EMBERS OF THE FORSAKEN

The Road to the Fracture

Tommy was already packed when James opened his eyes.

The boy stood by the cave entrance with a satchel over his shoulder, his jaw set, his eyes red from crying but dry now. He looked like a soldier going to war.

"I'm coming," Tommy said.

James opened his mouth to argue.

"Don't." Tommy held up a hand. "Don't tell me it's dangerous. Don't tell me I'll slow you down. Don't tell me you're doing this to protect me." He stepped closer. "I watched you forget Mom's face. I watched you forget her name. I heard you lose my laugh. If I stay here, you'll forget me next. And I won't let that happen."

The cave was silent.

Taylor stood by the fire, her arms crossed. She didn't look happy, but she didn't argue either.

Kate sat in the corner, her shifting eyes watching the scene like a cat watching mice.

"Fine," James said.

Tommy blinked. "Fine?"

"Fine. You come. But you follow every order. Every single one. When Taylor says run, you run. When I say hide, you hide. When Kate—" He looked at the Wild Speaker.

Kate shook her head. "I'm not going. The Bloom needs me."

"Then when we say something, you listen. No arguments. No heroics." James knelt in front of Tommy. "Do you understand?"

Tommy nodded. His lower lip trembled, but he held it together.

"Then let's go."

---

Kate led them to the Bloom's northern boundary.

The walk took an hour. The forest shifted around them—trees moving, vines curling, the ground rising and falling like a breathing lung. Tommy stayed close to James, his hand on his brother's sleeve.

"The Fracture is three days north," Kate said as they walked. "You'll know you're close when the ground starts to crack. When the air tastes like copper. When you hear the dead whispering."

"The wraiths," Taylor said.

"Yes. They cluster near the Fracture. The god-war tore reality there. The ghosts have nowhere else to go."

"How do we get across the Fracture?" James asked.

"You don't." Kate stopped walking. "No one crosses the Fracture. Not anymore. The bridges were destroyed in the war. The only way to the Glass Sea is to go around—through the southern pass, past the Sunken Citadel."

"The Dying King's territory."

"Yes." Kate's eyes flickered red. "You'll have to cross the edge of his domain. He won't notice you if you're quiet. If you're lucky."

"And if we're not lucky?"

"Then you'll wish you'd stayed in the Bloom."

They reached the boundary. The fungal forest ended abruptly—like a knife had cut through it. Beyond the tree line, grey plains stretched to the horizon. Dead grass. Cracked earth. A sky the color of old bruises.

"The Grey Marches," Kate said. "No water. No shelter. No people. The Inquisition doesn't patrol here because there's nothing to patrol."

"Sounds lovely," Taylor muttered.

"The Marches end at the First Ridge. Cross the ridge, and you'll find the Fracture's eastern edge. Follow the rim south for two days, and you'll reach the pass."

Kate reached into her dress and pulled out a small cloth pouch. She pressed it into James's hand.

"Bloom spores," she said. "If you're lost, crush one. The wind will carry the scent to me. I'll find you."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me. Survive." Kate looked at Tommy. "Child. Come here."

Tommy hesitated. Then he walked to her.

Kate knelt and placed her hands on his cheeks. Her eyes glowed gold.

"The Bloom sees you," she said. "It will remember your face. If you die, the forest will grow a flower where your blood falls. That's the only memorial the dead receive out here."

Tommy swallowed. "That's... nice?"

"It's honest." Kate stood. "Now go. Before the Inquisition circles around."

James took Tommy's hand. Taylor took the lead, her empty hands raised—she still had no weapons, but her eyes scanned the horizon like a hawk.

They stepped out of the Bloom and into the Grey Marches.

---

The first day was empty.

That was the worst part. Not danger, not monsters, not Inquisition hunters. Just emptiness. Miles of grey earth stretching in every direction. No trees. No birds. No sound except the wind and their own breathing.

Tommy walked between James and Taylor, his small legs struggling to keep pace. James wanted to carry him, but Taylor said no—"He needs to save his strength. If you carry him now, he'll be useless tomorrow."

So Tommy walked.

And walked.

And walked.

By sunset, his feet were blistered and his eyes were hollow.

