Ashwalker:Blood in the Wind

The morning after the naming, the girl didn't sleep.

Not truly.

She drifted in and out of waking dreams, images stitched together with ash and memory.

A chapel bell.

A sword with her breath on it.

The Ashwalker's blood on her palm.

When she opened her eyes, the fire had long since gone out.

But he was still awake — sharpening his blade.

⸻

"You never sleep?" she asked.

He didn't look up.

"Not in places like this."

She sat up slowly. "Because of the bells?"

He paused his sharpening.

"Because of what comes after them."

⸻

They left the soundless village in silence.

She didn't ask questions this time.

She felt something trailing them — not a presence, but an expectation.

As if the village had marked them.

And now something was waiting to see what they would do next.

⸻

By midday, they reached a shallow valley where the trees grew in a perfect circle.

In the center, an altar made of folded stone, and above it — chains hanging from nothing.

Hundreds of them.

Like a sky of rusted veins.

The girl whispered, "This feels wrong."

The Ashwalker nodded. "Because it is."

⸻

He approached the altar carefully.

She stayed behind.

The air was different here.

Not colder. Not darker. Just… aware.

Then a sound.

Not footsteps.

Breathing.

From behind the stone.

From behind her.

⸻

She turned fast, drawing her blade.

But it wasn't a beast.

It wasn't a soldier.

It was a man in a red shroud, sitting cross-legged atop a boulder.

Smiling.

Waiting.

⸻

"You found her," he said softly.

The Ashwalker froze.

Then slowly turned.

"…No."

The man tilted his head.

"She wears the name."

"That name is mine to give."

"Names aren't yours anymore," the man said. "Not since you left the Creed."

⸻

The girl whispered, "Who is that?"

The Ashwalker didn't blink. "A brother."

"You have a brother?"

He shook his head.

"Not by blood. By oath. A long time ago."

The man stood.

He didn't draw a weapon.

He didn't need to.

The chains above the altar began to sway.

⸻

"You know why I'm here," the red-shrouded man said.

The Ashwalker nodded. "To test her."

The man's smile widened.

"To test you."

The girl stepped back.

Her blade trembled in her hand — not from fear, but from something colder.

The chains above the altar began to hum.

One by one, they twisted in the windless air, metal brushing metal, soft as whispers.

⸻

The red-shrouded man descended from the stone like silk sliding off bone.

His feet didn't crunch the dirt.

His shadow didn't match his body.

He moved like someone who no longer belonged to the ground.

⸻

"You taught her to cut already?" he asked.

"She learned on her own," the Ashwalker replied.

The man's eyes glimmered under the hood.

"Even better."

Then he stepped between them — not in distance, but in presence.

Suddenly, the girl felt like she was standing miles away.

⸻

"I remember the day we first took blood together," the red man said. "You bled easy back then. Your eyes always shook."

"I stopped shaking."

"You did," he agreed. "But I never stopped watching."

He turned toward the girl.

"And now you bring her. A child."

"She's not a child," the Ashwalker said.

"Not yet. But you want her to be."

⸻

The Ashwalker drew his blade.

Slowly. Deliberately.

It was not a challenge.

It was a warning.

The red-shrouded man sighed.

Then lifted his own hand.

No sword.

Just a finger.

Pointed at the girl.

⸻

"You should run," he said to her.

"Why?"

"Because one of us won't walk away. And if you see which… it'll change you."

She swallowed hard.

Didn't move.

Didn't breathe.

The Ashwalker glanced back. "You stay."

⸻

Then the fight began.

Not with swords.

Not at first.

With stares.

The kind that scrape across memory, drag out sins, and stack them like weights.

⸻

The girl felt it — the world thickening.

The valley pulled inward.

The chains above twisted harder.

A soundless pressure built in her skull.

Like a scream caught inside her teeth.

⸻

The red-shrouded man moved first.

Not fast.

Not loud.

Just… true.

His foot barely touched the ground, but he covered six paces in a blink.

Blade now in hand.

No sheath.

Bone-hilted.

⸻

Steel met steel.

But not sparks.

Ash.

The clash didn't ring — it dampened.

Sound died around it.

The girl flinched.

The altar cracked.

The chains groaned.

⸻

The Ashwalker didn't speak.

Didn't grunt.

He moved like a shadow wrapped in intent.

Every strike a question.

Every parry a refusal.

Every dodge a memory.

This wasn't just a fight.

This was a reckoning.

⸻

"You still hesitate," the red man hissed.

"I choose."

"You protect the weak."

"I remember being one."

⸻

They locked blades at the center of the altar.

Breaths ragged.

Sweat dripping.

Blades trembling.

Then the red-shrouded man leaned in and whispered:

"What would the girl become… if you died right now?"

The Ashwalker didn't answer.

He just exhaled.

And moved.

⸻

The blade in his hand didn't rise — it folded, curving low, slipping beneath the red man's shoulder like a shadow slipping under a door.

The strike didn't kill.

It ended.

A duel.

An oath.

A chapter.

⸻

The red-shrouded man staggered, eyes wide.

Not in pain — in recognition.

He looked down at the blood soaking his robes.

Then chuckled.

"Still soft. You could've taken my head."

"You came with none," the Ashwalker replied.

⸻

The red man nodded once.

Almost proud.

Then he turned toward the girl.

Eyes dimming.

"Don't wear his name too lightly," he said. "It carries graves."

Then he walked — not limping — into the trees.

And vanished.

⸻

The chains above the altar stilled.

The pressure in the air broke.

The wind returned.

The girl collapsed to her knees.

Not in pain.

Not in fear.

In clarity.

⸻

"You knew him?" she asked, voice trembling.

"I bled beside him for ten years."

"And now?"

The Ashwalker cleaned his blade.

"Now he'll bleed beside someone else."

⸻

The girl looked at her palms.

Still bearing the faint line of the naming cut.

She traced it slowly.

"I don't know what I am anymore."

"You're becoming."

⸻

He stood, silent.

Then walked past her.

She followed.

But paused at the altar.

Looking up at the chains.

So many.

Too many.

And in that moment — just for a second — she swore she heard them say her name.