The Weight of Ashes

The forest thickened as Alden moved deeper into its heart. The air grew colder, heavier, pressing down on his shoulders like the weight of unseen hands. Ash clung to the branches, sifting down like snow, coating the ground in a pale shroud. Every step felt like wading through memories he could not recall—ghosts of a past that refused to die.

But he pressed on. He had no choice.

His shoulder ached where the shadow had struck, the wound pulsing like a living thing. Each heartbeat echoed with the shadow’s words. You cannot kill what you refuse to face.

But what did he refuse to face? What truth lay buried beneath the ash of forgotten years?

The path narrowed, winding beneath twisted roots that arched like the ribs of a great beast. The trees stood silent, their bark blackened and split, as though struck by lightning long ago. The deeper he went, the more the forest felt less like a place and more like a memory. Something living, breathing, watching.

And waiting.

He stopped when he heard it. A voice.

Soft. Faint.

Calling his name.

“Alden...”

He turned sharply, hand on his sword, eyes scanning the shadows. But the forest was empty. Silent.

“Alden…”

The voice came again, closer, threading through the mist. A woman’s voice. Familiar. Haunting.

He stepped forward, his pulse quickening. The mist parted to reveal a figure standing beneath a dead tree, draped in silver light.

Her.

The woman from the reflection. The one whose eyes had burned into his soul.

But she wasn’t real. She couldn’t be.

“Who are you?” he demanded, though his voice wavered.

She didn’t answer. She only looked at him, eyes filled with sorrow and something deeper. Something like regret.

“You know me,” she whispered. “You’ve always known me.”

Alden shook his head. “No. I don’t know you.”

She stepped closer, her feet barely disturbing the ash beneath them. Her hand reached out, trembling, as though afraid to touch him. “You did once. You promised.”

The words struck him like a blade. A memory stirred, but it was elusive, like smoke between his fingers.

“Promised what?” His voice was raw.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she reached for his face, fingertips brushing against his skin. Her touch was cold. Too cold. Like the chill of grave soil.

And then her hand passed through him.

Alden staggered back, breath sharp in his throat. The woman stood still, sadness deepening in her eyes.

“You left me,” she whispered. “You forgot me.”

“No!” The word tore from him. “I—I didn’t… I don’t remember.”

“But I remember.” Her voice cracked like ice. “I waited, but you never came back.”

The ground beneath them trembled. Shadows stirred beneath the ash, writhing like serpents.

“You promised me.” Her voice echoed, and with it came a sharp, searing pain behind Alden’s eyes.

A flash. A memory.

A field of fire.

A hand reaching for his.

A scream swallowed by darkness.

He gasped, staggering as the world tilted. The woman reached for him again, but as her fingers brushed his skin, her form wavered, dissolving like mist.

“No—wait!” Alden reached out, but she was gone. The mist swallowed her whole.

Silence fell.

Alden stood trembling, his breath ragged. The ash beneath his feet seemed heavier, clinging to his boots like regret.

He dropped to his knees, digging into the cold earth with trembling hands. Beneath the surface, he found stone. Hard, unyielding. But it wasn’t natural.

It was carved.

Words, worn and ancient.

"Here lies the lost. Forgotten by name, remembered by ash."

A grave.

And as Alden traced the letters, a chill ran through him. His fingers paused over a name.

Faint, almost gone. But there.

"Liora."

The name struck him like a blade through the heart. A name he knew but couldn’t place. A name that echoed in the darkest corners of his mind.

Liora.

He whispered it, and the forest shuddered. The ash stirred, and from the shadows, eyes opened. Watching. Waiting.

The shadows weren’t gone. They had followed him.

And they were hungry.