Chapter Thirty-One:
“Ashes and Echoes”
The ground beneath Sterling’s boots glowed faintly, a lattice of ember-filled cracks spiderwebbing out in all directions. Smoke rose in slow, deliberate spirals—less the aftermath of destruction than the exhale of something satisfied.
The ruins of Kagemura were silent. Not quiet—silenced.
Sterling stood at the center of the crater, where life had been burned from the earth. The smell of scorched stone and vaporized flesh clung to the air like prophecy fulfilled.
Hex hovered beside him, swaying midair with giddy anticipation. Her eyes sparkled as she landed with a skip and a laugh.
“I did well, didn’t I, Father?” she chirped, still clutching something damp in her arms. “Their screams were so exciting.”
Sterling didn’t look at her immediately. He exhaled through his nose, savoring the scent of annihilation. Then, almost gently, he placed a hand on her shoulder.
“You exceeded expectations,” he said.
She beamed. “Can we find more?”
“Soon.”
Hex pouted, tilting her head. “But you said—”
“Patience,” he said, and the word came with gravity.
She fell quiet, eyes darting.
Sterling turned, his cloak dragging through ash.
Then he stopped.
The stillness of the ruin shifted. Not in the crater. Not in the wind.
In the Realm itself.
He turned his gaze west, beyond the forest line, beyond vision.
Something was moving.
A presence.
A thread of light not meant to be here. Not anymore.
Sterling’s eyes narrowed.
“And who might you be?” he murmured.
Hex blinked, hovering beside him. “What is it, Father?”
He didn’t answer. He was already walking.
“The mountain tribes can wait,” he said, voice colder now. “This takes precedence.”
Hex groaned, stamping her foot midair. “You promised me more children to play with!”
Sterling didn’t look at her. “And you’ll have them. But first, I must meet the one bold enough to stand in his ashes.”
Hex pouted but didn’t argue.
He moved through the smoke like it parted for him. Above, the clouds began to stir.
Somewhere far ahead—John was waiting.
And Sterling was already on his way.
The Spirit Wilds had never been this quiet.
No Oni patrols. No flickering Pyre flies. No whisper of Kamaitachi claws scuttling through the underbrush. The silence wasn’t peaceful—it was absolute. Like the forest itself had retreated after witnessing what became of Kagemura.
John led the way.
Rai and Akira followed close behind.
“Feels like the whole Realm just... stopped,” Akira muttered.
Rai’s gaze swept the trees. “Even nightmares know when to hide.”
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“Exactly,” RW whispered. “Even the dark flees from what we're walking toward.”
John didn’t answer aloud. He just kept walking.
The cave wasn’t far now—the place where Realmweaver lay hidden, waiting. They moved quickly but quietly, their steps too careful for ease.
“How’s this thing supposed to work again?” Rai asked, keeping her voice low.
“I’ll show you when we’re there,” John replied.
“Great. Because I love boarding unknown magical constructs with no briefing.”
Akira gave a short laugh. “Hope it has cup holders.”
Their jokes fell flat, but that was the point.
The sky was darkening, clouds gathering unnaturally fast. The scent of rain hung heavy in the air.
John stopped. The others did too.
It was instinct—every part of him screaming that something was wrong.
They were no longer alone.
Ahead, in a ceremonial clearing where once the seppuku rites had been held, two figures stood waiting.
Sterling.
And Hex.
She floated inches off the ground, humming a quiet tune as she stroked something limp and pale in her arms.
John stepped forward—and froze.
It was a child. Or to be precise, its head.
A small Kitsune, lifeless. Eyes open. Tongue slack.
Hex cradled the boy like a doll.
“His screams were so beautiful,” she said.
Akira’s hand went to his weapon. Rai didn’t move.
Sterling took a slow step forward.
“So this is the soul that called to me.”
The sky writhed, bruising deeper as pressure bent across its surface.
And then the barrier came down.
A vertical slash through the air—clean, bright, sealed with a sound like steel locking into place. Rai, Akira and RW were cut off. John stood alone.
Sterling smiled.
“One-on-one,” he said.
John’s grip tightened around the hilts at his sides.
There was no going back.