"We need to stop," James said.

Taylor looked back. Her face was gaunt in the dying light. "Another mile. There's a rock formation ahead. Shelter."

"There's nothing ahead. Just more grey."

"There's always something ahead. You just can't see it yet."

She was right. Half a mile later, a cluster of boulders rose from the plain—jagged and black, like teeth pushed up from the earth. Taylor led them to the largest boulder, which had a hollow carved into its base by centuries of wind.

"Get inside," she said. "I'll take first watch."

James helped Tommy into the hollow. The space was small—barely big enough for two people—but it blocked the wind. James sat with his back to the stone, and Tommy curled up beside him.

"Jamie?"

"Yeah."

"Are we going to die out here?"

James looked at the grey sky. The first stars were appearing—dim and cold, nothing like the bright constellations over Ravensbrook.

"No," he said. "We're going to reach the Glass Sea. We're going to find the Dissembler. We're going to get the Ember out of me. And then we're going to find a village somewhere—a quiet village—and we're going to live the rest of our lives without anyone trying to kill us."

Tommy was quiet for a moment.

"That sounds nice," he said.

"It does, doesn't it?"

"I don't believe you."

James laughed—a short, tired sound. "Neither do I. But it's good to have a goal."

Tommy smiled. It was small and fragile, but it was real.

He fell asleep with his head on James's shoulder.

---

Taylor woke James at midnight.

"Movement," she whispered. "North-east. Three figures."

James sat up slowly, careful not to wake Tommy. He crawled to the edge of the hollow and looked where Taylor was pointing.

Three figures, silhouetted against the stars. Walking toward them.

"Syndicate?" James asked.

"Inquisition. The masks give them away." Taylor's voice was tight. "They're following something. A tracker. Maybe a hound."

"Can they see us?"

"Not yet. But the boulders are the only cover for miles. They'll check them eventually."

"How long?"

"An hour. Maybe less."

James looked back at Tommy. The boy was still asleep, his face peaceful in a way it hadn't been in days.

"We can't outrun them," James said. "Not with Tommy."

"Then we hide." Taylor pointed to a crevice between two boulders. "That leads to a cave. I saw it when we arrived. Narrow entrance—only one person at a time can fit. If we can get inside before they see us, we can wait them out."

"And if they find the entrance?"

"Then we fight." Taylor's jaw tightened. "I'll need a weapon."

James looked at the knife on his belt. It wasn't much—a short blade, barely longer than his hand. He pulled it out and offered it to her.

Taylor took it. "And you?"

"I have the Ember."

"The Ember isn't a weapon. It's a curse that sometimes acts like one."

"Right now, that's good enough."

They woke Tommy. The boy didn't cry, didn't ask questions. He just stood and followed James to the crevice.

Taylor went first, squeezing through the narrow gap. Tommy followed. James came last, his shoulders scraping against the stone.

The cave was small—smaller than the hollow—but it was dark and deep. The sound of the wind faded. The world outside disappeared.

They waited.

---

The Inquisition hunters reached the boulders an hour later.

James heard their boots on the stone. Heard their voices—low, professional, no wasted words.

"Tracks lead here. Three sets. Two adults, one child."

"The boy?"

"Yes. The vessel and the deserter."

"Fan out. Check the crevices. They can't have gone far."

James pressed his hand over Tommy's mouth. The boy's eyes were wide, but he didn't struggle.

A shadow passed the crevice entrance. Golden mask. Crossbow.

"Nothing here."

"Check the other side."

The shadow moved away.

James let out a breath.

Then the Ember pulsed.

They have a Null, the voice said. I can feel it. A blade. It's dampening me. Suppressing my light.

"Good," James thought back. "That means they can't see us."

It also means I can't protect you. If they find this cave, you're just a boy with a knife against three trained killers.

"Then we make sure they don't find the cave."

More footsteps. The hunters were circling back.

"Anything?"

"Nothing. The tracks end at the boulders. Maybe they kept going."

"Or maybe they're hiding."

"Then we wait. They'll run out of water before we do."

The footsteps faded. The hunters were settling in—making camp, probably. Waiting for dawn.

Taylor whispered in James's ear. "They're not leaving."

