“Preparations… On how to become a monster… to kill other monsters.”

  The spirit didn’t answer. It remained silent till the shadows rippled once, like a heartbeat under sand.

  “Id-iot”

  Asher scoffed upon hearing the spirit's reply.

  ‘Idiot? Me? No way.’

  While he remained hidden in the shade, a faint smell of blood and iron reached his nose, sharp and unpleasant. Asher frowned.

  He tilted his head upward, eyes narrowing.

  A group of monsters was climbing the yellow sandhill, their movements distorted and uneven. Each step left a dark smear of blood behind, staining the pale dunes. Their limbs bent at unnatural angles, bones cracking under their own weight.

  When they finally reached the top, one of them stopped. Its neck twitched, twisting too far as its hollow eyes turned in his direction.

  Asher's body tensed as he gripped his hand till his knuckles whitened. He placed one foot on the ground, ready to jump if necessary.

  I am far; it shouldn’t notice me… Asher thought as he watched the creature of beyond turn its head back to its place before moving again.

  Asher let out a sigh, his body visibly relaxing as he again leaned his head back.

  The creatures continued their slow climb, leaving trails of dark crimson that soaked into the sand like spilled ink. The scent grew thicker—rotting meat mixed with copper—as wind carried it past Asher's hiding spot. He pressed a sleeve against his nose, eyes tracking their jerky movements. One stumbled, its leg snapping backward with a wet crunch that echoed across the dunes. The others didn't pause.

  But then he found the situation strange. Even comical at a glance.

  His nose had picked enemies faster than his eyes could.

  'Is this what it means to use all senses?'

  This is what monsters do. Picking up human scents to hunt their prey, and now Asher was doing that as well.

  But he had no time to ponder the irony. A low groan echoed from the bottom of the dune—a sound like rusted hinges forced open. Another group was approaching, larger than the first, their forms bloated and leaking black ichor that hissed against the sand. Their ragged breathing carried on the wind, thick with decay.

  Asher watched it happen without changing his expression.

  He could only wait till the decayed monsters left and hide even deeper and farther away from the lake.

  There was nothing else to do.

  Only patience.

  And then time started to pass.

  Asher couldn't tell if it was quick or not.

  But minutes passed, and then hours.

  Above him, the sky deepened from pale yellow to bruised purple. Shadows stretched long and thin across the dunes, swallowing the harsh light. Asher shifted his weight, feeling grit grind against his skin where he leaned against the rock. The silence pressed in—no wind, no groans, just the thump of his own pulse in his ears. He licked cracked lips, tasting salt and dust.

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  He turned his eyes to the right, where the rocks were blackened with ash. He had lit a fire there not long ago, just enough to cook something that barely passed for food. The half-cooked meat still sat on a flat stone, its smell bitter and foul. Each bite had twisted his stomach, yet hunger was far crueler than taste.

  No matter what spices he sprinkled, the flavor refused to change—it stayed dry, charred, and bitter. Some pieces, he knew, were likely toxic; he had burned those to ash, while the rest had hardened like old leather.

  There was nothing he could do about it.

  A faint smile crossed his lips as he thought, Maybe Grandpa William could have turned even this into a feast. But he was no William—never could be. The old man had a gift, one that even the end of the world couldn’t steal away.

  Asher closed his eyes briefly.

  If I were in Atlas right now, I’d probably be walking down the cobbled streets toward the restaurant where Elena would greet me with that warm smile of hers. After breakfast, I’d sit by the square, letting the morning pass by in peace. If it were one of those special days, I might have sparred with Castor early before that—just like we used to. Then I’d visit the Temple, talk with Franz for a while, and maybe even stop by to greet his team.

  Visiting Morgana would’ve been harder… Our paths rarely crossed, but if they did, our eyes would meet in passing—just a glance, along with a brief smile. In the afternoon, I’d wander through the streets again, looking for some new place to eat, someplace I hadn’t tried before.

  By evening, I’d find myself in Silverwill, watching Elda and Albert work while lending a hand when I could. And at night, we’d ride the carriage back home. Sharing dinner, talking, laughing, maybe playing a few games before sleep.

  Asher opened his eyes again. This time, the silver in his pupils had dimmed, turning into a shade closer to gray—hollow, distant, almost lifeless. A faint, sorrowful smile curved on his lips as he slowly rose to his feet. His cloak swayed with the whispering wind, and for a brief moment, the starlight brushed across his face, soft and fleeting—like a breeze of spring.

  The spirit of shadow has already pulled the shade back.

  At night the shades have no use, especially a mystical one. Who knows what kind of danger would come looking if something sensed the pale shadows?

  In any case, it was time to move.

  While the night carried its own share of dangers, it also offered its quiet advantages. The stronger beasts prowled under the pale starlight, but most of the weaker ones had already hidden themselves away.

  This was exactly what Asher had hoped for—not to face stronger foes, but to face fewer of them.

  Now he needed to see if it worked or not.

  “Let’s go.”

  He said, looking at the spirit flying around him.

  It shivered faintly before nodding along.

  Asher walked forward, crossing through the sand and reaching his destination after some moments of travel. As he climbed the sand dunes and looked at the lake down below, his eyes narrowed dangerously.

  While a myriad of monsters existed below, they were far fewer than before. However, it didn’t mean it was any safer than before. Asher could feel cold sweat pouring down his neck as chill winds hit his hand like a slap.

  The towering giant, its body covered in thick, steel-like scales, lay asleep at the center of the lake’s edge. To the left gathered beasts with crooked legs and twisted, unnatural heads, while to the right lurked creatures that reeked of rot and decay. These three groups made up the majority of what remained—surely there were others hidden in the dark, but far fewer than these three.

  ‘That giant is surely an avenger…’ Asher gulped, feeling his throat run dry.

  Its scales gleamed like polished armor plating under the moonlight, each one as large as his hand, with deep scratches scarring the surface—testaments to countless battles. The creature’s slow, rumbling breaths stirred the shallow water around it, sending ripples across the lake that lapped against the shore like a tired heartbeat. Asher’s gaze drifted to the rotting beasts on the right, their bodies oozing black sludge that sizzled as it dripped onto the sand, releasing a pungent odor like spoiled eggs mixed with burnt hair. To the left, the twisted-head creatures hunched low, their multiple eyes blinking out of sync—some milky white, others bloodshot—scanning the darkness with unnerving stillness.

  Asher drew a cold breath and turned to face the spirit of shadow looking at him with a bored look, almost, if not for not having any face.

  As if reading his thought, the spirit shuddered, fuming slightly as it rippled like a cloud of ink.

  Asher watched it and grinned.

  “You know what to do; let’s steal some water.”