The Road of Ashes
The dirt road stretched before them, narrow and uneven, its edges lined with weeds that swayed in the wind. The silence of the village clung to their clothes, heavy as dust. Every step felt like they were dragging the weight of stone behind them.
Andrew kicked at the gravel, his voice sharp. “We left them. Just ran. Didn’t even try.”
Fox didn’t look back. “There was nothing we could do. That thing had them. It wasn’t sickness—it was possession.”
Nathan’s voice was low, almost a whisper. “But they were alive. I touched one. She was warm. She knew we were there.”
Michael gripped the journal tighter, his knuckles white. “Alive, yes. But trapped. You saw what happened when we lingered—the whispers, the shadows. If we’d stayed, we’d be statues too.”
Andrew spat into the ditch. “Feels like cowardice.”
Fox stopped, turning on him. His eyes burned. “Cowardice is dying for nothing. Survival means living long enough to fight back.”
The words hung between them, sharp and final.
The road bent through a stand of trees, and there it was: a farmhouse, blackened and skeletal, its roof collapsed, its walls charred. The smell of ash lingered faintly, though the fire had long since died.
Fox froze. His breath caught. “I know this place.”
Nathan glanced at him. “From before?”
Fox nodded slowly. “Samantha Jones. Her family lived here. I came once… years ago.”
Andrew frowned. “What happened?”
Fox’s jaw tightened. “Debauchery. Madness. They tore at each other like animals. I barely made it out alive.”
Michael scanned the ruins. “Looks like the fire finished what they started.”
Fox stepped closer, his boots crunching over brittle wood. He crouched near the threshold, running his fingers across the scorched frame. “This was the beginning. The county doesn’t forget. It just… reshapes.”
Nathan shivered. “So Penryn isn’t just a town. It’s a wound.”
Fox stood, his face grim. “And wounds fester.”
They walked on, the farmhouse shrinking behind them. The road narrowed, twisting through fields that seemed too quiet, too still. The wind carried faint echoes—laughter, screams, whispers—but when they turned, there was nothing.
Andrew broke the silence. “What if Penryn’s worse than the village?”
Fox didn’t answer at first. His eyes stayed fixed on the crooked signpost ahead. Finally, he said, “It will be worse. Penryn doesn’t change. It only pretends.”
Nathan’s voice trembled. “Then why go?”
Fox’s reply was cold. “Because Dane County doesn’t give us a choice.”
Michael muttered, “Every road leads deeper.”
Fox’s voice was low. “We shouldn’t go there.”
But the road stretched forward, narrow and inevitable.
The boys stood there, puzzled by Fox’s grim warning, when suddenly the sound of clapping broke the silence. Slow. Deliberate. Mocking.
All four turned. Perched on a branch above them, legs swinging lazily, sat a young man in his twenties. His clothes were a Motley of mismatched colors, stitched together like a jester’s garb. His grin was wide, his eyes sharp, and he clapped his hands with exaggerated flourish.
“Well done, boys,” he said with a lisp, voice lilting like a song. “I can see now why the Yellow Queen likes you.”
Nathan stiffened. “Who the hell are you?”
The man dropped lightly from the branch, landing with a bow so deep it was almost mocking. “Oh, forgive me, handsome. I am Number Three.”
Andrew blinked. “Number Three?”
Fox’s face went pale. He whispered, “Unbound.”
Michael frowned. “Unbound? What does that mean?”
Fox’s voice was tight. “He’s one of them. The Unbound. Omnipotents. They don’t follow rules. They don’t answer to anyone.”
Andrew scoffed, though unease flickered in his eyes. “So this nut job is one of the Unbound?”
Fox’s jaw clenched. “Don’t, Andrew. He can wipe you out of existence with a thought.”
Number Three clapped again, slower this time, his grin widening. “Oh, Fox Smith knows his lore. Clever boy. Yes, I am Unbound. And you, all of you, amuse me.”
Nathan stepped forward cautiously. “Why are you here?”
Number Three tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “Because the Queen watches. Because the county whispers. Because you ran from the village and lived. Few do. Fewer still catch her eye.”