"I know."

"We need to draw them away. Give Tommy time to run."

"Run where? The Marches go on for miles. He'd die of thirst before he reached anything."

"Then we fight." Taylor's voice was hard. "Three hunters. One knife. And whatever the Ember can give us."

James closed his eyes. The Ember pulsed in his chest, cold and hungry.

I can give you fire, the voice said. But you'll pay for it. Something big this time. Something you'll feel.

"How big?"

A memory. A whole one. Not just a piece. The entire thing. The day you met Tommy, maybe. Or the first time you realized you loved him.

"No."

Then we die here. Choose.

James opened his eyes.

"Taylor," he said. "When I give the signal, you take Tommy and run. Don't look back. Don't stop until you reach the ridge."

"What are you going to do?"

"Something stupid."

He crawled toward the crevice entrance.

---

The hunters were sitting around a small fire—no torchlight, just heat, to avoid attracting attention. Their masks were off, their faces visible in the orange glow.

Three men. Middle-aged. Scarred. Tired.

One of them held a Null-blade. James could feel it from here—a pressure in his chest, like the Ember was being squeezed.

He stepped out of the crevice.

The hunters saw him immediately. They grabbed their weapons, but they didn't attack. Not yet.

"The vessel," one of them said. "Alone. Where's the deserter?"

"Gone," James said. "I sent her ahead. I'm the one you want."

"You're the one Commander Voss wants. Alive. Preferably intact." The hunter with the Null-blade stood. "Come quietly, and we won't hurt you."

"You'll burn me. That's what the Inquisition does."

"Eventually. But not today." He stepped closer. "Today, you're just cargo."

The Ember surged.

James didn't fight it. He let the cold spread through his chest, down his arms, into his fingertips. The silver light flickered—dim at first, then brighter.

The Null-blade flared in response. The pressure increased. The Ember screamed.

It hurts, the voice said. It hurts so good. Let me out. Let me BURN.

James raised his hand.

The silver fire erupted from his palm—not a wave this time, but a beam. Narrow. Focused. It hit the Null-blade and the weapon shattered.

The hunter stared at the hilt in his hand. Then he looked at James.

"How—"

James didn't answer. He couldn't. The cost was already hitting him.

A memory. Whole and complete. The day he met Tommy.

He was thirteen. The orphanage had taken in a new boy—small, silent, with bruises on his arms and fear in his eyes. James had hated him at first. Another mouth to feed. Another body to compete for scraps.

Then Tommy had smiled at him. Just once. A tiny, fragile thing.

And James had loved him. From that moment. Without reservation. Without condition.

That memory was gone now.

Not faded. Not blurred. Gone. Like it had never happened.

James knew he loved Tommy. He could feel the shape of the love in his chest. But he couldn't remember why. Couldn't remember the first time. Couldn't remember the moment it started.

The hunters charged.

James didn't move. He couldn't move. He was too busy grieving a memory he'd never get back.

Taylor came out of the crevice.

She moved like water—fast, silent, deadly. The knife James had given her flashed in the firelight. The first hunter went down with his throat cut. The second turned, too slow. The knife went into his kidney.

The third hunter ran.

Taylor let him go. She knelt beside James, her bloody hands checking him for wounds.

"What did you lose?" she asked.

"Tommy," James said. His voice was hollow. "I lost the day I met Tommy. I know I love him. I just don't know why."

Taylor's face twisted. Not pity—something harder. Recognition.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Did we get them?"

"Two dead. One ran. He'll bring reinforcements."

"Then we need to move."

Taylor helped him stand. The world swayed. The silver light in his chest was dim now—fading, exhausted.

Tommy crawled out of the crevice. He looked at the bodies, at the blood, at James's grey face.

"What happened?"

"I protected you," James said. "That's what matters."

Tommy didn't look convinced. But he didn't argue.

They walked into the darkness.

---

Dawn found them at the edge of the First Ridge.

The ridge was a wall of stone, cracked and weathered, rising a hundred feet above the plain. Beyond it, the ground dropped away—James could see the lip of the Fracture in the distance, a black scar across the earth.

"There," Taylor said, pointing. "The pass is two miles south. We follow the ridge until we find the path down."

