Asdras Awakening (V)

At midnight, the forest seemed to shift into an entirely different realm, as though dusk's final breath had left behind a darker world beneath the canopy. Moonlight snaked through interlaced branches overhead, casting pale webs of light across the mossy ground. Now and then, a faint glimmer reflected off dew-laden leaves or serpentine roots, hinting at movement — or at least the suggestion of it — in the corners of one's vision. It gave the impression of the forest itself stirring, as if the weight of darkness had triggered a secret life beneath the boughs.

A hush fell between the trees — a hush not of peace but of expectation. There was no wind to stir the leaves, no owl to break the quiet with a haunting cry. The only sound came from two sets of footsteps, cautious and measured, as Asdras and the one called Second made their way along a narrow trail. The path had formed more from guesswork and worn instincts than any conscious design. Roots twisted like the gnarled hands of a slumbering giant, and the undergrowth shivered with every stir of a creature unseen.

Second led the way. His build looked wiry under frayed leathers, a single eye glinting with the knowledge of countless struggles before this night. He pushed aside low-hanging branches, using a short staff to probe the path when it disappeared under sagging brush. Behind him followed Asdras, his features taut with a half-remembered tension. Occasionally, he brushed the back of his hand against a vine or fern, as though trying to ground himself in a reality that felt strangely familiar yet undeniably distant.

The forest swallowed them both with each step, the labyrinth of trunks adding to the sense that they had crossed a threshold. The further they advanced, the more the trees clustered, their trunks thickening into silent sentinels that presided over the gloom below. Moonbeams angled through the silhouettes, silvering the leaves so they appeared ghostly. If one looked closely, one might have caught flickers in the branches — small silhouettes vanishing as quickly as they appeared, leaving behind a prickly certainty of being watched.

Second paused by a stand of low-lying shrubs and raised his hand without turning around. He angled that hand left, a silent signal for Asdras to stop. Instantly, Asdras went still, heart pounding with the force of drumbeats inside his chest. Following Second's hint, he peered through the patchwork of moonlight.

A squat silhouette emerged behind the brush. It looked almost deer-like in shape, yet not quite. Its fur was coarse, and the spindly legs ended in delicate hooves that seemed unsuited to the rest of its sturdy frame. When it moved, it did so with a peculiar elegance — swift, practiced, ready to vanish into darkness at the slightest provocation.

Second turned halfway, just enough for Asdras to see his expression. With a slight motion, he unlatched the sword at his hip and pressed it into Asdras's waiting hand. The hilt felt as cold as a winter dawn, but solid, an anchor in the shifting shadows. Although Asdras had lost many memories, something in the weight and balance of that blade awakened a line of tension in his mind that felt strangely gratifying. He closed his hand around the worn grip.

Second rested a hand on Asdras's shoulder — the touch firm but supportive. He spoke softly, though confidence resonated in the hushed tone of his words. "That animal's our best chance at decent meat tonight. Remember what I said: let your instincts guide you. Don't force anything. Move as your body demands."

Something within Asdras came alive at those words. The sword felt like an extension of him, not a borrowed weapon. Adrenaline laced his pulse. A low, insistent hum threaded through his veins, as though long-dormant reflexes had stirred and gathered in readiness.

He glided closer to the creature, knees bent to absorb every shift in the uneven ground. The ragged leaves parted around him, and moonlit patches illuminated fleeting glimpses of movement. The forest's hush deepened, heavy with withheld breath. Somewhere overhead, branches creaked faintly as if to mark his approach.

The animal sniffed at the ground, wary yet still calm, unaware of a hunter moving in the gloom. Asdras took measured steps, angling his body to remain downwind. Each footfall pressed softly into damp earth, disguised by the spongy layer of moss and fallen leaves. His muscles coiled in readiness. He picked up a small rock — its surface cold and pitted. Carefully, he lobbed it into the brush off to his right.

The rustle and thud startled the beast. Its head whipped around, awareness sharpened. Asdras saw its legs tense, the strange hooves pawing for traction. Even through the darkness, he observed the flare of its nostrils and the urgency in its eyes — a single moment of alarm that dared to blossom into flight.

