The Wound.
A pulsing tear in the fabric of the realm - raw, collective pain made manifest by too many deaths, too much suffering, too fast. It’s ancient and bottomless. It’s not meant to be touched.
But it’s there.
It’s listening.
My breath catches. The glow in my hands flickers, pulsing like a second heartbeat. My magick is weak, nearly spent, but the Wound hums just beneath me, under the dirt, bones and broken dreams. Under the bodies of those I’ve loved — those I’ve known and grown with.
And I can reach it.
I know there will be a cost. A steep one. But what could be steeper than what’s already been paid?
The Wound isn’t just pain – it’s despair. Untempered. Unfiltered. Infinite. Its grief and loss; trauma and heartbreak; rage and loneliness.
It doesn’t empower you. It consumes you.
I lower my hands, hovering over the blood soaked Earth. Even without the physical connection, I can feel the land’s grief.
“Don’t.”
It’s Flint. His voice, ragged, pleading. He’s dragging himself toward me, half-crushed beneath a broken siege shield. “Ash. If you do this, you won’t come back.” His face is streaked with soot, his eyes dull with loss. I meet those eyes.
We are losing. The Order is winning, gaining more ground every second. If I do nothing, they will takeeverything.There will be no one left.
So I make the choice that was never a choice.
“I love you.” I whisper, pressing my palm flat to the ground.
And I let it in.
The Wound rises to meet me like a tidal wave,howling through my bones, cracking my ribs wide to make space for every scream, every orphan’s sob, every dying breath, every helpless moment I had tried not to feel.
And Ifeel it all.
It pours through me, incandescent agony, sorrow turned to fire. I feel my eyes blaze white-hot. My scream shatters the air.
The Hollow Order doesn't stand a chance.
I raze them.
With every step I take, the ground burns. Every motion of my body sends despair outward, turning them into shockwaves. The strength the Order is so fond of, turns on them — because I give voice totheirpain too; their regrets, their shame, theirfear.And in the end, when the battlefield is silent and the storm is gone?—
I look down at my hands. They’re glowing.
They’recracked.
Everything inside me is shattering, sharp edges that no longer fit together the way they’re meant to. Like mysoul is cracked.
There’s Flint, dragging himself to my side, catching me as I collapse to my knees, stopping me from falling. His arms wrap around me, but I can tell it hurts him.
It only takes a blink.
I look up at this filthy man with piercing eyes, his arms holding me to him.
“Who are you?” I whisper.
And everything goes black.