Michael’s grip tightened on the journal. “The Yellow Queen… she sent you?”
Number Three laughed, high and sharp. “Sent? No, no, no. She doesn’t send. She beckons. And when she beckons, we listen.”
He stepped closer, his motley shifting in the wind, colors flickering unnaturally. “You boys are entertaining. Brave, foolish, deliciously afraid. The Queen likes that. She likes you.”
Nathan swallowed hard. “And if we don’t want her attention?”
Number Three’s grin widened, teeth too sharp. “Then you shouldn’t have walked through her county.”
Andrew’s voice was sharp. “Was it you? Did you do that—turn that whole town to stone?”
Number Three clapped once, slow and mocking. “Me? Oh, no, no, no. I don’t waste my talents on statues. That was something older. Something hungrier.”
Nathan stepped forward, fists clenched. “Then why are you here?”
Number Three’s eyes gleamed. “Because I enjoy the performance. And you boys… you ran well. You screamed inside, but you kept moving. That entertains me.”
Michael’s voice was tight. “So you just watched them die?”
Number Three’s grin faltered, then returned sharper than before. “Die? Oh, no. They’re not dead. They’re caught. Suspended. Forever afraid. That’s better than death, don’t you think?”
Fox’s jaw clenched. “You’re Unbound. You could stop it.”
Number Three leaned closer, his lisp curling around the words. “Stop it? Why would I stop perfection? Fear frozen in stone, terror preserved like art. The Queen admires such things. And so do I.”
Andrew muttered, “You’re insane.”
Fox’s voice was low, steady. “No. He’s worse than insane. He’s real.”
Number Three clapped again, loud and final. “And real things, Fox Smith, are the ones you should fear.”
Number Three’s grin widened. “Tell me, boys… have you found it yet?”
Nathan frowned. “Found what?”
“The City of Dreams,” Number Three whispered, savoring the words. “A box of metal, plain and cold, with a glass tower piercing the sky. The thing that birthed the multiverse itself.”
Andrew scoffed. “City of Dreams? Never heard of it.”
Michael shook his head. “We’ve seen villages, ruins, curses—but no city.”
Fox froze. His face tightened. “The Queen told me. She said we’d have to find it. That all of us—together—were meant to go looking.”
Andrew’s eyes widened. “Wait—you knew about this? And you didn’t say anything?”
Fox’s jaw clenched. “Because it’s not a place you want to find. It’s the root of everything. The Queen said it was where the multiverse began.”
Number Three laughed, high and sharp. “Oh, it’s real. And when you see it, you’ll know. Its tower shines across every world, every path, every nightmare. The Queen knows it well—she was born from its shadow.”
Fox’s voice was cold. “We’re not looking for it.”
Number Three bowed low, his motley shifting like smoke. “You don’t have to look. The City of Dreams is patient. It will find you.”
He clapped once more—sharp, final. But this time, the sound didn’t echo. It folded inward.
His form shimmered, colors bleeding into the wind. The grin stayed a moment longer than the body, suspended in air like a mask. Then it too dissolved.
The boys stood frozen. The road to Penryn stretched ahead, but now it felt watched.
Fox’s voice was barely audible. “We shouldn’t go to Penryn.”
But the road offered no other choice.
Andrew kicked at the gravel, his voice sharp. “We left them. Just ran. Didn’t even try.”
Fox didn’t look back. “There was nothing we could do. That thing had them. It wasn’t sickness—it was possession.”
Nathan’s voice was low, almost a whisper. “But they were alive. I touched one. She was warm. She knew we were there.”
Michael gripped the journal tighter, his knuckles white. “Alive, yes. But trapped. You saw what happened when we lingered—the whispers, the shadows. If we’d stayed, we’d be statues too.”
Andrew spat into the ditch. “Feels like cowardice.”
Fox stopped, turning on him. His eyes burned. “Cowardice is dying for nothing. Survival means living long enough to fight back.”
The words hung between them, sharp and final.
The road bent through a stand of trees, and there it was: a farmhouse, blackened and skeletal, its roof collapsed, its walls charred. The smell of ash lingered faintly, though the fire had long since died.