Asdras reacted. He darted left, using a stout tree trunk as cover. The creature, spooked by the noise, veered in the opposite direction. A shallow gap cut across the forest floor in front of it, forcing it to swerve closer to Asdras's hidden position. In that instant, Asdras kicked away from the tree and sprang forward, the sword raised just so, as though he had rehearsed it a thousand times. His body twisted mid-lunge.

The blade whistled. Moonlight caught on steel in a silver arc, and the next heartbeat brought the final stroke. The edge found flesh. The creature collapsed with barely a sound, its cry choked by the speed of Asdras's strike. He landed on one knee, the impact sending a mild shockwave from his ankles up to his shoulders, but he held firm.

For a moment, the forest hovered in breathless stillness. The animal's body slumped onto the damp ground, its limbs twitching in final reflex. Asdras remained kneeling beside it, chest heaving. He could smell the raw tang of blood, warm in the midnight chill, and feel his pulse raging. In the back of his throat, a metallic aftertaste mingled with the humid air.

From behind a nearby thicket, Second emerged wearing a faint grin that exposed relief and pride in equal measure. "Told you," he said, voice low. "Fair or not, the empire rarely squanders talent. You still have a killer's sense, the soldier's reflex. Whether it's your memory or not, your body remembers."

Asdras exhaled, standing and letting the tip of the sword angle toward the forest floor. He almost managed a smile. The turbulence of adrenaline faded, and in its wake came an odd contentment, the sensation of having done something thoroughly and well. "That...felt right," he said, turning his eyes to the lifeless form. He thought about all the missing fragments in his mind, the broken puzzle of an identity he couldn't piece together. Yet, if he had ever wondered about muscle memory or reflex, the answer now lay unmistakably at his feet.

Second stepped forward, crouched, and prodded the creature to confirm it was gone. He resumed an easy, upright stance, though Asdras noticed the man's back carried tension now that the momentary calm had passed. Second spoke quietly. "No time for lingering. Let's get it back. We'll need nourishment. That sword you hold — hang onto it. You're clearly better with it than I am."

Asdras nodded, letting his gaze linger over the parted branches. "So... this trial you mentioned. You hinted that I'm meant to hunt that monster, right?"

Second ran a hand over his stubbly jaw, as if weighing his response. "Yes. That's your key to being recognized, I mean. If you want your life back, you have to face that thing. Whatever it is."

Asdras frowned, eyes drifting to the sword. He recalled the swirl of frustrations lurking just beyond words in his mind. "I feel like...like I've done things like this before." The kill, the stealth, the precision. Part of him shuddered at the prospect that violence could be so easy. Thoughts percolated: was he once a soldier? A knight? What kind of training did he face?

Second placed a hand lightly on Asdras's shoulder. "Let's carry this one first." Then he crouched again, lifting the creature's carcass. A warm rivulet of blood trickled across his wrist, gleaming darkly in the moonlight. He grimaced but hoisted the weight, bracing it with practiced efficiency. "We can sort out your identity once we reach the old square."

At that, Asdras peered around, expecting some immediate threat. His chest still throbbed with adrenaline, and the hush of the forest felt charged. Checking behind them, he saw no prowling shapes, no shining eyes. But he couldn't stave off the unsettling sense of being observed. The deeper they journeyed, the more convinced he became that something ancient lurked beyond the edges of sight.

Sword in hand, he followed when Second set off. The older man navigated a crooked path through gnarled roots and tangled vines. Occasionally, the forest parted enough to reveal bits of decaying architecture — a collapsed archway here, a stray pillar choked by vines there. Each fragment suggested a once-inhabited place unraveling under nature's slow reclamation.

Before leaving earshot of the kill site, Asdras asked, "Second, that song you all sang earlier... If it's a song of hope, why does it sound so grim?"

Second paused without turning around. A tangled bough forced him to pivot sideways. He answered quietly, his voice carrying strangely well in the hush. "It's a relic from when we still remembered who we were. A lullaby, an anthem, a warning. All at once. Darkness can be savage, but there's always a different side to it if you dig deep."

