The Life After Death

  Chapter 22: The Scorched Path

  Travelling.

  In what felt like the blink of an eye—a single heartbeat lost between worlds.

  Yet I felt it all. The pull, the tear of space itself unravelling around me, the disorienting shift as I plunged into the void. There was no up, no down—just an endless, suffocating weightlessness that pressed against my skin, against my very soul. Time stretched and collapsed all at once, a paradox of sensation that my mind could barely grasp.

  Then—heat.

  A dry, suffocating warmth pressed against my skin, seeping into my clothes, clinging to my very bones.

  My body lay sprawled against the rough, cracked earth, the texture brittle beneath my fingertips. A sharp gust of wind swept past, coarse grains of sand dragging against my exposed skin like tiny daggers.

  I inhaled sharply, my lungs burning as dry air filled them. A cough wracked my chest, sending a wave of discomfort through my body.

  My limbs felt unresponsive, as though disconnected from me, my mana slightly drained from the passage through the rift. A strange haze clouded my thoughts, disorientation wrapping around me like a heavy fog. The world spun for a moment, my balance unsteady as I struggled to grasp what had happened.

  The rift. The fall. Asmodean.

  Panic surged through me as my eyes snapped open, my heart pounding against my ribs. The sky above was a dull, muted orange, the twin moons nowhere in sight. The wind howled through the desolation, carrying whispers of sand and solitude. "Where am I?"

  I pushed myself up, the world tilting around me as disorientation clung to my senses. My limbs felt sluggish, my mind struggling to break free from the lingering haze left by the rift.

  The remnants of the transition still clouded my thoughts, making each movement feel distant, like I wasn’t fully grounded in my own body.

  My breath hitched as I struggled to steady myself, my vision still hazy from the rift’s lingering effects. Then, instinctively, I did the only thing that made sense—I called out.

  "Asmodean!" My voice cracked, raw and desperate. Silence greeted me. No reassuring presence, no tired chuckle, nothing. My chest tightened, my pulse quickened.

  I clenched my jaw, inhaling sharply. If my voice wouldn’t reach him, then maybe... maybe he could still hear me the way he once spoke to me. I closed my eyes, focusing on the bond we shared, reaching out with my mind.

  Old man… say something.

  Still, nothing. Not even the faintest whisper of his presence. My heart pounded as I clung to the hope that maybe he was just weak, maybe the connection was strained.

  Then my fingers twitched, brushing against something solid in my robe. The orb. My stomach lurched. I pulled it out with shaking hands, my breath catching in my throat as I stared at it.

  The pulsating aura that once surrounded it was gone—silent. The abyssal black surface remained unchanged, but the energy that had once radiated from it had vanished, as if sealed away.

  Did Asmodean do this? He must have ensured that once he was gone, no one—nothing—would be able to sense it.

  I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening around it. It wasn’t empty. It couldn’t be. But it felt… quiet. Unreadable.

  He had given it to me. His Spirit manaheart.

  The weight of realization crashed into me, sharp and merciless. Asmodean is gone.

  My mind grasped for something, anything, to deny the truth. When I took the manaheart from the Spurhound, its body had disintegrated—flesh and bone reduced to nothing.

  Has that happened to Asmodean too? Had he simply faded into dust, leaving only this orb in my hands? The thought sent a cold shudder through me, tightening around my throat like a vice.

  I fought against it, gripping the orb tighter, my hands trembling. "No… No, no, no…" I screamed against the truth, trying to reject it, trying to push back against the finality of it all.

  He couldn’t be gone. He was too strong, too stubborn.

  But then the image flashed in my mind—the green spear of light piercing through him, the way his blood had poured out—spilling across the cavern floor, dark and endless. There had been so much blood.

  My lips parted, but no words came. Just a ragged, broken breath.

  I hunched over, pressing the orb to my forehead as my vision blurred. Tears spilled, hot and unchecked, sliding down my cheeks, dripping onto my hands, onto the dust-covered ground below. My body shook as I clung to the last thing he left me, grief pressing against my ribs like a vice.

  I didn’t care about the heat, the dryness in my throat, or the lifeless wasteland surrounding me. The only thing that mattered was the emptiness in my hands, in my chest, in the space he once filled.

  I didn’t move nor think. I just sat there, curled around the last piece of him, letting the weight of loss settle over me.

