Between Ash and Ice

The Path of Echoes

The wind howled through the jagged peaks, carrying whispers that did not belong to this world. I stood at the edge of the precipice, my fingers curled into fists, my heart hammering against my ribs. The landscape before me was both beautiful and cruel—an unrelenting expanse of dark cliffs and shifting mist, as if the land itself was alive, breathing. Watching.

I had no idea where I was.

I had no idea where to go.

But standing here, frozen in place, would do me no good.

I inhaled deeply, steadying myself. The air was sharp with the scent of damp stone, thick with something else—a hum of power, just beneath the surface, something old and waiting. I had felt it before, back in the cavern. The presence of something unseen, something lurking.

That presence had not left.

I turned sharply, scanning the ledge behind me. Nothing. The path I had taken from the cavern sloped downward into the valley below, winding between ancient ruins and twisted spires of rock. The shadows stretched unnaturally long across the uneven terrain, distorting what little light flickered in this forsaken place.

A sound. Faint, but unmistakable.

Footsteps.

I spun, fire crackling to life in my palms before I could think twice. My breath came fast, sharp, the heat licking at my skin as I raised my hands. Show yourself.

Nothing.

The wind shifted, carrying the echoes away. I swallowed hard, the fire dimming as uncertainty curled in my gut. Someone was following me. Watching me.

But they didn’t want to be seen.

I exhaled, forcing my pulse to slow. If they wanted to play this game, fine. Let them watch. I wouldn’t be easy prey.

Turning back to the path ahead, I set my jaw and started walking. The ground was uneven beneath my bare feet, the chill biting into my skin, but I ignored it. Step by step, I moved forward, leaving the ledge behind.

The ruins loomed ahead, crumbling structures swallowed by time and mist. Their walls were carved with symbols I couldn’t read, etched deep into the stone as if to withstand the decay of centuries. I brushed my fingers against one as I passed, feeling the worn edges beneath my fingertips. Something happened here. Something terrible.

Another whisper of movement.

I stopped, not turning, not reacting. I could feel them now, just beyond my vision, keeping pace with me.

Fine. Keep following.

But sooner or later, I would make them show themselves.