Kaelion awoke to the smell of damp earth and the faint glow of Sylvaine's protective barrier shimmering against the darkened sky. His body ached from the strain of using the strange power that had erupted from within him. Every muscle felt heavy, as if weighed down by an unseen force. Sylvaine knelt beside him, her expression a mix of concern and determination.
"We can't stay here long," she said, her voice firm but laced with worry. "Mordain's creations are relentless. If the soul reaper found us, others won't be far behind."
Kaelion nodded weakly, his mind racing with questions. The name "Ascaris" hung over him like a shadow, yet its meaning remained elusive. He forced himself to stand, gripping Sylvaine's outstretched hand.
"What did that thing mean?" Kaelion asked, his voice hoarse. "Mordain said my father's legacy was a burden. Why would he care about me?"
Sylvaine hesitated, her gaze drifting to the horizon. The forest around them seemed to hum with an ominous energy. "The bloodline of Ascaris isn't just a lineage—it's a covenant," she explained. "Your ancestors were chosen to guard the balance between the living and the dead. But Mordain… he seeks to twist that balance. He wants to turn death itself into his weapon."
Kaelion felt a chill creep down his spine. The idea of wielding such a power was terrifying, yet the thought of it falling into Mordain's hands was far worse.
As they made their way deeper into the forest, the scenery shifted. The once vibrant, pulsating trees now stood lifeless, their blackened trunks cracking under an unnatural decay. The air grew colder, and an eerie silence settled over the landscape.
"Do you hear that?" Sylvaine whispered.
Kaelion strained his ears but heard nothing. "No. What is it?"
"That's the problem," she replied. "There's nothing. No wind, no animals… even the forest itself is dead here."
Before Kaelion could respond, the ground beneath them trembled. Cracks snaked across the earth, and faint whispers echoed around them. Sylvaine unsheathed a dagger, her silver bow still broken from Mordain's earlier attack.
A faint blue light shimmered ahead, illuminating the skeletal remains of a battlefield. The ground was littered with rusted weapons, shattered armor, and fragments of banners bearing a sigil Kaelion didn't recognize. The air was thick with the weight of unspoken grief, and Kaelion felt his chest tighten.
"These are the unrecognized dead," Sylvaine said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Soldiers who fought and died in a forgotten war. Their souls are trapped here, unable to find peace."
Kaelion stepped forward, his eyes scanning the desolate scene. The whispers grew louder, forming fragmented words in a language he didn't understand. Yet, deep in his core, he felt their anguish.
"Why are they still here?" he asked.
Sylvaine's grip on her dagger tightened. "This was Mordain's doing. He waged a war to claim these lands centuries ago, and when his army fell, he bound their souls to this place. They're his prisoners now, used as fuel for his dark magic."
A sudden cry pierced the silence, and spectral figures emerged from the shadows. Their translucent forms flickered like dying flames, their eyes hollow and filled with sorrow. They moved with an unnatural grace, their weapons raised as though still fighting a war that had ended long ago.
"They're coming!" Sylvaine shouted, pulling Kaelion behind her.
Kaelion's heart raced. The mark on his forehead burned once more, and the whispers in his mind grew deafening. "They don't want to fight," he muttered, the realization hitting him like a wave.
"What?" Sylvaine asked, her voice sharp.
"They're not attacking us—they're reaching out." Kaelion stepped forward, ignoring Sylvaine's protests. He raised his hands, feeling the dark energy stir within him. The spectral figures hesitated, their movements faltering.
Kaelion closed his eyes and focused on the whispers. Images flashed in his mind—soldiers bidding tearful goodbyes to their families, desperate battles fought against overwhelming odds, and the crushing despair of betrayal.
"They want freedom," Kaelion said, his voice steady. "They've been trapped here for too long."
Sylvaine lowered her dagger, her expression softening. "Can you release them?"
"I don't know," Kaelion admitted. "But I have to try."
He channeled the energy within him, letting it flow through his veins. The mark on his forehead glowed brighter, and the whispers transformed into a single, unified voice:
"Balance the scales."
Dark tendrils of energy extended from Kaelion's hands, enveloping the spectral figures. For a moment, they writhed as though in pain, but then their forms began to fade, replaced by a sense of calm. One by one, the spirits vanished, their anguished cries silenced.
When the last spirit disappeared, the battlefield grew still. Kaelion collapsed to his knees, his body trembling from the effort.
Sylvaine knelt beside him, her hand resting on his shoulder. "You did it," she said softly. "You gave them peace."
Kaelion looked up at her, his eyes filled with uncertainty. "I don't know if I can keep doing this. What if I fail?"
Sylvaine met his gaze, her expression unwavering. "Then we'll figure it out together. But you have a gift, Kaelion. One that no one else has. If you don't use it, who will?"
Kaelion nodded, though doubt still lingered in his heart. As they rose to continue their journey, the whispers in his mind grew faint, replaced by a single thought:
The war was far from over.
Information about heirs of the Ascaris:
The heirs of Ascaris are members of an ancient lineage tasked with maintaining the balance between the living and the dead. The power in their blood allows them to communicate with spirits and control both dark and light energy. However, this power comes with great responsibility; uncontrolled use can draw the heir into the darkness. As the heirs carry on the legacy of Ascaris, they play a key role in maintaining order between the worlds. The symbol in their blood symbolizes both their destiny and their duty.