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Chapter 30 - Chapter 30: The Sealed River of Ash,

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The sky above the Ashen Sky looked wrong.

It was not simply dark, but an endless spread of ash-colored clouds, swirling as though stirred by a giant hand. They did not drift with the wind but moved in slow spirals, each turn heavy and deliberate. The air smelled faintly of scorched earth, and every breath carried a dry weight that scratched at my throat.

Myra walked to my left, her white flame cupped in her hand like a living heart. The light barely reached beyond her, swallowed by the thick gloom. Soren trailed a few steps behind, his eyes constantly shifting between the shattered plateau and the jagged fissures that cracked its surface.

Beneath our boots, the ground was unlike any I had felt before. It was not stone, not truly. It was a hardened glass, black and smooth, as if the earth itself had melted and cooled in an instant. The fragments within me pulsed softly, their rhythm syncing with something deep beneath the surface.

Ahead of us, a long fissure cut across the plateau. Its edges were jagged and lined with silver moss that pulsed faintly, almost in time with my own heartbeat. Heat rose from the crack, not the wild heat of fire but a steady, enduring warmth, like coals hidden beneath thick ash.

"We are not alone here," Myra said in a low voice, her eyes never leaving the fissure.

Soren's grip tightened on his weapon. "Then we move carefully. If anything watches us, it already knows we have arrived."

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We followed the fissure's winding path until the ground dipped into a shallow basin. At its center, resting in a cradle of cracked stone, was a pool of molten ash. It glowed deep red, with occasional shimmers of shadow moving across its surface. Steam drifted upward in thin ribbons, carrying a scent of metal and distant rain.

I crouched near the edge, letting the fragments rest in my palm. Their glow brightened, and for a moment the molten ash seemed to fall away in my vision. Beneath it lay water — no, something darker than water. A slow, heavy river that moved as though it carried the weight of memory itself.

"There is something sealed below," I said quietly. "It is not just a river. It is alive."

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The way down revealed itself behind a wall of jagged stone at the basin's edge. A narrow passage curved into darkness, the walls traced with deep lines that hummed faintly when my fingers brushed against them.

We descended slowly, the air growing warmer with each step. The heat pressed against our backs, not enough to burn but enough to quicken the heart. Myra's flame cast shifting shadows along the walls, making the carved lines seem like roots stretching deeper into the rock.

The tunnel opened into a cavern that felt as though it had been carved by something older than time. Molten rivulets traced the walls, their glow turning the air into waves of gold and red. The river I had glimpsed above ran through the center — a current of liquid shadow that swallowed the molten light rather than reflecting it.

Across the river stretched a bridge of black stone. Its surface was carved with sigils that shifted subtly when I tried to focus on them, as if they existed in more than one place at once. At the far end stood a gate.

The gate was a weaving of darkness and light, layered so intricately it seemed to breathe. In its center rested a shard — small, perfect, and glowing with a pulse that matched my fragments exactly.

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Myra stepped forward, the light in her palm flaring faintly. "This feels like the abyss," she murmured. "But older… heavier."

Soren's voice was low and steady. "It feels alive."

I crossed the bridge slowly. The stone was cold under my boots, but with each step I felt the temperature rise. The river whispered below, its voice made of countless threads too faint to untangle. The closer I drew to the shard, the louder the whispers became, until they merged into a single, steady tone.

When I reached the gate, the shard's light flared. My fragments burned in answer, their warmth spreading up my arm and into my chest. The whispers stilled. A voice filled the space... not from the gate, not from the shard, but from the air itself.

"Bearer of sparks… will you unbind what was bound?"

The words sank into my bones like water into dry earth.

"What lies beyond this gate?" I asked.

The voice carried no emotion, only truth. "A current that remembers all it has touched. To release it is to let the past flow again."

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Myra's flame flickered as she stepped beside me. "If that current is memory, it could change everything above. Every secret. Every loss."

"Or it could flood the world with things best forgotten," Soren said from the bridge's midpoint.

The fifteenth spark in my core pulsed at the memory of the Mountain of Mourning — of grief offered freely. This was different. This was not offered. It was caged.

I let my hand fall to my side. "Not yet."

The shard dimmed, its light fading to a faint pulse. The voice fell silent, and the whispers returned to the current below.

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We explored the cavern's far side. The river split into channels that disappeared into the darkness, each one lined with carvings. The walls told a story in stone... crowned figures standing before gates, battles fought under skies of fire, mortals and divine beings sealing currents away with hands joined in unity.

"This was a boundary," Myra said, her fingers tracing a figure cloaked in shadow. "A crossing between what was lost and what was kept."

Soren studied another panel. "And someone decided what should never return."

The ache in my fragments deepened. I understood the temptation to unseal this place… and the danger of it.

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When we returned to the bridge, the gate stood as it had before, silent and patient. I knelt, pressing my palm to the stone. I did not touch the shard, yet felt its pulse through the bridge itself.

It was not urgent. It was waiting. It knew I would return.

"We will come back," I said quietly. "When the time is right."

The river's whisper shifted, a sound like rain falling on distant stone, before fading again.

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The climb back through the passage was slower than our descent. The heat lingered on our skin, fading only when we emerged into the open air of the Ashen Sky.

But the sky had changed.

Far on the horizon, the clouds had pulled back to reveal a pale arc of light — the edge of something massive moving above the storm. It gleamed faintly, not with sunlight but with its own glow, like an eye half-lidded in watchfulness.

Myra's voice was barely above a whisper. "That was not there before."

Soren's hand rested on his weapon. "Another watcher?"

I kept my gaze fixed on that arc of light. The memory of the gate's voice pressed at the edges of my thoughts.

"Whatever it is," I said, "the sealed river will not remain hidden forever."

The fragments warmed in my palm. The fifteenth spark glowed steady at my core. And in that warmth, I felt the path ahead bending toward the next choice, one that would decide not only what I would unseal… but when.

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