  The world blurred, silent except for the wind—dry and barren, carrying subtle whispers of sand as tiny particles blew over me. The soft grit coated my fingers, catching in my breath, but I barely noticed. My quiet, gasping sobs broke the stillness, swallowed by the desolate expanse around me.

  After what seemed like minutes of sobbing, I inhaled sharply, the wind drying the last traces of tears on my face.

  Asmodean’s final words echoed in my mind—Live a good life.

  He had asked this of me, entrusted me with something greater than grief. I clenched my jaw, swallowing the ache in my chest, forcing myself to move forward.

  With a deep, steadying breath, I sat up, wiping at my face with the sleeve of my robe. My fingers trembled, but I ignored it. I had to push on. I had to look forward.

  And with that, I forced myself to look around.

  As my vision steadied, the full scope of the land stretched out before me, bleak and unrelenting. The cracked ground beneath me was a mosaic of deep fissures, as if the earth itself had been starved of life for centuries. The land extended in all directions, devoid of greenery, devoid of motion—just endless, broken terrain swallowed by the heat.

  Was this Aetheria?

  Jagged rock formations jutted out of the ground like the bones of a long-dead titan, their edges sharp and weathered by the constant winds. The wind carried a whisper of movement, lifting thin veils of dust from the cracked surface, swirling them lazily before setting them down again. Each gust felt dry, hollow, as though the very air had been stripped of moisture, leaving behind only the weight of heat and silence.

  Nothing lived here. Not a single tree, not even the shrivelled remains of past vegetation. Just land, stretching endlessly, offering no sign of water, shelter, or life.

  My throat tightened. This wasn’t the Aetheria I had imagined.

  Then, realization hit me like a punch to the gut.

  The one thing Asmodean told me to do when I went through the rift.

  Focus my mana. Focus on my family. Follow the connection.

  And I had forgotten.

  I had been so consumed by Asmodean’s final moments, by the chaos, by the overwhelming grief—I had neglected the one instruction that could have led me to my family. Now, I had no idea where the hell I was.

  I let out a slow, uneven breath, looking at my surroundings with fresh eyes.

  I furrowed my brow. "Am I still in Aether?"

  Everything about this place felt different from anything I had ever known—the air too dry, the ground too cracked.

  It was the exact opposite of the rainforest I had struggled through for months, where the air had clung to my skin like a second layer, life bursting in every direction.

  There, the mana had been overwhelming, saturating every leaf, every drop of water, humming with untamed energy. Here? It felt as though the land itself had been drained, left barren and brittle.

  I slowly pushed myself upright, brushing off the thin layer of sand that had settled over me.

  The disorientation and haze that had clouded my sight finally lifted, leaving behind a strange clarity. I took a slow breath, grounding myself in the moment as I turned in place to take in the full scope of my surroundings.

  My eyes narrowed as I caught sight of something far in the distance—a faint silhouette against the horizon. Squinting, I could barely make out the vague shape of structures, clustered together like a small, forgotten town.

  For the first time in what felt like forever, there was a chance—people. Civilization. My heart skipped at the thought. I had been alone with Asmodean for so long, the idea of seeing another person felt almost foreign.

  A small grin tugged at my lips before I shook my head. "I swear, if this is just a pile of rocks that looks like a town, I'm going to lose it."

  My chest rose with a slow breath. It wasn’t much, but it was something. A destination. A sliver of hope.

  The hope in my chest grew, enough to push away the lingering grief. If nothing else, I could find some answers. Maybe even food. Definitely water. Anything was better than standing in the middle of nowhere questioning my life choices.

  With a reluctant sigh, I tucked the orb securely back into my robe, feeling its weight press against my chest. I gave my dagger a quick tug, making sure it was still tightly strapped to my side before setting off toward the distant town.

  After just a few steps, I was already regretting it. "Of course, it couldn’t be right next to me," I muttered, kicking at a loose rock. "Nope. Instead, I get to take the scenic route across this grand, exciting stretch of absolute nothingness."

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  The wind howled in response, carrying another wave of dry heat that sucked the moisture straight from my mouth. I let out a bitter laugh. "Honestly, if the rift was going to toss me into an unfamiliar land, the least it could’ve done was drop me into an oasis. You know, somewhere with water, shade, maybe a fruit tree or two."

  I walked. And walked. And walked some more.

  What felt like an hour passed, maybe two, yet the town in the distance seemed no closer than when I had started. The heat bore down on me, the wind carrying small waves of dust that clung to my already dry skin. I sighed, tugging my hood up over my head, shielding myself from the worst of it. The fabric helped, but not by much.

