Chapter two
1685 Words
Beyond the Conception
Chapter Two: Ash and Oath
The world smelled of smoke for three days.
It clung to everything — to the stone wells, to the thatch of the huts that still stood, to the skin and hair of every villager who had survived. The sky seemed reluctant to clear, as though it too mourned what had been lost.
Arin barely spoke.
He worked alongside the others to gather the dead, to clean the square, to mend what could be mended. But his mind was elsewhere — replaying the battle again and again, searching for a way the outcome might have been different.
Kaelen’s body was the last they buried.
The villagers gathered in silence, forming a wide circle around the shallow grave near the southern ridge. Arin stood at the edge of the crowd, his fists clenched at his sides. He felt every pair of eyes on him, but none dared speak to him — not yet.
Maerin, the healer, stepped forward to speak the last words. Her voice was hoarse from smoke but steady as she recited the Prayer of Passing.
“From earth we came, to earth we return. May the Great Flame guide you. May the First Light welcome you home.”
Arin’s throat tightened. The words felt empty, hollow.
Kaelen should have been the one standing here, speaking these words for someone else.
When the prayer ended, Maerin handed Arin the torch. It was his duty as Kaelen’s only son to light the grave fire — a final rite to carry the spirit beyond the veil.
The torch felt heavy in his hand.
Arin knelt by the grave, staring at the wrapped form of his father. His mind screamed to say something, anything, but no words came.
So he lit the fire in silence.
Flames licked up the kindling, consuming the wrappings, turning his father’s body to smoke that rose into the darkening sky. The villagers bowed their heads, some weeping softly.
Arin did not weep.
He watched until the fire burned down to embers, until the smoke thinned to nothing. Only then did he let the torch fall from his hand.
When the last villager left the ridge, Arin stayed behind.
He knelt in the ash until the stars came out, until the cold bit through his thin tunic. And then, finally, he spoke — not to the sky, not to the stars, but to the earth where his father lay.
“I swear,” he said, his voice raw. “I will find out what happened. I will find the one who brought this here. And I will stop them — whatever it takes.”
The vow hung in the night air, sharp as a blade.
Somewhere deep in his chest, the ember flared.
---
The days that followed blurred together.
Arin trained until his arms ached, sparring with wooden staves against the few villagers who still had strength enough to fight. When he was not training, he was helping to rebuild the walls, carrying stone until his hands bled.
But the ember inside him never let him rest.
At night, he dreamed of the cloaked figure. Sometimes it stood at the edge of the square, watching him. Other times, it stood beside his father’s grave, its hand outstretched as though offering something.
Once, he dreamed it spoke.
You are not ready, the voice said, just as it had before. But you will be.
Arin would wake in a sweat, the words echoing in his ears.
It was on the fifth night that he finally sought out Maerin.
The healer’s hut was filled with the sharp scent of crushed herbs. Maerin looked up from where she was grinding roots into a paste. “You’re not wounded,” she said, frowning. “Why are you here?”
“I need answers,” Arin said simply.
Maerin set down her pestle and gestured for him to sit. “What kind of answers?”
Arin sat on the low stool by the fire. “The creatures that attacked us. The figure that was with them. Who — or what — were they?”
Maerin’s face grew still.
“I saw it,” Arin pressed. “At the edge of the square. It spoke to me. It—” He hesitated. “It touched me. And something… happened.”
“Something?”
Arin clenched his hands. “It was like fire inside me. I moved — faster than I should have been able to. I was standing in front of it before I even knew I’d moved.”
Maerin studied him for a long moment before speaking. “You sound like your father.”
Arin blinked. “What?”
“When Kaelen was your age, he came to me with the same story. Power, dreams, a voice calling him to something greater.”
Arin stared at her. “You knew?”
Maerin nodded slowly. “Your father was special, Arin. More than he ever let on. He was not just the Keeper of the Flame — he was meant to guard something far older, far more dangerous. He swore never to speak of it until the time came.”
