Chapter 17 Ash & Bone
Maris POV
The tunnels burned behind us like the throat of hell.
Every step pounded through smoke and fire. The air was molten, choking, and alive with screams. The sound of collapsing steel echoed through the old sewer systems that had once been our home.
Rhea’s last words were still in my ears. "Go. Make it fucking worth it."
Then the hatch slammed shut.
And she was gone.
We didn’t see what happened after that. None of us did. One minute she was covering our retreat, knives flashing, shouting orders through the smoke, and the next, she disappeared into fire and chaos. For all we knew, she was still fighting. Or ashes by now.
“Keep moving!” Solen barked ahead, his voice sharp enough to cut through the roar.
Commander Solen Vare didn’t look back. He never did. The man was carved out of purpose, his calm unshakable even when the world crumbled.
Ryn, the last Ghost besides Rhea, limped at the rear, half his face hidden beneath a scarred hood. He still moved like a predator, even with one ruined leg. “If any of you stop,” he growled, “I’ll shoot you myself.”
“Romantic,” Kessa muttered. The kid was eighteen, and mouthy as hell, her braid swinging as she half-dragged a wounded recruit. “You talk to your grandkids with that tone, old man?”
“Don’t have any left,” Ryn grunted.
The silence that followed said everything.
Sera stumbled up beside me, her relic flaring pale green as she poured healing light into a boy’s mangled arm. The glow flickered. “We’re losing too much blood,” she said, her voice shaking. “If we stop, I can stabilize them...”
“If we stop, we die,” I snapped. “Save your magic for when it matters.”
Solen called over his shoulder, “Ten more meters!”
We reached the last sealed hatch, Junction B-12, a slab of rusted iron hidden under decades of grime. Solen knelt, brushing away soot until the carved sigil appeared. Rhea had made it herself, laughing through the fumes of some half working plasma torch. ‘Our rabbit hole,’ she’d called it.
My chest ached.
Solen pressed his palm to the rune. It pulsed once, then unlocked with a hiss. “Go!”
We poured through one by one. Cold night air hit like a slap after the furnace heat. The forest above was blackened and twisted, but alive. Smoke painted the horizon orange.
I turned back toward the tunnels, unable to stop myself. “Come on, Ghost,” I whispered. “You don’t get to leave me with these idiots.”
“Ryn,” Solen said tightly. “Now.”
The old Ghost crouched, set the rune charge, and muttered something that might’ve been a prayer, or a curse, before pressing the trigger. The explosion rolled through the earth like thunder, sealing the tunnels and everything inside.
Silence.
The only light came from the burning ruins to the north. Twenty of us stood in the forest, five Cinders, a handful of terrified recruits, Ryn, Sera, Kessa, Solen, and me. The last fragments of the Ashborn who’d called Haven-9 home.
Solen squared his shoulders. “We move south. Haven-8’s still operational.”
One of the younger Cinders swallowed. “That’s two days on foot.”
“Then we start walking,” Solen said. “Before the bastards send trackers.”
We moved.
The forest was a graveyard, with ash falling like snow, and the smell of ozone thick enough to taste. My legs ached, but I didn’t stop. None of us did.
Hours passed. The smoke thinned to mist. The stars broke through the clouds, cold and indifferent.
Ryn fell in step beside me, his gait uneven but steady. “You think she made it?”
“I think if she didn’t, we’d have heard her cursing by now,” I said.
He snorted. “Fair.”
Kessa’s voice piped up from behind us. “She’ll show up. Probably already stole a dragon and a bottle of whiskey.”
Sera shot her a look. “Don’t joke about it.”
“I’m not joking,” Kessa said defiantly. “You think Ghost dies that easy? Please. She’s too damn stubborn.”
I almost smiled. Almost.
By dawn, we reached the safehouse, a forgotten smuggler outpost buried under ivy and illusion wards. The blue shimmer across the stone meant the sigils still held. Rhea had carved those too.
Solen pressed his palm to the ward. “Inside.”
The heavy door creaked open, and we slipped into the stale, dusty air of safety. Sera immediately went to work, her relic pulsing as she tended wounds. Kessa helped pass out water while pretending she wasn’t crying. The recruits sat in stunned silence, clutching their rifles like lifelines.
Ryn collapsed into a chair near the generator and exhaled, the sound heavy enough to fill the room. “Hell of a night,” he muttered.
I leaned against the wall, staring at the burn marks along my arm. “That’s one way to put it.”
Solen stood near the hearth, cleaning his blade with deliberate calm. The firelight caught the scar on his cheek, painting him in bronze and shadow.
“She’s gone,” I said finally.
He didn’t look up. “You don’t know that.”
“No one saw her come out.”
“No one saw her fall, either.”
My laugh came out bitter. “That’s not hope, Commander. That’s denial.”
Solen met my eyes, calm and unyielding. “Call it what you want. I know she’s not done.”
Ryn grunted from his chair. “You keep saying that. You got a reason?”
Solen slid the blade back into its sheath. “Because I’ve seen her do the impossible too many times to start doubting now.”
Kessa wiped her face with a sleeve. “Yeah. Ghost doesn’t stay dead. She just gets meaner.”
Sera sighed softly. “Let’s not test that theory.”
The room went quiet. The fire popped. Outside, the forest whispered in the wind.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I stepped outside, needing air. The sky was bleeding from gray to gold, the first hint of sunrise cutting through the smoke.
Sera joined me a moment later, her strawberry hair wild and her eyes red. “We’ll leave for Haven-8 by midday,” she said quietly. “Ryn’s checking the perimeter. Horses are ready.”
I nodded. “Good.”
She hesitated. “Do you really think she’s gone?”
I looked toward the horizon where Haven-9 still burned. “If she’s dead, she earned her rest. If she’s not...” I swallowed. “God help whoever finds her first.”
Sera smiled faintly, though her eyes were glassy. “That sounds like her.”
When the others gathered, we loaded the wagons. Solen gave the signal, and the caravan started moving south, twenty souls, a fractured rebellion, and more ghosts than we could count.
I stayed behind a moment longer. The safehouse door was still open, and the wards were flickering faintly. I pressed my hand against the cold metal.
“Goodbye, Ghost,” I whispered. “You saved them. I’ll make it count.”
For a second, the door warmed under my palm, just a pulse, faint but real. I froze.
Then it was gone.
I climbed onto my horse and followed the others. The sun climbed higher, washing the forest in firelight.
I didn’t look back. I just couldn’t.