All Chapters of Where Ashes and Oaths Collide: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

As Escuro and Salvaxe approached the cottage an old man came out. He has long, unkempt grey hair that falls in uneven strands around his face and shoulders, tangled and coarse, while his thick beard– also grey and streaked with darker remnants– spreads across his chest in a wild, natural mass. There are deep lines carved into his face, especially around his eyes and mouth, giving him a weathered, almost carved appearance, as though time itself has etched its passage into his skin. He was dressed in worn, layered clothing made of rough wool frayed at the edges and patched in places. A thick fur coat is draped over his shoulders, heavy and unrefined, its texture coarse and uneven. The sleeves of his garments are tattered, revealing glimpses of his aged hands, which are rough and calloused. The old man stood in the doorway of his cottage, one hand gripping the warped wooden frame the other trembling at his side as he spotted the two figures emerging through the trees.

“If we go back down there and stop the water from flowing? What then?” Escuro asked, still not sure if he entirely beliefs all this. The old man’s eyes darted to the corner of the room, as if checking to see if the shadows themselves were listening. “You go down there, you are walking into a throat,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “The mechanism is not just a lever. It is connected to something. Something that breathes.” He picked up the mug again but did not drink. His fingers drumming a nervous rhythm against the clay. “If you stop the flow, you might seal it back up. Or you might provoke what is underneath to come looking for you. There is no clean way out of this, boy. You either let it happen and watch the whole valley turn into something unrecognizable, or you go down there and pray you are faster than whatever is waiting.” He paused, his gaze settling on Escuro. “Fine,” Escuro said and

Salvaxe walked over to the cable, crouching beside it. He reached out and touched the thick, braided material. It was not hemp or rope– it felt like something organic, cold and slightly rubbery, pulsing with a faint, internal rhythm. “You are right about that,” he said, pulling his hand back. “It is not just a cable. It is like a vein.” He looked at the torch on the wall, then back at the cable. “If we can’t cut it, maybe we can short it out? or burn it? He paused, his brow furrowing. “But if this thing is connected to the fountain and the fountain is connected to… whatever the old man was talking about… maybe we should not be touching it at all.” He stood up, wiping his hands on his trousers. “Wait. It the device is gone, and someone took it… where would they go?” Salvaxe asked, as the question popped into his head. “It was probably Estrela,” Escuro said with a deep voice, his min

Hesitantly, Escuro drank and nothing happened. The courtyard fell into an absolute, suffocating silence. The dock workers stared, their mechanical breathing the only sound against the backdrop of the crashing surf. Estrela’s jaw tightened. Her light green eyes narrowed, scanning Escuro’s face for any sign of deception– a tremor in his hands, a flush in her cheeks, anything. But her stood there defiant and unchanged. “Impossible,” she breathed. “You are lying,” Estrela said, her voice trembling with a rage she could no longer hide behind her calm façade. Estrela stepped toward Escuro, her movements jagged and uncoordinated for the first time since she had changed. “My mother is a high priestess of the order of Gan,” he said standing tall. “I have been blessed with the ability to resist all forms of magic and curses.” The dock workers’ collective gaze shifted from his to her. For the fi

After days at sea, the ship came to a stop and the hold door creaked open, and a harsh, blinding light flooded the compartment. Escuro squinted, shielding his eyes as he was hauled up the gangplank. The city of Cidade dos escravos stretched out before them, a sprawling, suffocating landscape of stone and iron. It was not built around a harbour so much as it consumed it. Massive walls rose from the sea, carved from sandstone, and the air was Thich with the smell of smoke, sweat, and something metallic– like blood on a hot blade. Escuro saw them everywhere. Chains clinking against cobblestones, men and women in rags being marched in lines, their heads bowed. The city breathed with a heavy, rhythmic labour that felt eerily similar to the pulse of the cable back on the island. “Welcome to Cidade dos escravos,” one of the dock workers said, his voice flat and devoid of any welcome. He gave Escuro a shoved toward the docks where a lone of armed guards waited.