Ashes Of War [v1.0] -

They called it the Ashing. It had been seven years since the Great Compact was shattered, and the skies had never truly cleared.

Silas looked back at the small, shivering cluster of campfires tucked into the ruins of a collapsed watchtower. A handful of hollow-eyed refugees and three wounded soldiers were all that remained of a proud garrison. Ashes of War [v1.0]

"Enough to carry the memory," Silas replied, his voice barely louder than the whistling wind. "And that is all we have left." They called it the Ashing

Instantly, the oil sizzled. A faint, ethereal glow emanated from the rust, casting a sickly blue light across Silas’s gaunt face. This was the residual echo of the magic that had ended the war. The world was dead, but the weapons still hungered. A handful of hollow-eyed refugees and three wounded

Silas did not look up. He knew the heavy, labored breathing of Bram, his squad’s last surviving shield-bearer. "I know," Silas murmured. "I’m just checking for salvage. Every scrap of iron counts if we are going to make it through the Pass."

The grey snow fell not from the clouds, but from the smoldering bones of the world.

Bram grunted, leaning heavily on a walking axe that had long since lost its edge. "Scraps won't buy us bread in the Lowlands. Assuming the Lowlands haven't burned just as bright as the Ridge."