The first rays of sunlight pierced through the eastern peaks, casting golden lines across the damp earth and dew-covered grass. The three horses trotted along a winding dirt road cutting through a dense pine forest, the only sounds being the birds' morning songs and the soft rustle of leaves.
Sir Cedric, riding ahead, turned his head slightly and spoke in a calm, earnest voice:
"Baroness Thyra has been informed of your success in restoring the Heart of the Sea. She is deeply grateful... and impressed."
Karl glanced at Molvar, who was still half-asleep and swaying in his saddle, then gave a quiet nod. "She governs the region, right?"
"She does," Cedric replied. "Baroness Thyra oversees many of the eastern coastal strongholds. Solmere is the most crucial. If the Heart had failed... the Sea Lords could've drowned the entire coastline overnight."
Molvar stirred, suddenly awake, and chimed in: "So… we just saved the coast? Any chance of a bonus reward?"
Cedric chuckled. "This journey is the reward. Few are granted the chance to venture toward the Ashen Hills. That land... holds things not found in any book."
Karl remained silent. The voice from the night before still echoed in his thoughts — a reminder that the fate of the world awaited in the distance, where gray flames never die.
Molvar stretched groggily on his saddle, rubbing his eyes and mumbling in a husky morning voice:
"Sir Cedric… mind if I ask something? Why is it called the Ashen Hills? Sounds like something got burned to a crisp there."
Sir Cedric fell silent for a moment, seemingly deciding how much to share. Sunlight filtered through the canopy above, gleaming softly on the silver bird emblem stitched onto his cloak.
"The name isn't just for show," he began slowly. "Long ago, before the Kingdom of Enel was even formed, that region was the site of a devastating battle. Some call it the Calamity of Fire, because an entire forest was reduced to ash in a single night. The flames weren't natural… they were summoned by something far worse."
Molvar gulped, eyes now wide. "Something worse than fire?"
Cedric nodded. "Survivors spoke of a fire with shape and will — moving like a tide, consuming even the souls of those it touched. Since that day, the forest has never grown back. Just dry soil, gray as ash… and black stone pillars that reek of old magic."
Karl listened intently, his expression tightening. "Has anyone ever gone there?"
"They have," Cedric replied grimly. "And most... never returned."
After a brief moment of tense silence, Sir Cedric let out a quiet chuckle — the kind of seasoned laughter that eased the mood with a touch of old-man humor.
"Don't worry too much, lads," he said, his voice more relaxed. "What I told you earlier… well, those are old tales, embroidered through generations. The truth is, that place lies close to the demon caves to the east — a region plagued by constant warfare in the past. Hundreds, maybe thousands, died there."
He gave his horse a gentle tug as it stepped onto a slick stone. "With no proper burial grounds, most of the bodies were cremated right on the hillsides. Day after day, the smoke rose and ash fell like snow, blanketing the land. That's why they started calling it the Ashen Hills."
Molvar let out a relieved sigh, though his face still twitched nervously. "You could've started with that part. I wouldn't have nearly fallen off my horse…"
Karl smiled faintly, though his eyes still held a distant, thoughtful glint — as if he wasn't entirely convinced the place was just a grave of old ashes.
By midday, the sun pierced through the thinning forest canopy, casting scattered shafts of golden light along the cracked dirt path. Sir Cedric raised his hand, signaling to stop. "Let's rest here," he said, then gracefully dismounted. "This area is relatively safe. There's a small stream nearby."
Karl and Molvar dismounted as well, tying their horses under an old oak tree. They followed a narrow trail down to a small brook. The cool water murmured over mossy stones, bringing a refreshing calm to the hot day. Molvar practically dove in, scooping handfuls of water to drink with visible delight.
"It's good to have someone like you who knows these roads," Karl said, rinsing his face while watching Sir Cedric unpack dried bread and cured meat from a leather pouch.
Sir Cedric chuckled, handing them each a portion. "Don't be too grateful just yet. We've only covered a quarter of the route. Wait until nightfall — you might wish you'd chosen the sea path instead."
As they sat by the stream, Karl suddenly frowned. "Anyone else notice that smell? It's… different."
Molvar sniffed the air and grimaced. "Ash… and sea salt?"
Sir Cedric rose, his expression shifting to something more serious. He scanned the nearby bushes, then walked to a low mound of earth near the stream — where burnt-black stones lay in ruins.
"This used to be an old outpost," he said quietly. "Possibly a war-time guard post during the demon skirmishes."
Karl stepped closer, touching one of the stones. As his fingers brushed the surface, faded glyphs in an ancient tongue flickered faintly under his palm — cracked symbols that seemed to breathe with a dormant pulse.
Molvar watched the fading glyphs beneath Karl's hand, then squinted dramatically, trying to look serious — but the mischief in his voice was unmistakable.
"You think this was some ancient demon tea party spot?" he joked. "Maybe there's a menu written in flaming runes somewhere."
