirling in and out of comprehension.
Despite himself, Kael’s mind replayed an image: the center of that dais, the carefully carved spiral designs, a place meant for a chosen occupant. A swirl of black veins crossing his arm in reality. A half-seen reflection of himself in the shimmering air. And the question that refused to leave him:
How much of this path did I choose, and how much was chosen for me?
He let out a slow breath. Soon, the illusions receded, leaving him in the flickering present. The hooded woman’s occasional footsteps and the nameless man’s quiet vigilance anchored him to reality.
They had found a brief sanctuary amid these forsaken stones. Whether they could turn that into an advantage—or whether it would lead to the next step of their downfall—remained an open question.
For now, they rested in silence, each preparing in their own way for whatever revelations or horrors they might unearth when they finally dared to confront the dais and its secrets.
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Author’s Note (Post-Chapter) The group takes a tenuous refuge within the ancient temple annex, surrounded by rain, ruins, and the ever-present pull of the Mark. Hidden knowledge waits in the carved dais and the forgotten corridors of this lost city. How they choose to explore—and what they’re willing to risk—could redefine their fate in the battle against the Imperium. Stay tuned for the continuing darkness and tension that mark Kael’s evolving journey.