  At this rate, I’d be a sun-dried corpse before I get there.

  With another tired breath, I reached inside myself, pulling the faintest thread of water magic to my fingertips. I let a few drops form against my palm, just enough to wet my lips and ease the dryness in my throat before dispersing the rest. It was a delicate balance—keeping me hydrated without wasting too much mana.

  As I trudged forward, the wind began to pick up, a steady increase rather than the occasional gust. I squinted at the horizon, noting the way the sand stirred more aggressively, the air thickening with dust.

  Something told me this trek was about to get a whole lot worse.

  The sun was starting to set, its descent painting the sky in deeper shades of orange and red. Yet, somehow, the air only grew hotter, as if the land itself was releasing the day’s trapped heat all at once.

  I wiped the sweat from my brow. "Sure, because that makes sense. The sun goes down, and it gets hotter."

  Then, all of a sudden, a massive rustling sound tore through the wind.

  I spun around, my heart lurching. In the distance, a wall of sand surged forward, rolling and twisting like a living thing. My eyes widened—a sandstorm.

  Instinct kicked in as I threw up my arm, shielding my face just as the first sting of sand struck my skin. The wind howled, fierce and unrelenting, sending a wave of grit against me. I had a few minutes, maybe less, before I was swallowed whole.

  I turned and bolted, feet dragging through the cracked terrain as I pushed my body forward. I wasn’t sure if I could outrun it, but I wasn’t about to just stand there and find out.

  Each step felt heavier than the last, exhaustion creeping in. My stomach clenched with hunger, my limbs burning from the hours of walking.

  My breath came in ragged pants. I’m not going to make it.

  I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to keep moving. But deep down, I knew the truth.

  I had to wait it out.

  I cursed under my breath, my fingers twitching. Think, Emrys. Think.

  The memory of Brannick flashed in my mind—the way he used earth magic to shield against debris. My control was nowhere near as good as his, but just maybe.

  Slamming my open palms against the ground, I willed the earth to rise.

  The dry earth rumbled beneath my fingertips as I willed the ground to shift, pulling jagged chunks upward, pressing them together in a rough arch. Loose grains of sand trickled down the uneven surface, settling into the cracks, but the structure held.

  The moment the last piece snapped into place, the wind howled against it, a furious blast of grit and dust slamming into the barrier like a beast denied its prey.

  I exhaled sharply, pressing a hand against the inner wall, feeling the raw, unstable energy pulsing through it. It wasn’t pretty—hell, it looked like it could collapse if I sneezed too hard—but it was better than being flayed alive by the storm outside. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do.

  As I settled within the cramped shelter, I quickly realized a problem—the air inside was thick, heavy. Too heavy. My breath felt shallow, the enclosed space trapping heat and depleting oxygen faster than I anticipated. A thin sheen of sweat clung to my skin, and with each inhale, my chest felt tighter, like I was breathing in nothing but warmth.

  My lungs tightened, and a surge of panic crept up my spine. Brannick’s barrier had an air pocket—mine doesn’t.

  My thoughts grew sluggish, the lack of fresh air making my head swim. Damn it... I didn’t think this through.

  I clenched my teeth, forcing myself to focus, but my vision blurred at the edges.

  The storm raged outside, the wind hammering against one side of the dome with relentless force. My fingers trembled slightly as I pressed my palm against the opposite side, feeling the cool roughness of the earth.

  I willed the ground to shift again, carving out two small holes, the effort sluggish from my fading strength.

  For a moment, nothing happened—then, a faint breeze filtered in, cool and sharp against my sweat-damp skin. I gasped, sucking in the fresh air as the pressure inside the dome equalized. It wasn’t perfect, but at least I could breathe again.

  The air felt better, though small trickles of sand seeped in through the openings, collecting in tiny mounds at my feet as the storm continued its assault.

  I exhaled, rubbing the back of my neck. My chest rose and fell as I took deeper breaths, feeling the dizziness fade and my mind sharpen again. The suffocating haze in my head began to clear, leaving me hyper-aware of how close I had come to passing out.

  I wiped a damp sleeve across my forehead, a weak chuckle escaping me. "Well, not ideal, but at least I won’t suffocate."

  With a flick of my fingers, I summoned a small flame in my palm, casting a dim glow inside my makeshift shelter.