"How far to the Fracture from there?"

"Half a day. Maybe less." She looked back at the Grey Marches. Empty. No sign of pursuit. "We need to rest. Tommy can't keep going."

Tommy didn't protest. He was sitting on a rock, his head bowed, his small chest heaving.

James sat beside him. "How are you doing?"

"I'm tired."

"I know."

"And hungry."

"I know."

"And scared."

James put an arm around him. "I know. Me too."

Tommy leaned into him. "Jamie?"

"Yeah."

"Do you still love me? Even though you forgot why?"

James's heart cracked.

"Yes," he said. "I still love you. I'll always love you. I don't need to remember why. I just know."

Tommy nodded against his shoulder. "Okay. That's okay, then."

They sat like that for a while. Taylor stood guard, her borrowed knife in her hand, her eyes on the horizon.

The sun rose higher. The Grey Marches stayed empty.

But somewhere behind them, the hunter who'd escaped was running.

And behind him, Commander Voss was waiting.

---

They found the path down at midday.

It was old—pre-war, probably—carved into the ridge by hands that had turned to dust centuries ago. The steps were worn smooth, treacherous with loose stone.

Taylor went first. Tommy in the middle. James brought up the rear.

The descent took an hour. By the time they reached the bottom, James's legs were shaking and his chest ached.

The Fracture stretched before them.

It was wider than he'd imagined—miles across, a canyon that split the continent in two. The bottom was lost in shadow, but James could hear it. A low rumble, like thunder underground. Like the earth grinding its teeth.

"The god-war," Taylor said. "When Emberion died, his fall cracked the world. The Fracture is his grave."

"People live near that?"

"No. But the dead do." She pointed. "The wraiths come out at night. We need to reach the pass before sunset."

They walked along the Fracture's rim.

The ground was different here—black and glassy, like it had been melted and cooled. Nothing grew. Nothing moved. The air tasted of copper and old ash.

Tommy stayed close to James. "Is this where the god died?"

"Yes."

"It feels like it."

They walked in silence.

---

The pass was a gap in the Fracture's western wall—a narrow shelf of rock that clung to the canyon's edge. The path was barely wide enough for one person.

Taylor stopped at the entrance.

"This is it. The only way to the Glass Sea without crossing the Fracture itself."

"It looks unstable," James said.

"It is. One wrong step, and you fall into the canyon. The wraiths will get you before you hit the bottom."

"Comforting."

"I'm not here to comfort you. I'm here to keep you alive." She stepped onto the path. "Follow my footsteps exactly. Don't look down."

James followed. Tommy came behind him, his small hands gripping James's belt.

The path wound along the canyon wall. The wind was strong here, tugging at their clothes, trying to push them off balance. Below, the darkness whispered.

James.

He froze.

James, come down. Come down and join us. We're so lonely down here.

"Wraiths," Taylor said. "Ignore them."

He can't ignore us. We're in his blood. We're in his head.

The Ember pulsed.

The dead god's children. That's what we are. All of us. His hunger. His rage. His loneliness.

"Keep moving," Taylor said.

James kept moving.

The path ended at a cave—a natural tunnel through the canyon wall. Daylight showed on the other side.

"The Glass Sea," Taylor said. "We're almost there."

They walked through the tunnel.

And emerged into a world of salt and bone.

---

The Glass Sea wasn't a sea.

It was a desert. A vast expanse of white salt flats that stretched to every horizon, cracked and glittering under the pale sun. The bones of enormous creatures—things that had died in the god-war—lay half-buried in the salt, their ribs rising like the frames of ships.

"The Dissembler lives there," Taylor said, pointing at a dark shape on the horizon. A structure. A building, maybe.

"How do you know?"

"Because I've been here before." Her voice was quiet. "When I deserted. I came here first. Before the Bloom. Before anything."

"Why didn't you stay?"

Taylor didn't answer.

They walked onto the Glass Sea.

The salt crunched under their boots. The wind was cold and dry. The bones of dead gods watched them pass.

And somewhere ahead, in a building made of salt and bone, someone was waiting.

The Dissembler.

The only person in the world who could save James from the Ember.

Or kill him trying.