CHAPTER 1530: STORY 1530: THE MARCH OF EMBERS

Dawn broke thin and gray, its light smothered by the endless shroud of ash. The survivors moved in silence, their boots crunching on brittle bones and blackened earth as they followed the scarred woman east.

Kael marched at the front with her, eyes ever scanning the horizon. Elara trailed close behind, cradling the Ashborn Child against her chest, the faint glow pulsing like a fragile heartbeat. Around them, the survivors gave a wide berth—fear in every glance, muttered curses hidden in every breath.

“Do you feel it?” Elara whispered after hours of walking. Her voice carried only to Kael. “It pulls... like a thread tugging us forward. The child knows where to go.”

Kael didn’t answer at first. He was listening—not to her, but to the ground. The faint tremor of the Unborn’s buried heart still throbbed through the soil, faint yet constant. Like the ticking of a clock counting down.

The scarred woman glanced back at them. “If your key is guiding us, then let it guide quick. My people have no food left, and the spawn hunt heavier each day.”

Elara met her gaze without flinching. “Then don’t waste strength on doubting. Every moment you spend fearing it is a moment lost to death.”

The woman’s lips curled, but she said nothing.

By midday, the ruins gave way to an ashen plain. Black pillars of stone jutted from the earth like broken teeth, their surfaces scorched by some ancient firestorm. The air was heavy, shimmering faintly as if still carrying heat from a fire that had never gone out.

The child stirred, opening eyes of dim ember-light. Its lips parted, the words cracking like brittle glass. “Gate... close... burn...”

Elara nearly stumbled. She hushed the child, pressing her forehead against its brow. “Shh. Save your strength.” But Kael caught the fear in her eyes. The child was not just leading them forward—it was warning them.

As night fell, they made camp in the shadow of the pillars. The survivors lit no fire, wary of drawing spawn, but the child’s glow was enough to cast faint halos across the stone.

Kael stood watch while the others rested. The scarred woman joined him, her spear leaning against her shoulder. For a long while, they said nothing. Then she spoke.

“My people follow me because I’ve kept them alive. If your child leads us to ruin, they’ll cut it down. And you with it.”

Kael’s hand clenched on his blade hilt. “If it leads us to ruin, there won’t be anyone left to wield a knife.”

The woman studied him, then nodded slowly. “We’ll see which of us is right at the Gate.”

Before Kael could answer, the ground shuddered. A distant roar carried across the plain, low and monstrous, like stone grinding against stone.

The child whimpered in Elara’s arms, its glow flaring bright enough to paint the pillars in pale firelight.

Kael’s gaze fixed eastward, jaw tight. The Cinder Gate was close. Too close. And whatever guarded it had already begun to stir.