“What was he guarding?”
Maerin’s eyes darkened. “The Conception.”
The word sent a shiver down Arin’s spine.
He had heard it before, whispered in the old stories, always spoken with a mix of fear and reverence. The Conception was said to be the beginning of all things — the first spark from which the world had been born.
But those were stories. Myths.
“Why would he guard something like that?” Arin asked.
“Because it is more than a story,” Maerin said quietly. “The Conception is real. And there are those who would claim it — remake the world in their own image.”
Arin’s thoughts spun. “You think that’s why they attacked us? To get to him?”
Maerin nodded once. “And now they will come for you.”
Silence stretched between them, heavy and cold.
Finally, Arin said, “Then I have to leave.”
Maerin’s brows lifted. “Leave?”
“I can’t stay here and wait for them to come back. I have to find them. Find the figure. Find out what they want.”
“Arin—”
“No,” he said sharply. “If I stay, more people will die. If I go, maybe I can stop this before it reaches anyone else.”
Maerin’s expression softened, though her eyes were sad. “You sound like your father again.”
She stood and crossed the hut, retrieving something from a wooden chest. When she returned, she held out a leather-wrapped bundle.
“This was Kaelen’s,” she said. “He left it with me in case the worst should happen.”
Arin unwrapped the bundle. Inside was a sword — longer than his knife, its blade dark as obsidian but glowing faintly along the edge. Runes were etched along the hilt, their meaning unknown to him.
“He wanted you to have it,” Maerin said.
Arin swallowed hard and took the sword. The weight of it felt right in his hand.
“When you leave,” Maerin said softly, “do not look back.”
---
The next morning, before the sun had fully risen, Arin stood at the southern gate.
The villagers gathered to see him off — not many, but enough to make his chest ache. Children clung to their mothers, watching with wide eyes. Men and women nodded to him in solemn respect.
Maerin stood beside him, her hand on his shoulder.
“Where will you go?” she asked.
Arin looked to the horizon. The smoke had finally cleared, and the mountains gleamed gold in the dawn light.
“Wherever this leads me,” he said.
And then he stepped beyond the gate.
Beyond the village.
Beyond everything he had ever known.
---
The road south was quiet, winding through tall grass and scattered stones. Arin walked until the sun was high, his mind turning over everything Maerin had said.
The Conception.
The word pulsed in his thoughts like a drumbeat.
He did not know where the road would take him, but he knew one thing: he would not stop until he had found the truth.
By nightfall, he had reached the edge of the forest.
The trees loomed tall and dark, their branches knitting together overhead, shutting out the stars. The air smelled damp, full of moss and earth.
Arin built a small fire and sat with his back against a tree, his sword across his knees.
The ember inside him flickered.
And then, from the darkness beyond the firelight, a voice spoke.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
Arin’s hand went to his sword as he rose to his feet. “Who’s there?”
A figure stepped into the firelight — not one of the creatures from the attack, but a person.
A girl, no older than Arin, with short-cropped hair and eyes like chips of ice. She wore a traveler’s cloak and carried a bow across her back.
“Put that down,” she said, nodding to his sword. “If I meant to kill you, you’d already be dead.”
Arin didn’t lower the blade. “Who are you?”
The girl smirked faintly. “Someone who knows what you’re running from. And where you’re heading.”
Arin’s heart thudded. “Then tell me.”
The girl’s smile faded. “It’s not where you’re heading that should worry you. It’s who’s waiting for you when you get there.”
And then, before Arin could ask another question, the wind shifted — and the forest behind him came alive with the sound of footsteps.
Not human footsteps.
The girl’s eyes widened. “Run,” she said.
Arin tightened his grip on the sword. “Not this time.”
The first of the creatures broke through the trees, its golden eyes gleaming in the firelight.
Arin raised the sword.
The ember flared.
And the night exploded into motion.
- Writer