The conversation lulled while they navigated a cramped stretch filled with thick undergrowth. Branches snatched at their clothes, and leaves rustled with accusing fervor. At last, they broke into a corridor of trees whose canopy parted enough for the moon to shine down in a broad swath of silver. Something about this clearing felt watchful, as if the treetops themselves had parted intentionally to observe them pass.

"So you think once I 'awaken,' I'll see the meaning in that song?" Asdras asked, no longer content with the silence.

"That's about right." Second shot him a quick glance. "You lost your memories, sure, but some of your instincts are wide awake. The sword, the lute — these are no simple hobbies. Those gifts usually mark people in the empire for bigger roles."

"Bigger roles like... the royal court?" Asdras's voice did not hide a skepticism that verged on amusement. It sounded preposterous. He hardly felt noble. Perhaps lethal, yes, but not a pampered aristocrat. Despite that, a corner of his mind conjured images he didn't entirely recognize: grand halls, swirling banners, formal gatherings. A place bright with light and music.

Second chuckled, though it emerged half breath, half grunt. The carcass's weight pressed down on him, but he didn't complain. "Could be," he said. "I've heard stranger rumors. Some bastards who show promise end up commanding battalions or bearing noble titles through sheer skill. And that's not counting hidden princes or arranged arcs of destiny. Maybe you're one of those unspoken heirs they mention in poetry. Or a favored spy. Hard to say."

They trudged past another natural barricade — a fallen tree trunk enveloped in moss, its rotted bark streaked with fungal spores that glowed faintly. The surreal luminescence lit the path before them in dappled patches.

"Still," Asdras said, "this forest... I swear I've been here before, or close to it. Everything resonates with me in a way I can't put into words."

"You convalesced here after they brought you in," Second offered, readjusting the carcass. "Days could blend into weeks if you were half-unconscious. Maybe snatches of that time stuck in your memory. The spirit of this place got under your skin."

Asdras made a noncommittal noise, letting that explanation sit for a moment. Little surety existed in his mind. The memory blanks felt more complicated than a mere convalescence. But pressing for certainty now had no purpose. They had a bigger question to handle: a monstrous threat that reigned supreme over this cursed territory.

They continued, weaving between basalt boulders coated in climbing ivy. At intervals, Asdras flicked anxious glances behind him, the sword raising a faint whistle whenever it cut the air in a reflexive flourish. He noted the slope of Second's shoulders — burden aside, the man's posture remained upright, steps even. Despite missing an eye and bearing callouses that told stories of their own, Second moved gracefully, like a cat through tall grass.

Eventually, they arrived at a deserted expanse. Over the centuries, it might have been a central square or meeting ground for a settlement. Now, only remnants of that community lingered: collapsed timbers, half-standing walls overtaken by leafy growth, and stone fragments scattered like broken teeth. The stench of mold and dampness hung thick in the air. A riot of vines smothered what might once have been a well, while ferns sprouted from gashes in the stonework. Where memories of commerce or communal festivities resided, nature had quietly reclaimed her domain.

In the center of the ruin rose a statue — almost eerie in its partial intactness. Weather and time had worn the statue down, but enough remained to see that it portrayed a woman in a flowing gown, her features carved with a serene beauty. A crow perched upon her shoulder, rendered mid-watchfulness in stone. She clutched a half-open book in one hand. Suspended around the statue's neck was the remnant of a necklace that looked carved to resemble a crown and an hourglass fused together. At her feet rested a massive wheel of dark stone, oddly free of the mildew and vines strangling the rest of the square.

At the statue's roots, a shallow basin had gathered stale, dark-red water. Leaves floated on its surface, but none sank, as if something in the water forbade them from sinking deeper. A hush clung to this place, thick as a cloak. Even the gentle chorus of nocturnal insects fell silent here, as though reluctant to intrude.

Second paused, adjusting the carcass so it didn't slip from his shoulder. "This is it," he murmured, letting the words settle like dust. "This is where the next steps start for you."

Asdras scanned the surroundings, tingling rising on his arms. The wheel at the statue's base appeared more ominous the longer he stared at it — dark stone almost glimmering despite the lack of torchlight. "You said you'd bring me to a place that held answers," he said softly.

