Ashkell did not sit like someone who ruled.
She stood like someone who endured.
The fire crackled low between them, its light throwing long shadows across the interior of the stone shelter. Kael lay on a bed of woven scrap and hide, his body still aching in ways that felt older than the pain itself.
“You don’t ask many questions,” Ashkell said, testing the edge of her blade with her thumb.
Kael stared at the ceiling. “I’m afraid of the answers.”
She gave a humorless huff. “Good. Means you’ll live longer.”
She turned to face him fully.
“This settlement doesn’t exist,” she said. “Not officially. Not spiritually. Not morally.”
Kael frowned. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” she continued, “Heaven wrote us off.”
That word hit him harder than any Void predator.
“Heaven keeps records,” Ashkell said. “Judgments. Protections. Interventions. Cities under its gaze flourish. Cities outside it rot.”
She gestured vaguely upward.
“We were deemed inefficient.”
Kael’s stomach twisted.
“So you’re… punished?”
“No,” she said sharply. “We’re ignored. That’s worse.”
She crouched beside the fire, voice steady but edged with old anger.
“When Heaven withdraws attention, the world becomes honest. Hunger kills. Monsters hunt. Power belongs to whoever can take it.”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
She looked at him.
“And children don’t survive.”
Silence stretched.
Kael’s hands curled into the blanket.
“I shouldn’t be here,” he whispered.
Ashkell’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Why?”
He swallowed. “Someone died so I could live.”
That got her attention.
Ashkell studied him again—really looked this time. Not at his size or his weakness, but at the weight sitting behind his eyes.
“…That explains it,” she murmured.
“Explains what?”
“Why the perimeter didn’t react to you.”
Kael sat up slowly. “What?”
She stood abruptly and strode toward the shelter’s entrance, motioning for him to follow.
Outside, night had fallen. The settlement lay quiet but alert—watchfires lit, sentries posted, tension like a held breath.
Ashkell pointed toward a line of jagged stones embedded around the camp.
“Those are deterrents. Void-sensitive. Anything born of the Black that approaches gets noticed.”
Kael felt it then—a faint pressure, like static against his skin.
“They didn’t respond to you,” she said. “Not even a flicker.”
Kael’s chest tightened.
“That means one of two things,” Ashkell continued. “Either you’re not dangerous…”
She turned to him.
“…or something higher already touched you.”
Before Kael could respond—
A horn sounded.
Once.
Twice.
Then a third time, broken and panicked.
“CONTACT!” someone shouted. “WEST RIDGE—MULTIPLE SIGNS!”
The ground trembled.
Kael felt it instantly.
The hunger stirred.
Not raging.
Recognizing.
Ashkell swore and drew her blade. “Everyone to positions! Barrier teams, NOW!”
The air warped beyond the ridge.
The Black Expanse pushed back.
Creatures poured through the thinning veil—twisted silhouettes crawling on too many limbs, their bodies half-phased, leaking nothingness as they moved.
Void predators.
Not one.
Not two.
A wave.
The deterrent stones flared—then cracked.
“Why aren’t they stopping?” Kael shouted.
Ashkell’s face went pale.
“…They’re not here for us.”
The largest shape emerged last.
Tall. Narrow. Almost angelic in outline.
Its head tilted—slowly—until its empty gaze locked onto Kael.
The hunger screamed.
There you are.
The creature raised one elongated arm.
The world bent toward Kael.
Ashkell stepped in front of him without hesitation.
“No,” she snarled. “You don’t get him.”
She shouted over her shoulder, voice iron-hard.
“EVACUATE THE INNER RING! BUY TIME!”
The creature smiled.
Not with a mouth—
—but with absence.
And somewhere far above the Black Expanse—
Heaven’s systems registered a surge.
SUBJECT OUTSIDE THE RECORD — ACTIVE
CONTAINMENT FAILING
OBSERVATION ESCALATED
Kael’s chest burned.
The seal around his hunger cracked—just enough to hurt.
Just enough to matter.