John drew his blades slowly. The steel caught the unnatural light that filtered through the shimmering dome. He didn’t speak. Neither did Sterling.
For a moment, they simply watched one another.
Then Sterling stepped forward, his boots cracking the forest floor beneath him with deliberate weight.
“You’re not him,” he said softly. “But you carry something that belonged to him.”
John didn’t flinch. “I carry more than that.”
Sterling’s eyes narrowed. “She gave you his heart.”
John’s grip tightened. “And I won’t waste it.”
The wind shifted. Lightning cracked sideways across the dome. Sterling extended one hand, calling a sphere of blackened energy to life—silent, coiled, alive.
He moved first.
The orb launched—John sidestepped, pivoted, struck. The Twin Fangs caught the edge of the incoming magic and cut through it. The fragments scattered like embers.
Sterling was already on him.
Blade met blade—sparks flying. Sterling struck with impossible speed, his movements precise, godlike. John blocked, rolled, parried, his body answering instinct faster than thought.
The charm at his neck pulsed once.
John spun low, dragging one Fang across Sterling’s ribs. It didn’t break skin—but it drew a hiss.
Sterling flicked his hand. The ground fractured, vines of darkness lashing up like chains.
John leapt over the first, ducked the second, used the third to launch himself sideways into a tree, then off it—diving, driving both blades toward Sterling’s exposed shoulder.
A pulse of force knocked him midair—sent him crashing to the ground.
He hit hard. Rolled. Came up bleeding.
Sterling adjusted his gloves.
“You move well for a shadow.”
John wiped blood from his mouth. “I’m more than that.”
Sterling’s expression hardened. “We’ll see.”
They charged again.
Steel clashed.
Power roared.
And between each blow, John felt it—that presence. Watching. Testing.
Gameweaver.
He didn’t look up, but he felt her in the pressure behind every move. She wasn’t interfering. She was recording. Measuring.
Sterling landed a blow across his ribs—John grunted but didn’t fall. He struck back, cutting deep across Sterling’s sleeve.
A sliver of blood.
The first.
Sterling paused, glanced at it. Then smiled.
“Ah. So, there you are.”
John didn’t ask.
He just moved.
The dance continued.
Sterling struck again—this time with both hands, a sweep that shredded the air with a sound like splitting stone. John barely ducked, the shockwave grazing his shoulder and tearing bark from the trees behind him.
He didn’t stop moving.
The fight had no rhythm. It was not a duel—it was a hunt. And John knew, deep down, he was the prey.
But he had learned from survivors. From those who had no choice but to get back up.
He pivoted beneath Sterling’s next swing and drove a Fang upward, catching Sterling off-balance just long enough to stagger him. John followed through with a strike that would’ve ended anyone else.
Sterling caught the blade.
With his hand.
Dark blood dripped between his fingers. His grin never wavered.
“You don’t know what you are,” he said. “But I do.”
John yanked the blade free and stepped back, breathing hard.
Sterling flexed his fingers, watching the wound close. “You’re an echo. But even an echo, under the right conditions… can scream.”
Lightning flared above. The dome shimmered with strain. For a moment, John felt the shape of something else—another presence. Not Gameweaver. Not Sterling.
Someone else.
Watching.
Sterling noticed it too. He glanced upward, frowning.
John didn’t wait.
He lunged.
Twin Fangs flashed, but not toward Sterling. Toward the barrier.
One blade struck. The other followed.
The dome cracked—splintered at the seams. Rai’s voice cut through, distant but real.
“JOHN!”
The distraction cost him. Sterling struck again, faster than thought. Pain bloomed across John’s side. He fell, tumbling through leaves and dirt.
But the barrier faltered.
RW burst through it, her form blazing brighter than before. Not as a weapon.
As a distraction.
Sterling turned just enough.
John surged forward—
—and buried one Fang deep into his side.
Sterling let out a sharp sound—half laugh, half snarl.
He grabbed John’s wrist.
“Not bad.”
John looked him dead in the eyes.
“Not done.”
The blade twisted.
And the barrier shattered.
Rai and Akira were already running.
Sterling vanished in a crack of light—reeling, retreating.
The forest exhaled.
And John dropped to his knees, blood soaking the earth.
He didn’t smile.
But he didn’t fall, either.
