CHAPTER 90: THE PROPHECY

"In the dusk of our despair, when frost devours root and flame, and the memories of kin fall silent beneath the shadow’s breath — one shall return.

Not by bond, nor summoning. Not by name passed down, but by blood remembered and soul ignited.

He shall walk from the Lushwood unbidden, guided not by maps nor masters.

No Kin shall forge his strength, for his path is already seeded.

But they will walk beside him — offering root, silence, and memory — to steady the steps only he can take.

Their root shall steady his footfall, their silence temper his howl, and their memory light the places instinct cannot.

He will seek power, but not for conquest — for survival, and for a purpose yet unwritten.

And in the hour the frost rises again, and the Nest shudders with old pain, he will stand where Varruk fell.

And from him, the hunt shall rise once more.

His coming shall herald the turning of the age — a time when old truths break and the roots must choose what they cling to.

The Kin shall not find salvation in his shadow... but in standing beside him, they may yet find the strength to endure."

A long silence followed. The rootflame flickered low, casting long shadows across the council chamber. The air hung heavy.

Ash stood still as he heard Elyrra reading the prophecy, his eyes staring at the glowing veins in the tablet.

The words felt like old echoes inside his bones. His fingers twitched unconsciously, claws brushing the dirt.

He replayed his path- entering the Lushwood alone, instincts guiding him to survive where others perished, techniques that had never been taught but flowed from within. Even the murals. Even the fight. It was all there. The prophecy hadn’t been a map- it had been a mirror.

Each phrase in the prophecy struck a chord.

"He shall walk the Lushwood unbidden..." – he had done just that, without knowing that it had been pre-written that he would.

"Instinct not taught..." – the way he’d moved, fought and learned. Shadows of the Pack, Eclipsing Fang... were they not inventions, but inheritances?

He clenched his claws, the air thick around him.

Ash’s breath grew shallow. His throat was dry. The quiet around him felt reverent, expectant, but not pressuring. As if the chamber itself — the roots, the flame, the spores — waited for him to recognize something vital.

He thought of the Nest, of Varruk, of Arvul.

He thought of survival — how many times he had clawed his way forward, not for glory, but because he refused to fall.

"...This is what I’ve done..." he finally whispered. But then he had been guided by the system here. There was still one thing that bothered him.

"... What if I’m not the only one?" he asked, "What if there are others like me? Other hyenas that might come?"

A few among the Kin bowed their heads. One Rootborn figure near the flame closed its eyes, as if in silent reverence.

Elyrra turned toward him, her voice calm but firm, "There will not be another."

Ash frowned, "How can you be so sure?"

Elyrra stepped forward, "Because your kind... your bloodline... was extinguished long ago. Thousands of years in the past, the hyena-beasts were hunted, wiped out, made myth by a force that no one knows about. Whatever hand moved against them, it left no name — only the silence of extinction, and the unease of a wound the world forgot it carried."

Uvaak added gravely, "We have not seen another of your kind in living memory."

Ash’s heart beat hard in his chest. The realization struck him harder than he expected. The fact that he was even standing here... it wasn’t just improbable.

It was impossible.

Ash exhaled slowly. If he was the only one left... then the question wasn’t just why he was here — it was what he was meant to do now.

Ash turned toward Elyrra. "Then what does this prophecy require of me?"

Elyrra didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she gazed into the heart of the rootflame, its blue-green embers flickering like breathing memories. Her voice came slow and deliberate, as if drawing from something older than words.

"The Kin do not expect you to save us," Elyrra continued. "But if the Nest remembers you, and the old instincts have returned... then we must ask: will you stand as Varruk once stood, when no one else did?"

Ash looked down at his claws. He flexed them, watching the light ripple off the faint scars along his knuckles. He remembered standing alone in the arena, watching death come closer. He remembered the howl in his bones.

"I never asked for this," he said.

Elyrra studied Ash for a long moment, her gaze sharp behind the mask. Then she tilted her head slightly, her tone softening.

"Perhaps it is not the right time to speak of what the prophecy demands," she said. "Let us turn the question around. Not what it asks of you... but what you ask of us."

She stepped closer to the flame, voice steady and low.

"You entered the Nest scarred and hunted, bearing pain deeper than we can yet name. What purpose drives your feet through our roots, Ash? What is it you seek in the dark?"

Trollen remained silent but turned his head slightly, studying Ash.

Even Tholn, standing in the shadows, shifted his weight — a quiet motion that conveyed more curiosity than judgment.

Ash’s next words came quiet but clear.

"...I came here to grow stronger."

