Asdras woke to find Third hunched over the makeshift garden, plucking herbs with measured finesse. Some she ripped from the soil by their roots and stalks; others she pinched at the leaves, snapping them off without ceremony. For the most delicate buds, she used a careful flick of her thumbnail, severing them from their stems as if she’d performed the gesture a thousand times.

  Though the haze of fatigue clung to him, Asdras noticed his sight had grown clearer, his thoughts more orderly. Now and then, a stubborn knot of confusion rose in his mind, requiring him to chip away at it or skirt its edges until it yielded.

  “Zero, lad,” First called to him, raising a hand in welcome. “Morning. Come, sit with us.”

  He joined them on a simple wooden stool, surveying the hum of activity around the camp. Third had moved on to tempering thin-cut steaks from the kill, her fingers nimble with seasonings, while Second stood watch over the sizzling heat to ensure each piece cooked evenly.

  Sixth sat nearby, holding a dish with a silent air. His lute rested within arm’s reach. To Asdras, it seemed Sixth spent all his waking moments either sweeping by the makeshift fence or strumming that instrument. In a place like this, he couldn’t blame him; maybe clinging to daily tasks kept one’s mind from sinking into the dark.

  First and Eight shared a meal, with First assisting Eight whenever needed. Asdras felt tension coil in his chest at the thought of the monster, but he glanced at their faces — an expression he couldn’t fully decipher, something equal parts relief and dread — and realized it wasn’t the time to ask.

  He forced himself to eat quietly, muttering thanks when served and complimenting the taste of each bite. Smoke clung to the crisp wood and fat curling at the edges of the cooking meat, trailing through the air in thin, winding tendrils. His unspoken question weighed on him, but he kept it locked away until they’d finished eating and most of them had drifted elsewhere. Finally, when only Second and Asdras remained, he let his voice slip free.

  “How are we going to slay that monster?”

  Second’s gaze flicked to him. He raised a hand, motioning for patience, then disappeared into his tent. When he returned, a small notepad rested in his grasp. Taking his seat again, he ran calloused fingers across the leather cover, his eyes distant.

  “For years,” he said, “I’ve turned over every idea in my head on how to kill that thing. At first, my plans were naive — heroic notions on scraps of paper. But as the weeks turned into months, despair pushed its way in. Denial broke when the city sent one of the remaining awakened to study it.”

  He paused, lips thinning. “Only one of them crawled back. His legs were gone, blood leaving a trail behind him. Can you imagine dragging yourself for half a day, your life leaking out in a red line, and all for nothing? He still managed to deliver a message: Don’t fight it — run, or…”

  A deep shadow fell across Second’s features. “That was the moment we realized brute force was useless, and so was willpower on its own. It didn’t matter how strong you were. We thought about poison, no success. Tried blocking off the mine entrance — lost people and still failed. My mind spun with ‘what ifs’ until I nearly broke.”

  He tapped a finger on the notepad. “Being the last awakened left me adrift. For a year or two, I can’t even recall exactly, I was silent. But a spark of vengeance kept flickering. Eventually, I started mapping ideas, filling dozens of these, including this one.”

  He opened the battered pages, revealing cramped notes, scratched-out lines, and corners turned in desperation. Each tiny margin brimmed with frantic scrawl.

  “But reality is cruel, kid. The closer I got to a plan, the more the curse gnawed at me. I was drained, too weakened to attempt anything. The only thing stopping me from giving up was a twisted sense of pride. I prayed to every god, demon — anything out there. I cursed, I bargained. Got nothing but more misery and a symbol that glows sometimes, fueled by the best runesmith the city gave us. It never stopped the beast for long.”

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  He laid a rough hand on Asdras’s shoulder. “Then we found you.”

  At that, Asdras felt an ache twist his chest. He couldn’t begin to fathom the depth of that pain.

