Chapter Thirteen – Shadows on the Ridge
The ridge overlooking the Obsidian Bone Forest was thick with disciples.
They had gathered like carrion crows, some perching on rocks, others leaning lazily against railings, all eager to witness the downfall of the boy they had mocked for years. The sun was dipping low, staining the sky crimson, but no one moved to leave. For them, Jesse Jordan's trial was entertainment worth missing supper for.
"I give him until the second watch," one snickered.
"Second watch? Too generous. The forest would've gnawed his bones before he even crossed three miles."
"Hah! Don't forget, he went in with a broken sword. Pathetic."
Laughter rippled through the crowd. The disciples' voices rose and fell like a tide of scorn.
At the very front, leaning on the stone balustrade, Ken Miles stood with arms crossed. His lip curled in a sneer, eyes sharp with cruelty. His wounds from the tournament had not yet fully healed, but the bitterness in his chest burned hotter than any pain.
"So this is how they deal with trash," Ken muttered, loud enough for those near him to hear. "Throw it into the bones and let the forest devour what's left. Fitting end for a stray dog."
The disciples around him barked laughter, echoing his words.
But not everyone laughed.
Daisy Mellon stood further back, her hands clasped tightly around the strap of a medicine satchel she had prepared in vain. Her gaze was fixed on the forest's black canopy, searching for even the faintest sign of movement. The mist there was thicker now, coiling like serpents, and from time to time, a faint glow pulsed within, as though the valley itself were breathing.
She whispered under her breath, too soft for others to hear.
"You're not dead. I won't believe it."
Suddenly, the ground trembled.It began as a low rumble, shaking dust from the ridge. Then it deepened, a growl rising from the bones of the earth itself. Disciples stumbled, clutching at each other for balance. Some shouted in alarm.
"What—what was that?"
"An earthquake?"
"No, it's coming from inside the forest!"
All eyes turned to the valley.
From deep within the mist, a black flame erupted, streaking upward like a spear and piercing the twilight sky. The fire did not flicker like ordinary flame—it writhed, alive, its tendrils lashing at the heavens. The ridge fell silent, awe and fear spreading like poison.
Ken Miles' sneer faltered. He straightened, his eyes narrowing.
"That… shouldn't be happening."
Whispers raced among the disciples.
"I've never seen the forest react like that."
"Could it be a corpse tide?"
"No. This… this feels older. Stronger."
Elder Morris, who stood among the observing elders, stepped forward, his usually calm face tightening. His hands clasped behind his back, but the tremor in his knuckles betrayed his unease.
"That aura…" he muttered, barely audible. "Don't tell me the legends were true…"
Another elder scoffed. "Hmph. He's already dead. The forest is merely spitting him out."
But Morris's eyes remained on the black flame, his instincts screaming otherwise.
The disciples' chatter grew louder, fear mingling with fascination.
Daisy's chest tightened. The tremors, the flames—every sign pointed to disaster. Yet deep in her heart, she felt something else. A stubborn flame, steady and unyielding, pulsed within her chest as if answering the chaos below.
"He's alive," she whispered. "I know it."
Her words drew the attention of Ken Miles, who turned toward her with a sneer.
"Alive? Don't delude yourself, Daisy. Your precious stray was probably torn apart within the first hour. What you're seeing now is the forest devouring what's left of him."
Daisy met his gaze, her eyes sharp. "Better to be a stray dog with courage than a coward who hides behind his family's name."
Ken's smirk froze. Murmurs rippled through the crowd—no one dared to speak to him like that. His face darkened, veins bulging at his temples.
"You—" he began, stepping toward her.
But before he could finish, another tremor shook the ridge. This time, it was followed by a sound.
A howl.
It tore through the forest like thunder, splitting the mist, rattling the bones scattered across the valley. The sound was not that of any beast the sect had cataloged. It was ancient, raw, and filled with such fury that even the elders stiffened.
The disciples clapped their hands over their ears, pale and trembling.
"What was that?!"
"A beast?"
"No, it… it sounded like a spirit—"
The howl rose again, louder, shaking the ridge until stone cracked underfoot. The black flames surged higher, twisting into the shape of a wolf's skull that loomed above the forest canopy. Its hollow eyes glared toward the ridge, and for a breathless moment, everyone felt as though death itself had turned its gaze upon them.
Panic spread. Some disciples fled the balustrade, stumbling over each other in their haste. Others stood frozen, unable to move.
Daisy clutched her satchel tighter, her knuckles white. Her eyes never left the black flames.
"It's him," she whispered, almost in disbelief. "He's fighting."
Ken Miles stared at the inferno, his mouth dry. Rage warred with unease in his chest. Could Jesse Jordan—the cripple, the castaway—truly be alive within that storm?
Elder Morris's eyes narrowed, his voice cutting through the panic.
"Summon the Grand Council. Whatever is happening in that forest… it is no mere trial."
The howl echoed once more, rolling like thunder across the valley. The black flames surged skyward, blotting out the last traces of sunset.
And from the depths of the Obsidian Bone Forest, a battle beyond comprehension had begun.