Karl chuckled softly, but Sir Cedric didn't. His expression turned stone-cold serious.
"Don't mock what you don't understand," he said in a low, firm voice. "The lands near Ashen Hill are among the most dangerous in all of Enel. Ruins like this… are often forgotten gates. And every gate has something on the other side."
Molvar shrugged. "It's not like I asked to walk through it."
Before he could finish the sentence, a deep, resonating growl echoed from within the forest — low and drawn-out, like it came from a creature with lungs the size of a house.
Karl sprang to his feet, eyes fixed on the thick trees to the north. The birds had gone silent. Even the leaves seemed to freeze in place for a heartbeat.
"…North side," Sir Cedric murmured, hand on the hilt of his sword. "Could be a Behemor… or worse."
Molvar quickly pulled a short magic staff from his bag and muttered, "This is why people shouldn't joke near cursed rubble."
Karl looked at Sir Cedric. "What do we do?"
"We move. Now. Before it picks up more of our scent," the knight commanded. "And next time, don't touch anything that might wake up a nightmare."
Sir Cedric led the group behind a rocky ridge, his eyes still locked onto the forest ahead. He whispered, as if unwilling to let the air itself hear.
"I hope I'm wrong, but that roar… it sounded like a creature from the ancient chronicles: Gravemaw."
Karl frowned. "Gravemaw?"
"The name isn't just for effect," Sir Cedric said. "It's a prehistoric beast — one that survived even the age of the gods. About three centuries ago, one Gravemaw destroyed an entire southern outpost in a single night."
Molvar gulped. "Sounds like bedtime horror stories to me…"
Sir Cedric turned to face them. "Gravemaw is a corpse-eater — just like its name suggests. It's drawn to places heavy with death energy: battlefields, sacrificial sites, cursed ruins. With a mouth big enough to swallow a wagon whole, it hunts and digs through earth to feast on buried remains. Its body is covered in a stone-ash carapace, making it nearly immune to conventional weapons."
"And worst of all," he paused, "it has no eyes."
"No eyes?" Karl asked.
"It senses through vibrations, sound… and the scent of death."
Molvar's face turned pale. "So… we just laughed our way through a charred ruin soaked in spooky energy, shouting while munching pies on top of a rune stone."
Sir Cedric said nothing — only tightened his grip on his sword.
As the fading sunlight filtered through the forest canopy, the tension slowly eased when Sir Cedric suddenly let out a soft chuckle, trying to lighten the mood he himself had darkened.
"Oh, come now," he said, patting Molvar on the shoulder as the latter sat curled up with his pack. "You both look like you've seen a ghost. That roar — sure, it was unsettling, but don't forget: sound travels far in these woods. Whatever beast that was, if it was real at all, is probably miles away."
Molvar blinked. "Really? You just said it could tear down a fortress…"
"A little drama keeps the mind sharp," Sir Cedric winked, then stood and surveyed the open glade where they'd stopped for lunch. "This place is calm, there's a small stream nearby, and no signs of any giant creature lurking about."
He laid down his sword and added casually, "We can spend the night here. At dawn, we push forward. We should be nearing Ashen Hill by then. Until then, conserve your strength."
Karl still kept his eyes on the woods, cautious, but he slowly nodded. Molvar, on the other hand, sighed in relief and stretched out on the grass like he hadn't heard any roar at all.
Night descended upon the forest like a thick veil. The campfire crackled in the center, casting flickering light over the three figures huddled around it — Karl sat quietly, his eyes occasionally scanning the rustling treetops; Molvar mumbled a nonsense tune in a lazy attempt to sleep; and Sir Cedric remained still as stone, one hand resting on his sword hilt.
An owl hooted somewhere in the distance.
A sudden gust swept through the trees, sending embers spiraling upward. Karl frowned slightly, tilting his head.
Then—
"GRRRRROAAARGHHHHH!"
The roar came again—closer this time. Clear. Powerful. The forest trembled. The ground beneath them seemed to shiver.
Molvar bolted upright, eyes wide. "That's not far anymore!"
Sir Cedric was already on his feet, sword drawn, steel catching firelight. "Don't panic. Focus!"
From the shadowy depths to the left, two glowing eyes — the size of fists — blinked into view. No footsteps. No snapping twigs. Just... watching.
Karl stood, hands clenched, the pull of gravity stirring faintly beneath his feet.
No one spoke. Breath held. The darkness itself seemed to breathe.
Then — the eyes vanished.
Not a sound.
Only wind and crackling fire remained.
Sir Cedric narrowed his gaze. "It's scouting. Not ready to strike."
Molvar's voice quivered. "So... no sleeping tonight, huh?"
"No," Karl replied. "We take shifts. That's safer."
The three formed a triangle around the fire, weapons close. Overhead, a thick black cloud drifted across the stars.
Somewhere in the darkness, the creature still watched.