  “Funny how life is,” Second continued, voice hollow. “In the worst darkness, when you think you’re finished, it gives you a spark. A cruel reminder you’re alive, a sliver of hope to chase… until it buries you deeper. Don’t get me wrong, we’re glad you’re here. But it still stings, knowing the empire sees our torment as a trial.”

  Asdras’s vision blurred with rising tears. He opened his mouth to speak, to argue the injustice, but Second lifted a hand, offering a regretful smile.

  “Sorry. I had to get that off my chest. Hell, if this is the empire’s will and they want to treat us like rats in a maze, then so be it. We’ll sharpen our anger into a blade. We’ll do it for our ancestors, our pride, and the ghosts we carry. One day, they’ll face a reckoning. But first, we must destroy that creature.”

  A hush drew over the camp until Sixth plucked the first notes on his lute. Soft, wavering chords drifted between them, and Asdras felt unseen eyes from the tents behind him. Their gazes pressed into his back like a muted chorus of desperate hope. He realized that, whether he wanted it or not, he’d become their chance at salvation — and that knowledge twisted in him like a knife.

  “How?” he asked, voice tight. “I’m not strong enough.”

  “You’re not,” Second answered bluntly. “But the message told you to cut the source. Right?”

  Asdras’s heart hammered. “Whose source? The curse itself? The monster?”

  “It’s us, kid,” Second said. “The source is the ones cursed by that beast’s creation. Every awakened power demands a price, and the monster’s is no different. You cut us off, you sever the curse that birthed it.”

  Asdras lurched to his feet, alarm jolting him. “I can’t kill you! All of you saved me, fed me. You want me to just — how can I—?”

  He trembled, each breath ragged in his chest. The morning spun, edged in a dreadful haze. Second, let him reel, speaking in a low, detached tone.

  “If it were that simple, if us dying alone could fix it, we’d have ended it long ago. But it needs more. According to the instructions… the crow’s message… you have to bathe your blade in the waters of the wheel, then cut us and the trees surrounding this place. It severs the curse fully, preventing our bodies from rising again as fodder for that thing.”

  Asdras’s mind roiled with horror. “But—” He could barely find words, a black swirl of guilt and panic surging in his chest. Yet he saw no alternative. He couldn’t. The only path out of this nightmare, for him and them, seemed stained with their blood.

  Second turned a page in his notepad, showing the name “Joah” scrawled on the inside. “Told you to trust Joah, didn’t it? The message was no coincidence. Trust me, or trust that crow, but this is the only way. We’re not living, kid. We’re stuck, battered by the curse. At least this way, we can rest. And after all we’ve endured, we deserve rest.”

  A choking sensation gripped Asdras’s throat, and he looked around at the tents. He remembered how they’d welcomed him, fed him, and saved him from the bitter maw of the mines. Now they stood at the precipice of a final, terrible act. The thought brought his heart close to bursting.

  Second followed his gaze. “Believe me, if simply taking our own lives would do it, we’d have done so. But the curse has rules — complex as any awakened art. This is how you break it, or the monster remains.”

  He stared at the dying fire, at the greasy bones and residues of fat, as if the remains held some final verdict. Then he turned, meeting Asdras’s eyes with a steadiness that cut deeper than any blade.

  “You do this wrong, and we just become puppets for the beast. Or we linger as rotting husks — and when that monster finds us, it’ll be even worse.”

  Asdras steadied himself, drawing in slow gulps of the smoky air. The cruelty of it threatened to paralyze him, but he knew their desperation was real. Perhaps it was the only real thing in this entire cursed land. He made himself speak, though his voice trembled.

  “When?” he asked, each word tasting of ash.

  Second gripped his shoulders, gaze unwavering. “Today. You must do it today.”

  Agony spread through Asdras, as sharp as any sword’s tip. He clenched his fists, wrestling a swell of nausea and fear, determined not to buckle. The path before him offered a kind of salvation to these people — a monstrous salvation, but the only one within reach.

  So he drew a final breath, letting the ashen taste lodge in his throat. Then he nodded, bitter acceptance closing around him like the darkness that never seemed to lift in this place.