CHAPTER 1511: STORY 1511: THE ASHEN DAWN

The forest smoldered with silence after the shard-knight’s fall. The ground was littered with its remnants—bone fragments turned to ash, shadows dissolving into mist. The air carried the sharp tang of scorched earth and blood, yet beneath it pulsed that same stubborn heartbeat of crimson light. The shard, though cracked, refused to die.

Kael sat slumped against a tree, his sword leaning across his lap. His breaths were shallow, uneven. Each inhale rattled in his chest like broken glass. Yet his eyes—bloodshot, fierce—never left the shard’s faint glow.

Elara knelt beside him, clutching her ribs. Her fire, once her strength, was now only embers. Her hands trembled as she pressed them against Kael’s arm. “You can’t move. Not like this. We need to rest—”

“There’s no rest.” Kael’s voice was hoarse but steady. “That thing’s calling. If we stop now, it’ll summon worse than what we’ve faced.”

The shard pulsed again, faint but insistent, and from its cracks seeped a thin stream of crimson mist. It slithered across the forest floor, winding toward the graves hidden beneath the soil. The ground stirred. A skeletal hand broke through the dirt, followed by another. The dead weren’t done with them yet.

Elara’s eyes widened. “It’s feeding on the battle. Every death, every drop of blood—it’s fuel.”

Kael forced himself to his feet, using his sword as a crutch. His body screamed with pain, but his will refused surrender. “Then we don’t give it more to feed on.”

The first corpse dragged itself from the ground—a soldier long rotted, armor hanging in tatters. Its hollow eyes glowed red as it stumbled forward. Behind it, more followed. Dozens. Hundreds. A tide of forgotten warriors clawing free, their allegiance bound to the shard.

Elara stepped forward, fire flickering in her palm. It sputtered weakly, not enough to burn the tide. She bit her lip, tasting blood. “I can’t hold them, Kael. Not all of them.”

Kael tightened his grip on his sword. His legs buckled, but he stood tall. “Then we cut a path. One way or another.”

Before the horde could descend, the sky shifted. Dawn’s first light bled through the canopy, casting long shadows across the battlefield. But this dawn was not golden—it was ashen, muted, as though the sun itself recoiled from what it saw.

The undead faltered in the pale light, their movements sluggish. For the first time, the shard’s pulse flickered, weakened by the rising day.

Elara gasped. “The sun... it resists the shard.”

Kael’s lips curled into a grim smile. “Then we live to see it rise higher.”

Together, they waded into the faltering horde. Kael’s blade sang, cutting down one after another, while Elara’s flame—though faint—ignited where it mattered most. The dawn grew stronger with every heartbeat, and the undead recoiled, their strength unraveling in its glow.

When the last corpse crumbled to ash, Kael collapsed to his knees. The shard lay before them, cracked, its glow dimmed beneath the ashen sun.

Elara sank beside him, her face pale. “It won’t stop. Not until we destroy it completely.”

Kael stared at the fractured crystal, its whispers still curling faintly at the edge of his mind. He raised his sword, though his hands trembled.

“Then we finish this... or it finishes us.”

The shard pulsed once more, defiant even in its weakness, and in the wavering light of dawn, Kael saw movement within its cracks—shapes writhing, struggling to be born.

This battle was far from over.