  Using the flickering firelight, I quickly placed my belongings to the side, ensuring nothing would be buried beneath the creeping sand. My fingers hesitated only for a moment before pulling the orb from my robe, its smooth surface cool against my fingertips. I stared at it, swallowing hard, before carefully setting it beside me.

  With a sigh, I loosened the ties of my robe, shrugging it off and spreading it beneath me. It wasn’t much, but at least it gave me something softer than rock to rest my head on.

  I settled down, shifting against the fabric before glancing at the orb once more. Without thinking, I pulled it close, wrapping my arms around it as if it would somehow bring me comfort.

  It was all I had left of him. The last tangible piece of Asmodean.

  As I closed my palm, darkness swallowed the dome. Only the howling wind and the relentless pelting of sand against the walls filled the silence.

  My thoughts drifted, unbidden, to my family. Are they safe? Are they even alive?

  The crushing uncertainty gnawed at me, a constant weight pressing against my chest. I wish—more than anything—that they could have met you Asmodean.

  I could almost picture it—Asmodean’s gruff demeanor clashing with Helena’s fiery spirit. She would’ve argued with him endlessly, challenging his every cryptic answer with stubborn determination.

  Perhaps, in another life, he could have been a grandfather figure to her too. Maybe even family.

  My throat tightened as exhaustion and hunger pulled at the edges of my mind. The ache in my heart was unbearable, a deep, twisting pain that refused to subside. A single tear slipped down my cheek, lost in the darkness.

  As sleep finally took over me, I had one last thought as I drifted away. I had been given this second chance… yet I still couldn’t protect the people who meant the most to me.

  A sharp knocking sound jolted me awake.

  My eyes fluttered open, groggy and disoriented. For a moment, I struggled to remember where I was. Then it came again—rapid, scattered taps against the dome’s outer shell. My heart clenched. Was it people? Has someone found me?

  I strained my ears, listening. But there was no howling wind, no shifting storm outside. Just the sound of tiny scurrying feet. Frowning, I pressed my palm to the dome and willed it down. The earth shifted beneath my touch, crumbling away as sunlight flooded in, blinding me.

  I hissed, instinctively throwing up an arm over my eyes. Way too bright.

  Blinking rapidly, my vision adjusted to the sudden shift, and I finally saw the source of the knocking.

  Rodents. Dozens of them.

  They darted around the remains of my dome, their small bodies skittering over the cracked earth, tails flicking as they sniffed at the disturbed ground.

  My lip curled. "Seriously? This is what woke me up?"

  And then my stomach growled—loudly.

  I groaned, rubbing a hand over my face. Of course. I hadn't eaten in… I didn't even know how long. The hunger hit me like a punch to the gut, making my limbs feel heavier, my head foggier.

  As disgusting as the thought was, food was food.

  I pushed myself up with a sigh, stretching out my sore limbs before setting my sights on the rodents. "Alright, little guys, you picked the wrong spot to scavenge."

  With a flick of my wrist, I summoned a gust of air, sending it sweeping under the creatures. They squeaked in alarm as they lifted off the ground, their tiny legs flailing mid-air. I grinned, quickly snatching a few out of the air before dispelling the magic. The rest of the rodents bolted the moment they hit the ground, disappearing into the dunes.

  Holding my prize in one hand, I used the other to draw mana into the earth beneath me. With careful precision, I shaped the hardened rock into thin, pointed sticks, snapping them loose once they reached the right size.

  "Look at me," I muttered to myself. "Master chef, improvising on the go."

  I skewered the rodents onto the makeshift spits and ignited a small flame in my palm. Slowly, I rotated the meat, letting the fire do its work. At first, it seemed like I had it under control. The fur burned away, the flesh crisping slightly, the scent—well, tolerable.

  Then I got cocky.

  One flick of too much heat, and the entire skewer burst into flames.

  "Oh, come on!" I cursed, waving my hand to extinguish it, but the damage was done. The once-edible rodent was now a blackened husk of char and regret.

  I scowled at it before begrudgingly reaching for my next one. "Alright. Round two. Less incineration, more cooking."

  This time, I took it slower, carefully turning the meat over the controlled flame. After a few minutes, it was cooked enough to be 'technically' edible. I blew on it and took a hesitant bite, wincing at the gamy texture. "Mmm… delicious," I deadpanned. "Truly, a meal fit for a king."

  Choking down the rest, I dusted off my hands and stood, setting my sights back on the distant town. With my stomach no longer gnawing at me, I could focus.