"That's right," Second answered, stepping across loose cobblestones to set the carcass near the statue's edge. The dead beast flopped heavily on the ground, its blood now clotting against the open wound. Silence followed. Seconds passed in which even the forest seemed unwilling to breathe. Finally, Second shook out his arms, stretching stiff muscles. He gave Asdras a searching look. "This used to be a heart of sorts for our people. A place of worship, commerce, and gatherings. Then the empire changed, and the forest turned cursed. Now, only fragments remain."

Asdras lifted his gaze to the statue's unreadable face, noticing that its eyes — though time-worn — retained a semblance of sorrow. The broken necklace around her throat lent the impression that her story, too, had ended in tragedy. He took a step closer, then another, drawn to the wheel's strange presence. "I feel... like this wheel is looking at me."

"Might be," Second said, without a hint of jest. "And that statue? She used to stand for something important. People came from all corners to pay respects. The wheel might represent the turning of time, or fate, or cycles the empire forced upon us. Depends on which old story you believe."

Setting the sword's tip against the stone pavers, Asdras braced a hand on the hilt and leaned forward. The reflection in the blood-tinged water jarred him: in the moonlight, it almost seemed as if he wore a different face, older, eyes fierce as an apex predator's. He blinked, then the image wavered back to his usual gaze. "So," he said, forcing calm into his voice, "why would this help me awaken?"

Second exhaled, rummaging in a pouch at his belt for a scrap of cloth. He wiped a smear of the creature's blood from his forearm. "Because this is where that monster lingers — or near enough. It lurks somewhere close, haunting everything here. One day, someone from the empire will come to defeat it. But apparently that job fell to you."

The mention of the monster conjured half-forgotten sensations in Asdras: The memory of shrieking, bizarre shapes in the corner of his eyes, a monstrous presence gnawing at the edges of sanity. He tried to recall the day he must have arrived in the camp, how he'd been half-conscious, swirling in feverish nightmares. Standing here stirred echoes of that confusion and dread. "I'm going to need more detail," he managed, though his voice rasped with an undercurrent of tension.

"I told you. We suspect rank one, a threat that could curse or corrupt a region. It changed the forest, twisted it. If it grew strong enough, maybe entire provinces would be consumed." A short pause. "They call it the Corrupted Crow. A child's tale, or so they said. But then we saw it with our own eyes, or glimpses of it — a shape with mismatched limbs and gaping jaws. Once it visited us at night, and a dozen folk vanished. Houses were torn from the trees. Everything changed."

He gestured to the makeshift shelters they had left behind in the deeper woods. "That's why people tried to live on the ground in tents… At least, that's the theory, back then, but now…"

As Asdras listened, an ache formed in his temples. He rubbed his forehead, recalling flickers of screams and shadows. Something keen in the corners of memory, a nauseating sense of dread. "So," he said quietly, "the trials I face are about finishing what the empire started?"

"Possibly. But it's more than that. The empire always has agendas larger than we can foresee. One day, it might—"

A sudden scuffling sound broke the hush, and both men froze. Instinctively, Asdras gripped the sword. Second stepped away from the carcass, scanning the perimeter. Under the ruin's silent arches, a shape skittered. For an instant, it looked like a large rodent darting among broken stones. Then it vanished behind a collapsed wall.

Asdras's heart pounded, and he heard the faint rush of blood in his ears. "What was that?" he whispered.

Second shrugged, though his stance was tense, balanced. "Could be anything. Best keep watch." Another rustle, then quiet. Time stretched. The only movement came from the small swirl of the red water in the statue's basin, as if a breeze had touched it — yet the air lay still.

They lingered in mutual vigilance until the forest resolved back into silence. Only then did Second rouse from his uneasy stance. "We've got to do the same. Stay vigilant. If it was a scout or something twisted, we'll learn soon enough."

He returned to the carcass and once more heaved it onto his shoulders. The creature's limp limbs banged lightly against his back. "I'll bring it back" — he pointed to a jagged archway that opened onto what might have been an inner courtyard — "pay attention to that side. Also, it's here, kid, where it will be our hope or despair."