Chapter 3 – The Map of Ashes

The dead caravan smelled of iron and rot. Kael stood among the bodies, jaw tight, while flies swarmed in clouds thick enough to choke on. The corpses weren’t just killed—they were drained, skin brittle and gray, eyes sunk to hollow pits.

He had seen death in every form, but this… this was different. This was what the Blade at his back wanted.

Arinya crouched beside one of the wagons, running her hand over scorched wood. “The attack wasn’t recent. A day, maybe two.”

Kael scanned the sand around them. Tracks spiraled in every direction—hooves, boots, dragged wheels. The attackers hadn’t bothered to hide their path.

“They took something,” Arinya murmured, pulling a shattered chest from the wreckage. Its contents were ash, faint traces of parchment curling away on the wind.

Kael frowned. “Cargo’s gone. What was it?”

“Scrolls,” she said grimly. “Records. From the ruins of Veyra. This caravan was carrying them to Shakarra for study.”

Kael snorted. “Study? In that pit? More likely some noble planned to sell them for drinking money.”

Arinya ignored him. She sifted through the ash carefully until her fingers brushed something intact—a fragment of parchment, edges singed. She held it up. Symbols scrawled across it in ink so faded Kael could barely make them out.

“What is it?” he asked.

Her eyes lit with recognition. “A map.”

---

Back at camp, they spread the fragment across a blanket. Arinya smoothed it flat with reverent fingers. The markings were crude, but Kael could see coastlines, jagged mountains, and circles drawn in red ink.

“The Blades were scattered when the Empire fell,” Arinya explained. “The Emperors didn’t trust one another. They hid them—buried in temples, entombed in ruins, sealed behind wards. This map… it shows some of those resting places.”

Kael leaned closer, pointing. “And that one?”

At the far corner, a circle marked the edge of the sea. Beside it, faded glyphs like curling waves.

Arinya’s voice dropped. “The Drowned Temple. It’s real.”

She traced another circle inland. “And here—the Temple of Ashspire. I thought it was only legend.”

Kael raised a brow. “You’re telling me these marks lead to more Blades?”

Her expression was grim. “Yes. And whoever hit this caravan took most of the map. They’ll be hunting them already.”

The Blade on Kael’s back pulsed once, hot and eager. Find them. Gather them.

He shoved the thought away. “So, what—you want me to follow your ghost map and fetch weapons that want me dead?”

Arinya met his gaze steadily. “No. I want you to stop the ones who are trying to gather them. If the Firebrand already has one Blade, and now a map…” She let the words hang, heavy with implication.

Kael rubbed a hand over his face. “Gods save me, I should’ve just sold you this cursed thing.”

She smirked faintly. “You’d be dead if you tried.”

---

That night, Kael sat apart from the caravan fires, staring at the stars. His dagger spun between his fingers, a nervous habit. The Blade lay beside him, wrapped in cloth, its pulse steady.

He thought of the drained caravan, of corpses shriveled to husks. He thought of the scarred zealot in the tavern, of whispers about the Firebrand Prophet.

And he thought of Arinya’s steady eyes when she said: If he gathers another, he’ll rally half the desert behind him.

Kael cursed under his breath. He wasn’t a hero. He wasn’t a savior. He was a sellsword with too many scars and not enough coin. But if he ignored this… the whole desert would burn.

The Blade pulsed again. With me, you could rule it.

Kael’s grip tightened on his dagger. “Rule it, or end up another corpse shriveled to dust?”

The Blade whispered no answer. Only hunger.

---

At dawn, the caravan moved on. The desert gave way to rock and scrub, the heat pressing down like a hammer. Hours blurred into days, sand giving way to black stone ridges that jutted like broken teeth from the earth.

Kael and Arinya traveled in silence, but it wasn’t the comfortable kind. Too much sat between them: the Blade, the map, the weight of history neither wanted but both carried.

By the third night, they reached the Oasis of Kalreth—a pool of green water ringed by palms, where caravans stopped to rest. Traders haggled, mercenaries sharpened blades, and children splashed in the shallows. For a brief moment, it almost felt safe.

Almost.

Kael’s instincts prickled the moment they dismounted. Too quiet beneath the laughter, too many eyes lingering.

As he and Arinya led their horses to water, a cloaked figure rose from the crowd and blocked their path.

“You’ve come far, mercenary,” the man rasped. His cloak fell back, revealing a chest marked with black tattoos that writhed like living things. His eyes glowed faint red. “The Prophet sends his blessing.”

Kael’s hand went to his dagger. “Funny, I didn’t ask for it.”

The man smiled, too wide. “He knows you carry one of the Blades. He invites you to kneel—or bleed.”

All around them, cloaked figures rose. Half a dozen, a dozen, more. Kael’s gut clenched. The oasis was a trap.

Arinya hissed, “Don’t draw it.”

The zealots advanced, chanting in guttural unison. The Blade pulsed against Kael’s back, heat searing through the cloth.

Draw me.

Kael gritted his teeth. He’d seen what happened when he obeyed. He’d seen the drained corpses. But outnumbered, surrounded, what choice did he have?

Arinya drew her twin blades, steel flashing. “Then we fight without it.”

Kael cursed. Always the hard road.

The zealots charged.

---

The oasis erupted into chaos.

Kael parried a spear thrust, ducked low, and gutted the zealot in one motion. Arinya spun beside him, her blades a blur, cutting down another.

But there were too many. For every zealot that fell, two more surged forward. The chanting rose louder, a fevered hymn that clawed at Kael’s skull.

Draw me.

A spear grazed his arm, hot blood splattering the sand. Kael stumbled back, teeth gritted. He felt the Blade’s hunger like fire in his veins.

Arinya shouted, “Kael! Behind you!”

He turned too slow. A zealot’s curved blade arced for his throat—

—when the Blade tore free of its wrappings.

It flew into his hand as if it had chosen him, runes blazing red, heat searing his skin. Kael roared as he swung.

The zealot didn’t just fall. He shriveled, flesh collapsing, body turning to brittle husk before it hit the ground.

The chanting faltered. The zealots froze, terror in their eyes.

Kael stood in the center of the oasis, weapon blazing, breath ragged. The Blade’s whispers thundered in his skull.

More. Feed me. You are mine now.

For a heartbeat, he wanted to obey. To cut them all down, to feel that rush of power again.

Then Arinya’s voice cut through. “Kael! Stop!”

He blinked. The oasis came back into focus: the terrified traders, the fleeing children, the husks already crumbling to dust at his feet.

His stomach churned. He forced the Blade down, wrapping it again, though it fought him every second.

The surviving zealots fled, scattering into the dunes.

Silence fell.

Kael dropped to his knees, gasping. “Gods. It’s… it’s eating me alive.”

Arinya knelt beside him, gripping his shoulder hard. “Then hold on. Because if you let go, the Empire won’t need to be reborn. It’ll already be here.”

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***