  The structures were much clearer now, no longer a mirage on the horizon. I could make out what looked like crude wooden buildings, sun-bleached and worn. They weren’t large, but they stood resilient against the elements. The sight alone filled me with determination.

  "Alright," adjusting my dagger at my side. I tugged at my robe, making sure it was properly secured, then pressed my hand over my chest, feeling the solid weight of the orb tucked safely inside.

  I exhaled, steadying myself. "Let’s see what this place has to offer."

  With that, I started walking.

  The further I went, the more the sun bore down on me, its heat growing relentless. Sweat clung to my skin, my robe feeling heavier with each passing step. The occasional gust of wind did nothing to cool me down—if anything, it only kicked up more dust, making the dry air even harder to breathe.

  I pulled my hood further over my head, shielding my face as best as I could. The urge to drain what little mana I had left into water magic was strong, but I knew better. Instead, I rationed it, summoning just enough moisture to wet my lips and throat before dispersing the spell.

  "I swear, if I keep this up, I’ll be the first person to die from dehydration while technically having water magic."

  I trudged on, my legs growing heavier, my pace slower. The town still looked just as far as before.

  "You have got to be kidding me, it’s like walking on a treadmill. The closer I get, the further it moves back."

  Hours passed—at least, it felt like it. The sun had reached its peak, casting a blinding glare over the wasteland. Every step sent fresh waves of heat radiating up from the cracked earth, cooking me from below just as the sun roasted me from above.

  Finally—after what felt like an eternity—the town stood before me.

  I slowed my steps, my gaze scanning the settlement. It wasn’t large, nor was it lively. The wooden buildings were aged and weathered, some partially collapsed, others barely holding together.

  The roads—if they could even be called that—were little more than dirt pathways lined with scattered debris. The whole place felt… abandoned.

  Yet, it wasn’t.

  Figures dotted the sides of the buildings, most lying against the wooden walls, motionless. A few people sat in the shade, their clothes ragged, their faces sunken with exhaustion. Those who moved did so sluggishly, their steps dragging across the ground like every ounce of energy had long since been drained from them.

  I frowned. This place… it’s like a town for the dead.

  The more I walked, the more uneasy I became. There were no markets, no merchants shouting about their wares. No children running through the streets. Just weary figures, barely acknowledging my presence.

  Yet, as I moved further in, I felt their eyes on me.

  Not all of them—just a few. Silent stares from hollow gazes, peeking out from the shade, watching me as I passed. There was no hostility, no immediate danger, but something about the way they looked at me made my instincts coil.

  I rested a hand near my dagger, keeping my pace even. Just in case.

  Then, a flicker of movement caught my eye—a swinging door, creaking as the wind nudged it back and forth. The worn-out sign above it was too faded to read, but the setup was unmistakable. A bar.

  My throat felt drier just looking at it. Water. That’s all I care about right now.

  Ignoring the lingering stares, I made my way toward the entrance, stepping through the doorway. The second I entered, the air inside felt different—heavy, thick with an unspoken tension.

  The place fell into silence.

  About fifteen sets of eyes turned to me. Ragged men, some hunched over wooden tables, others leaning back against the bar, each one armed—knives, rusted swords, and even the occasional club resting at their sides. Their expressions ranged from indifferent to mildly intrigued.

  I swallowed, but kept my stride steady as I approached the counter.

  The bartender, a wiry man with sun-darkened skin, wiped a glass with a dirtied cloth, barely sparing me a glance. I cleared my throat, forcing my voice to sound steady.

  "Could I get some water, please?"

  The bartender's hand stilled for a moment before he set the glass down, his gaze flicking up to meet mine. His eyes were unreadable, a mixture of mild curiosity and something I couldn’t quite place.

  Before he could respond, movement in the corner of my eye caught my attention. A lone figure sat at the farthest table, partially obscured by shadow. Unlike the others, it wasn’t slouched in exhaustion or idly nursing a drink. They sat still, watching.

  A long hood draped over their head, concealing their face, but their posture was different—poised, controlled. Even from a distance, there was an air of undeniable sharpness, as if they were perfectly aware of every movement in the room.

  A quiet intensity radiated from the figure, like a coiled snake waiting for the right moment to strike.

  Before I could think further, the bartender finally spoke, his voice dry and indifferent.

  "Water’s not free, kid."

  The silence that followed carried an edge to it, as if everyone was waiting to see how I would respond.