Ashes to Light

Chapter 5: Stormhoof

Chapter V

Stormhoof

James' trek through the Thundering Peaks was turning out to be less of a scenic hike and more of a dive into a monster-infested blender. With the selection ticking down to its final moments, the sky decided to put on a show, painting itself in shades of purple and orange. It was pretty, sure, but James had bigger things on his mind, like the memory of his buddy Marco getting a one-way ticket to trouble town, courtesy of their oh-so-merciful watchers. Every time James took down one of those tier 2 nasties, his wristband buzzed like an overeager bee, reminding him that he was still in the selection process.

But then, the universe decided to crank up the 'you're in danger' vibe to eleven. A chill cut through the air, so sharp James almost expected to see his breath turn to ice. It was the kind of feeling that made every survival instinct yell, "Dude, hide!" So, he did, ducking behind a rock big enough to be considered a small country in some parts of Aethel. The only sound louder than the eerie silence was the thunderous beating of his own heart.

Peeking out from his stony hideaway, James's eyes landed on a sight that was only seen on one of his nightmares. Two horse-like creatures stood in the clearing, flexing muscles and glowing eyes that screamed 'otherworldly.' These weren't your average ponies. The big one was hauling something—or rather, someone—over its shoulder like a limp ragdoll.

"Oh my Seraphims. Furiosus!? Here, in Thundering Peaks?" James couldn't help but whisper to himself. Stumbling upon Furiosus was like finding a unicorn, if unicorns were terrifying and could probably bench press a truck. This was the kind of rare encounter that would make any myth hunter's career, if they lived to tell the tale, that is.

The awe quickly morphed into a gut-wrenching realization. The 'something' the Furiosus had turned out to be a 'someone'—Sarah. "No way, the monster took Sarah," James's brain tried to do a panic dance, but he was all out of dance floor. He almost yelled out in a cocktail of fear and surprise, but managed to slap a hand over his mouth just in time. Because the first rule of Monster Encounter Club is you do not let the monsters know you're there.

As the Furiosus vanished into the wilderness, James felt a twist of guilt and resolve. "Sorry, Marco. Raincheck on that catch-up," he muttered, the decision weighing heavy but clear. Sarah was out there, in the clutches of legend-made-flesh, and he couldn't just stand by.

James was never one to shy away from a good chase—except maybe during Practical Hunting class or when Marco wants to play tag. But this? Following a monster out of a fairy tale, one that had his friend slung over its shoulder like a designer handbag? This was a new level of "What the heck am I doing?" even for him.

As the Furiosus bounded with surprising grace into the heart of the Dark Oak Forest, James huffed and puffed, his sneakers slamming into the earth with far less grace. If grace was a currency, James was currently bankrupt. Using earth magic to keep up, he whispered apologies to the ground each time he forced roots to elongate into makeshift bridges over creeks or boulders to shift into impromptu stairs. "Sorry, sorry, just trying to save a friend. I'll plant a tree, promise," he panted, dodging a particularly angry-looking thorn bush that seemed to take personal offense to his presence.

The deeper they went into the forest, the less James saw of the world he knew. The trees seemed to absorb light, hoarding it like misers, and the air grew thick with a scent of moss and mystery. James could swear the shadows whispered around him, gossiping about the clumsy human trying to be a hero.

Finally, the Furiosus slowed, and James nearly crashed into a tree, stopping just in time to avoid a personal introduction to its bark. Ahead, the forest had been tamed into a clearing, where the darkness seemed to hesitate, not daring to encroach. In the center stood a gateway, aglow with a light that hummed with power. It was like staring into the heart of a star—if that star shopped at Gothic architecture stores.