Grim Dawn The Sacred Ashes Novels & Stories

Ashes at Dawn The smoke still hung over Crescent when dawn broke, a gray veil drifting low across the hills as if the Moon Goddess herself had lowered her head in mourning. The air stank of burned timber and blood. Wolves patrolled the perimeter, some limping, some barely upright, but all stubbornly clinging to their duty. Crescent’s once-proud courtyard was now a triage yard. Blankets, makeshift cots, and the faint copper tang of spilled life covered the stones that only yesterday had been scrubbed for wedding preparations.

Then, they transformed. Two massive wolves snarled and lunged, brawling in the ashes. Ash and soot clouded the air as the wolves clashed, fangs bared, fury unleashed. They didn’t stop until they were completely spent. Finally, they collapsed apart, panting, scorched and scraped. Jones slumped down, face ashen, despair written in every line on his face.

~ CAIN ~ I scan the bar with narrowed eyes, tracking every supernatural patron lounging at the booths or hunched over the counters. I’m in The Grit—the only place in Ashridge Hollow where all supernaturals dare to mingle and conduct business without starting a war. It’s in the grittier part of town, the kind of place humans steer clear of. The ones who do show up know better than to act out. Everyone fears Draven, the owner of the joint. One wrong move, and you’re walking out in a body bag—if you’re lucky.

The ground glowed faintly beneath their boots, like ash soaked in moonlight. Ezra stood at the edge of a basin, staring down into a valley that didn’t feel like part of this world. The wind had stopped. The sky held still. Below them stretched a perfect circle of scorched black earth, rimmed with jagged rock and pale white vines curling like veins. His mark flared—not in warning, but in recognition. “This is it,” Mira whispered. Her voice was soft, reverent. “The Ashlight Cradle.” “Looks more like a graveyard,” Jorrin muttered.

Coated with black skin and eyes just as red and demonic. “Retreat!” Ascena calls out to all, her voice echoing over the chaos. There is no flight. There is only fight at his point. Crimson leaps in front of us, His fur form large and vibrating with rage. His fur bristles and his teeth gleam. Aimed at Senko. “Join me son, or meet your fate with your friends,” Senko says to Crimson. Crimson roars at his father. Challenging him when Senko’s shadows begin to overshadow him. Taking hold of the Grimalkin whose whole body begins to glow – fighting off the magic that is slowly going to kill him.

Byron's scream tore through the black mist, laced with horror and disbelief. The holy light was evaporating the darkness around him, burning it away, purifying it faster than it could regenerate. Andrew gripped his greatsword with both hands and brought it down in a single, earth-shattering slash. White light spiraled around the blade like a tidal wave crashing forward. The black mist exploded. The impact tore through the Umbral Peak Sect's gates, ripping apart the stone archways and sending entire sections of the entrance collapsing inward. Disciples who had not managed to escape in time were crushed on the spot, killed instantly by falling debris.

He reached out with a withered, gnarled hand—trying to grasp me, to touch my face one last time. "I'm... so... sorry..." His lips moved, soundless, forming those three words—too late by a lifetime. But his hand fell, limp and lifeless, against the freezing floor. And in that instant, as his eyes closed for good, my spirit dissolved—scattering like starlight into the endless snow. Every debt, every grudge, every wound—all of it faded into dust. If there is a next life, Father, let us never meet again.

The wind scattered the ashes, and the rain soaked them, washing them away little by little amidst the flowing water. Sheila fell out of her wheelchair and hit the ground. Ignoring the pain, she crawled toward the drain, desperately trying to gather the ashes with her hands. It was hopeless. "My baby… My baby..." She could only watch as her child's ashes slowly disappeared. There was nothing she could do. It felt as though someone had torn her heart apart. She knelt in the mud, sobbing as she reached deep into the drain again and again. Her hands quickly became caked with filth, but she kept searching.

She sobbed. To my utter shock, Samael hugged her. She didn't resist. He clutched her to him like a dying child, his gaze fierce. “They will have retribution,” he said, voice like ice. He turned his eyes to Damien. “Damien, summon your pack. I need the area scouted.” He reached into his pocket, withdrawing what looked like grave dust. He handed him the silty ash. Damien lifted it to his nose, then breathed deeply. He cringed. “Smells like rotting meat.”

Hot tears. They burned my red bumpy skin. “Help. Anyone?” My voice was raspy. I didn't only feel fear. I could taste it slithering down my throat. I felt a presence. A strong presence. Superior. Powerful. “Embrace it.” A thick and uneven whispering voice spoke. The ash I tried to scrub off from my body slowly dispersed into the air, forming a ball of thick dark fog. Fiery eyes shone from within the fog. “Embrace it.” It said louder, more austere.