The river water still clung to Winston's lips, cold and sweet. He could feel it trail down his throat and settle in his empty stomach like a lullaby. But that comfort was short-lived. A scent rode the breeze now—faint, but undeniable.
Smoke.
He blinked and sniffed again, thinking he imagined it. But no—it was there. Not the comforting smell of a campfire or food, but something sharp, metallic. Like burning bark soaked in blood.
Noah lifted his head at the same time, his golden eyes narrowing. The massive wolf's nose twitched, and a deep growl rumbled from his throat.
"You smell it too?" Winston whispered, standing up and brushing off the muddy grass from his jeans.
Noah didn't reply. He turned northeast and began walking, each step heavy, cautious.
Winston took one last glance at the stream, its sparkling waters. He gripped Blue Fang and followed, heart thumping.
As they moved through the foliage, the jungle began to change. The vibrant greens turned dull. The leaves hung limply, as if drained of life. Trees became patchy—bark peeled off in long, curling strips, revealing sickly pale wood underneath.
The further they went, the stronger the smell got. But the air was wrong. There was no heat. No rising haze. Just the scent of smoke… and the silence.
No birds. No rustling. Not even the chirp of a lone insect.
"This is bad," Winston muttered. "Nature doesn't go this quiet unless something's very, very wrong."
Then they saw it.
A deer-like creature, collapsed on its side, ribs visible through thin, leathery skin. Its eyes were sunken and glazed, tongue lolling from a dry mouth. Flies buzzed around it, but even they seemed reluctant to land.
Winston took a cautious step closer.
"Still warm," he whispered after touching its side. "It died… minutes ago."
But there were no bite marks. No wounds. Just… rot.
More bodies followed. A trail of decay. Birds, rabbits, even a jaguar-sized predator curled beside a log—its fur matted, eyes wide open in horror, body stiff with death.
The grass underfoot became crunchier. Winston looked down—ash.
Ash that had once been grass.
Noah stopped abruptly. His ears folded back, and a quiet whine escaped his throat. Winston followed his gaze.
Ahead, the jungle ended—not cleanly, but like a disease had devoured it.
A massive clearing of death.
Blackened trunks stood like gravestones, brittle and hollow. The trees hadn't burned with flame. No scorch marks. No charring. Instead, they had simply dried into grey husks before crumbling into ash.
Winston walked slowly now, boots leaving prints in the pale dust. Each step kicked up clouds that clung to his skin, to his shirt, to his breath.
As they journeyed deeper into the dead zone, the clearing expanded. What began as a small patch became a vast expanse, an entire swath of jungle erased from the earth.
Every now and then, Winston saw flickers of movement—but it was only the trees collapsing under their own weight. The air grew thicker, not with smoke, but with tension, like the clearing itself was watching.
And then they saw it.
At the center of the ever-growing ring of ash stood a single object. A dark blade, half-buried in a mound of grey earth. It radiated something primal—cold, wrong, ancient.
The sword's metal was pitch black, as if it drank the sunlight. It looked rusted at first, but the closer they got, the more Winston realized it wasn't rust. It was burnt blood.
Around the blade, the ash was thicker, swirling gently in a breeze that didn't exist. Even Noah hesitated to go further.
Winston's hand shook as he took a step forward.
Then the system chimed.
[Warning: You are entering a Forbidden Zone]
Caution: Remnant Energy Detected. Exposure may affect mental state.
"I think this is where everything went to hell," Winston whispered.
He knelt beside the blade, not touching it—just staring.
And then he noticed the ground. Footprints. Dozens of them, burned into the ash. Some human. Some beast. All walking toward the sword… none walking away.
"They came here… and never left."
Noah whined again, gently nudging Winston's hand. But Winston wasn't listening. His eyes were fixed on the sword's hilt.
A faint insignia, barely visible: a skull.
Suddenly, the air hummed.
Winston felt something in his chest—like a rope being pulled tight.
[Interference Detected. Relic Bond Attempting Connection…]
He fell to one knee, gasping.
He had this strong urge to hold the sword and his body was slipping away from his will.
He fought back with all his willpower but his hands were moving forward toward the hilt of the sword.
"No—stop—" he gritted through clenched teeth.
But his fingertips brushed the hilt. And the moment they did—
BOOM.
The black sword pulsed, and ash spiraled upward like a small cyclone around Winston.
The sky above the clearing seemed to dim. Ash lifted and swirled in an unnatural storm. The ground trembled. Noah barked furiously, lunging forward to pull Winston back—but an invisible wall flung him backward like a rag doll.
Winston's body went rigid, eyes wide. And in a blink—
He vanished.
Gone. Consumed by the cyclone of ash.
The system voice rang out one last time in his ears:
[Welcome to the Trial of Ashrend]
Silence fell again.
Noah stood still, fur bristling, tail stiff, staring at the spot where his master had been. A low, panicked whimper escaped him as he circled the sword, sniffing the air, growling softly.
But Winston was nowhere to be found.
Only the sword remained. Alone. Waiting.