Chapter 81 WHISPERING ASHES
The death of the Goliath was not a quiet affair. The final metallic shriek from the tracks echoed through the dried riverbed like a death sentence. As the massive machine collapsed onto the jagged black rocks, the engine’s final gasp tore a piece of hope from everyone inside. It wasn't that the fuel had run out; the metal had simply fatigued, the gears had melted, and the soul of the machine could no longer withstand the crushing weight of these cursed lands.
When Dorian opened his eyes, he stared into the grey nothingness outside. There was no wind, yet a hum vibrated through the Goliath’s armored hull. This sound wasn't the wind striking the rocks; it was the low murmur of thousands of souls buried beneath the earth.
"Where is this place?" Kael asked. His voice was like a blade cutting through the heavy air inside.
Valeria reached out with her cuffed hands, wiping the grime from the fogged window. There was no mockery in her eyes, only pure dread. "The Valley of the Dead," she whispered. "When the palace exploded, the shockwave reached here, but it didn't kill the people. It... imprisoned them in shadow. This ash isn't from burnt trees, Kael. This ash is what remains of human beings."
As that sentence hung in the air, Serra suddenly screamed and covered her ears. Her body arched like a bow, and Atlas nearly slipped from her lap.
"Shut up!" Serra screamed, digging her nails into her scalp. "Shut up! Get out of my head!"
Dorian was at her side in a heartbeat. He took her face in his palms, but what he saw weren't his wife’s warm, brown eyes. Her pupils were trembling, the iris bleeding into the white like black ink. The network of black veins on her neck had now climbed like ivy to her jaw and cheekbones.
"No one is talking, Serra," Dorian said, trying to keep his voice as soft as possible. "We're here. It’s just us."
"You're lying!" Serra shoved Dorian in the chest. This wasn't the shove of a sick woman; it was the strike of a sledgehammer. Dorian lost his breath as his back slammed against the Goliath’s metal wall.
Serra stood up. But her posture did not belong to Serra. Her shoulders squared, her head tilted slightly to the side—exactly like the arrogant manner of the old king looking down on people from his throne.
Her lips parted, and that voice emerged. Not Serra’s; a muffled, raspy, ancient, and masculine tone.
"This body is getting too tight for me, son. My daughter’s flesh is too weak."
The interior of the Goliath grew as cold as a grave. Kael instinctively leveled his rifle, but the barrel was shaking. The woman before him was someone he loved like a sister, but the thing inside her was a monster.
"Lower the weapon," Dorian said. His voice was flat, devoid of both fear and anger. Only that grey void remained.
Dorian walked toward his wife. Serra (or Valerius) grabbed Dorian by the throat with fingers curled like talons. She lifted him into the air. Dorian, his feet dangling, did not resist.
"You cannot kill me," Valerius hissed from Serra’s mouth like a venomous snake. "If you destroy this body, you destroy your wife. You must keep me alive, Dorian. I am your curse."
Dorian did not react to the hand crushing his throat, even as he gasped for air. He fixed his grey, dead eyes on Serra’s blackened ones. A physical struggle was pointless. This was not the battlefield.
He pressed his forehead firmly against Serra’s.
"ENTER."
This command did not fall from Dorian’s lips. It struck Dorian’s consciousness like lightning, sent from the mind of Lyra, who lay in her stroller, tightly holding her father's hand.
In an instant, the world shattered. The metal walls of the Goliath, the smell of ash, Kael’s anxious breathing... it all vanished.
Dorian found himself in a pitch-black room. This was Serra’s mind, but it was in ruins. Memories were scattered across the floor like shards of glass.
In the center of the room, Serra sat in a chair woven from black, thorny wires. Her arms, legs, and neck were entwined in these wires. Every move she made pushed the thorns deeper into her flesh, spilling black blood.
Standing across from her was Valerius. But not in his old, sickly form. He appeared as the young, powerful, gold-armored image of him from when Dorian wore the mask. He held a chalice, sipping wine as he watched Serra’s agony.
"Welcome to my mind, son-in-law," Valerius said without turning. "But it's starting to get a bit crowded here."
In his mental projection, Dorian reached for his waist. A sword appeared there. This sword wasn't made of steel, but of Dorian’s will—of that pure power of rejection.
"Let her go," Dorian said. His voice echoed in the void like a clap of thunder.
"She is my daughter," Valerius said, walking to Serra and stroking her hair. Serra flinched at her father’s touch, letting out a silent scream. "And soon, I will be her completely. Her memories, her love, her hatred... they will all be my fuel."
Dorian swung the sword. Valerius dissolved like smoke, his laughter ringing against the walls of the room. Seconds later, he reappeared behind Serra.
"You cannot cut me with a sword, Dorian. I am an idea. I am a legacy. I am the memory of the blood."
"You are a disease," Dorian said. And this time, he swung the sword not at Valerius, but at Serra.
Serra’s eyes flew open in terror.
But the sword did not touch Serra’s flesh. It targeted the black thorny wires binding her. The sound of metal clashing against metal rang out, and the wires shattered.
Dorian tore away the remaining strands and took his wife in his arms.
"Wake up, Serra," he whispered in her ear. "This isn't real. He is just a shadow. Come to my voice."
In the real world, Serra collapsed into Dorian’s arms, taking a deep, drowning breath. The blackness in her eyes receded like a tide, replaced by a weary brown.
"Dorian..." she said, her voice trembling. "He was so close. He's so strong... He’s eating my mind."
Dorian lifted her up and pressed her to his chest. "I know. But not yet. I won't let him take you."
At that moment, Lukas forced the hydraulic door open manually. A freezing cold and a storm of grey ash rushed inside, stinging their lungs.
"We have to walk," Lukas said, looking out at the apocalypse. "The glaciers start ahead. This is as far as the Goliath goes. We cross hell on our own two feet now."