“W-well, yes. But, well…” Yamal’s eyes darted between Maiya and the ground. “Are you going?”
“Sure am.”
“Then I shall go.”
“Huh?” Maiya asked incredulously. “Why’d you do that?”
“You’ll be in danger. A girl like you should be protected.”
Maiya tried to stifle a laugh. She failed. Tears welled up in her eyes. “You think I’m weak, Yamal?”
“You can count on me,” Yamal replied, taking Maiya aback. There was an earnest determination in his eyes.
“You’re free to act as you like, but so am I. Don’t expect me to look after you, either,” Maiya said, falling behind the man. “If you do venture out there, be prepared for the consequences.”
“I will, Mai—Maiya?” Yamal said, confused. When he turned to face her, he found only an empty road.
Maiya watched from an alley as the man ambled off in confusion. She couldn’t help but feel like she’d picked up some useless baggage. Dead weight.
“Ash Beasts, huh?” she muttered to herself. I only hope it’s that easy.
For some reason, she feared it’d be worse. A lot worse.
27ASH DAMNED
She regarded the abomination knowing her end was near. Were it only a few centuries ago, such an Ash Beast would have posed her little threat. But now? When the energy it would cost her burned away the little time she had left? Months, not years.
Where was the fabled encounter it had promised? Where was the one she was to trust with her life? The one to lead her to a new future, so bright and dazzling?
Where was her release from this prison of the dead?
She shook off the thoughts as she faced the monster with her friends. Her dear companions. There were still those who needed her protection. For them, she would fight. She would persist.
Wishing for the day when her people returned.
Vir was blind. He couldn’t see his arms. Or his legs, or any other part of his body.
It wasn’t that he saw nothing; there was something out there. A whole lot of it.
But before he could unravel the mystery, pain crashed into him with the weight of Balancer of Scales on max. He writhed on the cold, hard ground, screaming in agony.
As he started to suffocate, the Ash Gate behind him slammed shut.
No!
Vir acted reflexively, rather than consciously. A good thing, too, because if he’d strengthened Prana Dam any later, he would have turned into a cloud of bloody pulp.
While his reflexes might’ve kept him alive, they’d bought him only a few seconds. The weight of a mountain crashed down on Vir—like the Foundation Chakra, only magnified a thousandfold.
It wasn’t even metaphysical energy attacking him—it was just prana. A disgustingly obscene amount. And it waged a war on his body.
Vir funneled as much prana as he could into the saturated layer he maintained next to his skin, pushing his blood to its limit.
It wasn’t enough, so he went beyond, stretching his blood’s capacity as much as he dared. This was it. His last hope. If this didn’t work, he was dead.
It didn’t work. In fact, it seemed to do little of anything.
The blood near his skin burst, pain consumed him, and Vir lost all faculties for conscious thought.
Why? Vir thought as his mind faded. How?
The world slowly went black as he suffocated to death.
Vir awoke dazed and confused. He could see again, which ought to have alleviated his confusion, but it didn’t.
He knew this place—it was the grassy plain where he’d met Parai the Ancient.
He wasn’t alone.
“What’s going on?” Vir asked, approaching Shardul.
“You were dragged into a part of the Ash you should not have entered. I am trying to keep you alive. We all are.” Shardul gestured behind him, and only then did Vir notice four other figures who stood in a circle some paces away, staring holes in each others’ heads. One was significantly larger than the others. One was gangly. One sage, and the other wise.
“Narak, Ekanai, Parai, and… Jalendra?” Vir asked.
The white-haired old man with a beard that came to his knees regarded Vir inquisitively.
“He cannot speak, Ekavir,” Shardul said, clasping Vir’s shoulder. “Time is short, so I must be brief. You are in a very precarious situation right now. You should never have come to this place. You weren’t ready.”
“You don’t say? Tell that to the wolf who brought me here.”
“An unfortunate turn of events. For you and for us.”
Vir frowned. “What do you mean?”
Shardul sighed. “You have somehow been pulled into the deepest part of the Ashen Realm. A place you were destined to eventually reach, but not yet. Not until you were far stronger.”
“You could’ve helped, you know?” Vir seethed, barely restraining his simmering anger. “I held up my end of the bargain. I went to this blasted wasteland, just as you and Ekanai wanted. What about you? I haven’t heard a single word from you. Nothing. Why?”
“Because nothing is without cost in this world, young Ekavir. Have you ever considered what we pay to manifest in front of you? Have you ever wondered why we only intervene when absolutely necessary, and why each time, you’ve met with a different ancestor? Don’t you think we would help you more if we could? Don’t you think Ekanai would love nothing more than to commandeer your body as if it were his own?”
What’s he talking about? Appearing before me hurts them in some way?
“Yes. It does,” Shardul said, replying to Vir’s thoughts. “We are but memories of your prior lives. Each time we manifest, the memory is consumed. Burned. Gone forever. Like blood that has been diluted with water, we lessen with each manifestation.”
Vir went pale. “And now…”
“And now, we burn away a great deal of ourselves to keep you safe, using lessons hard-won in your previous lives. Though I fear it may be for naught. Even if the Ash doesn’t kill you… The denizens of the Mahādi Realm surely will.”
Vir’s stomach lurched. “Mahādi? That’s where I am?”
The place Cirayus said even he dare not tread.
“It is time for you to return,” Shardul said, the world fading away even as he spoke.
But it wasn’t enough. Vir had finally gotten some answers. He wasn’t about to leave without getting more.
He thought of the only thing that might work. This wasn’t reality. It was a dream world—a spiritual world of the metaphysical. And Vir knew of only one thing that could affect the metaphysical.
He channeled thoughts of heaviness. Of mountains, great and unmovable. Vir might not have mastered the Foundation Chakra—he wasn’t even close—but he knew one thing: Mountains did not ‘return’ anywhere. Nor were they forcibly cast.
Vir resisted, anchoring himself. The image stopped fading.
“You look surprised, Shardul,” Vir said, grimacing at splitting his concentration between speaking and preventing the world from fading away.
“Were this any other time, I would be impressed. What is it you wish to know? Ask.”
“How do I… talk to you… Without… burning your memories?” Vir said through gritted teeth, finding the task harder than he’d thought.
“Ekavir,” Shardul said. “I fear this is the last you will see of us. What we are about to do… It may very well cost us everything. Even if fragments do survive, we will be powerless to save you as we have in the past.”
“I don’t care. I want to… meet you… again. There’s so much… I don’t know,” Vir rasped.