CHAPTER 1527: STORY 1527: BLADES AND ASHES

The survivors circled closer, their makeshift weapons glinting faintly in the moon’s bloody haze. Kael stepped in front of Elara, his body tense, though he held nothing but his bare hands.

The scarred woman raised her spear, her scarred brow furrowing. “We lost families in the cradle’s fire. Brothers, daughters, children. And now you drag its spawn into our last refuge? Do you mock us?”

Elara clutched the Ashborn Child tighter, her fire flaring in warning. “This is no spawn. It’s different—it weakens them. You saw how the ground shakes with its breath? It’s tied to the Unborn, but not as a servant. As a wound.”

Her words did nothing to soften the woman’s expression. Murmurs rippled through the gathered survivors—fear, hatred, grief given voice.

Kael’s jaw clenched. He stepped forward, his voice like gravel. “We fought in the Cradle. We struck the Unborn. My blade is inside him even now. If this... thing is part of that wound, then it is ours to use.”

One of the men spat into the ash. “Or it is his leash on you. We’ve seen tricks before. Spawn that wear familiar voices. Faces of our dead. Every time we trusted, it ended in slaughter.”

The Ashborn Child stirred. Its glow flared, and a faint sound slipped from its mouth, weaker than a whisper: “Chains... break.”

The scarred woman recoiled as if struck. For a heartbeat, her resolve faltered. But fear returned quickly, sharper than steel. She raised her spear higher. “We can’t risk it. Better to burn it now than carry doom into our midst.”

Elara’s flame roared to life, wrapping her and the child in a shield of fire. “You’ll touch it over my ashes.”

The sudden heat pushed the survivors back, their eyes wide in both awe and terror. The scarred woman steadied herself, but Kael saw hesitation flicker in her gaze.

Kael stepped closer, voice low, dangerous. “You want to kill it? You’ll go through me first. And I promise, blade or no blade, I’ll take half your number before I fall.”

The air grew heavy, silence stretched taut like a bowstring. The survivors shifted uneasily, torn between fear of the child and the fire in Kael and Elara’s defiance.

Then the ground trembled again. A long, shuddering pulse, deeper than before. The ruins groaned as dust cascaded from broken arches.

The Ashborn Child whimpered, its glow intensifying. Spawn cries echoed faintly in the distance—answering the tremor, growing louder by the second.

The scarred woman lowered her spear, eyes narrowing. “If it draws them to us, we’ll all die together. But if you can prove it weakens them...” She stepped back, signaling her people. “One chance. That’s all.”

Kael’s fists unclenched, though his shoulders stayed taut as drawn steel.

Elara whispered to the child, her fire softening around it. The faint glow steadied. The tremors slowed.

But Kael’s eyes fixed on the horizon where shadows moved through the ash. The spawn were coming. And soon, all truths—whether weapon or curse—would be tested in blood.