He let the words settle in the space between them. "Not because of some prophecy. Not because of fate. I just—needed to become more. Strong enough to survive, strong enough to be able to do whatever I want to do."

He looked up at the watching Kin. Their eyes didn’t shine with expectation, but with something more grounded — recognition. As if they, too, had walked through pain to find a reason to keep moving.

Elyrra’s masked face tilted slightly. "Then perhaps the prophecy is not what brings you purpose... but what walks beside it."

The rootflame pulsed gently, casting long shadows.

The mood in the chamber shifted palpably as a ripple of discomfort moved through the Kin.

The elders exchanged sidelong glances, their bodies tightening beneath moss-cloaked forms. Some leaned away from the fire as if recoiling from the direction of Ash’s words. The silence that followed was heavy — not reverent, but troubled.

Uvaak’s markings dimmed to a dusky hue, his gaze dropping as if in quiet disappointment. Trollen’s head tilted again, but the flickering of his skin was slower now, dimmer, uncertain. Even Ghranak, who had remained unmoving, let out a slow exhale through his moss-ringed mouth.

What they heard in Ash’s voice was not a vow. It was survivalism. Not legacy, but instinct. And while they did not scorn it, they could not deny the sting of absence — the absence of a deeper call.

Elyrra sensed it before it grew louder, and with a gentle motion of her staff, drew their attention back.

"Purpose evolves," she said softly to the table, her voice cutting through the doubt like water over stone, "Perhaps now is not the time to speak of fate and fire."

Ash felt it immediately. Her tone changed — softer, more diplomatic. It seemed that his answer was something that they had not been expecting.

"We do not judge your reason," Elyrra said gently, sensing Ash’s sudden alertness, "Sometimes strength begins in self-preservation. But tell us, Ash — what is it that you need from us?"

She straightened, her voice gaining clarity, urgency. "If it is training, or trial, or the heat of combat — we can offer all of those. If it is a path to strength you seek, the Kin will help you walk it."

Ash nodded slightly, then glanced at the flickering rootflame.

"There’s something," he said, voice low, "I need to find a creature with the bloodline of a dragon."

The chamber fell still.

Several elders stirred uneasily. The flame seemed to pulse blue for a moment, as if reacting to the weight of the word.

Elyrra’s mask turned fully toward Ash.

Her voice held a thread of caution, "A beast with dragon’s blood is not a simple foe. Even a trace of that lineage makes a creature more powerful than its kin. Stronger. Smarter. More volatile."

Ash remained steady, "Do you know of one?"

Elyrra’s staff tapped lightly once against the floor, "There is one. We’ve tracked its territory for some time now — deep in the southern rootwarrens. It moves like a storm and marks its lair with frost. A creature of that power has no place in the Nest... and yet it clings to it, as if bound by some ancient grief."

"Could you let me know where it is?" Ash then asked.

Elyrra’s eyes narrowed, and she stepped forward, her staff tapping once against the ground, "Why do you seek such a beast, Ash? What would drive you to find something so dangerous?"

Ash looked up, his voice steady, "Because I need to defeat it."

The words dropped like a stone in still water.

The council chamber grew still. A sharp silence took hold. Several elders leaned forward, and the flickering flame dimmed as if in response to the tension.

Trollen’s voice cut in first, dry and sharp. "You speak of dragon-blood as if it were a wounded fawn."

Another elder, Ghranak, growled low, the fungal blooms across his chest tightening. "You would throw yourself at such a thing without understanding what it is?"

Elyrra raised a hand, silencing the murmurs. "Ash," she said slowly, "what is your rank? Your true strength?"

Ash hesitated, then said quietly, "E rank."

The response sparked instant reaction.

Several elders rose from their places. Uvaak’s markings flared in alarm. Malreth gasped aloud. Even Seyra’s jaw twitched.

"You would die," Ghranak snapped, "Even a C- would barely crawl away."

Trollen clicked his tongue, "Foolish. Reckless. This is not valor — it is ignorance."

Ash clenched his jaw, suddenly caught off guard at their outburst, "Why? What rank is the beast?"

Elyrra’s mask tilted slightly, "C+. It walks frost and flame both. We have watched it raze groves with a breath. It is more than a challenge. It is death given claws."

Ash met her gaze, unwavering, "Then I still have to face it. It’s necessary. I won’t grow unless I do."

There was another pause — not of disbelief, but of reassessment.

Elyrra’s voice was cautious but curious, "How do you plan to do that, Ash? You’ve heard what it is."

Ash took a breath.

"Initially... I was planning to train in its region. Hunt weaker beasts and grow stronger before I could take it on. But now—" he looked around the circle of the Kin, his voice more direct, "You said your help is without condition right?"