Fox froze. His breath caught. “I know this place.”
Nathan glanced at him. “From before?”
Fox nodded slowly. “Samantha Jones. Her family lived here. I came once… years ago.”
Andrew frowned. “What happened?”
Fox’s jaw tightened. “Debauchery. Madness. They tore at each other like animals. I barely made it out alive.”
Michael scanned the ruins. “Looks like the fire finished what they started.”
Fox stepped closer, his boots crunching over brittle wood. He crouched near the threshold, running his fingers across the scorched frame. “This was the beginning. The county doesn’t forget. It just… reshapes.”
Nathan shivered. “So Penryn isn’t just a town. It’s a wound.”
Fox stood, his face grim. “And wounds fester.”
They walked on, the farmhouse shrinking behind them. The road narrowed, twisting through fields that seemed too quiet, too still. The wind carried faint echoes—laughter, screams, whispers—but when they turned, there was nothing.
Andrew broke the silence. “What if Penryn’s worse than the village?”
Fox didn’t answer at first. His eyes stayed fixed on the crooked signpost ahead. Finally, he said, “It will be worse. Penryn doesn’t change. It only pretends.”
Nathan’s voice trembled. “Then why go?”
Fox’s reply was cold. “Because Dane County doesn’t give us a choice.”
Michael muttered, “Every road leads deeper.”
Fox’s voice was low. “We shouldn’t go there.”
But the road stretched forward, narrow and inevitable.
The boys stood there, puzzled by Fox’s grim warning, when suddenly the sound of clapping broke the silence. Slow. Deliberate. Mocking.
All four turned. Perched on a branch above them, legs swinging lazily, sat a young man in his twenties. His clothes were a Motley of mismatched colors, stitched together like a jester’s garb. His grin was wide, his eyes sharp, and he clapped his hands with exaggerated flourish.
“Well done, boys,” he said with a lisp, voice lilting like a song. “I can see now why the Yellow Queen likes you.”
Nathan stiffened. “Who the hell are you?”
The man dropped lightly from the branch, landing with a bow so deep it was almost mocking. “Oh, forgive me, handsome. I am Number Three.”
Andrew blinked. “Number Three?”
Fox’s face went pale. He whispered, “Unbound.”
Michael frowned. “Unbound? What does that mean?”
Fox’s voice was tight. “He’s one of them. The Unbound. Omnipotents. They don’t follow rules. They don’t answer to anyone.”
Andrew scoffed, though unease flickered in his eyes. “So this nut job is one of the Unbound?”
Fox’s jaw clenched. “Don’t, Andrew. He can wipe you out of existence with a thought.”
Number Three clapped again, slower this time, his grin widening. “Oh, Fox Smith knows his lore. Clever boy. Yes, I am Unbound. And you, all of you, amuse me.”
Nathan stepped forward cautiously. “Why are you here?”
Number Three tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “Because the Queen watches. Because the county whispers. Because you ran from the village and lived. Few do. Fewer still catch her eye.”
Michael’s grip tightened on the journal. “The Yellow Queen… she sent you?”
Number Three laughed, high and sharp. “Sent? No, no, no. She doesn’t send. She beckons. And when she beckons, we listen.”
He stepped closer, his motley shifting in the wind, colors flickering unnaturally. “You boys are entertaining. Brave, foolish, deliciously afraid. The Queen likes that. She likes you.”
Nathan swallowed hard. “And if we don’t want her attention?”
Number Three’s grin widened, teeth too sharp. “Then you shouldn’t have walked through her county.”
Andrew’s voice was sharp. “Was it you? Did you do that—turn that whole town to stone?”
Number Three clapped once, slow and mocking. “Me? Oh, no, no, no. I don’t waste my talents on statues. That was something older. Something hungrier.”
Nathan stepped forward, fists clenched. “Then why are you here?”
Number Three’s eyes gleamed. “Because I enjoy the performance. And you boys… you ran well. You screamed inside, but you kept moving. That entertains me.”
Michael’s voice was tight. “So you just watched them die?”
Number Three’s grin faltered, then returned sharper than before. “Die? Oh, no. They’re not dead. They’re caught. Suspended. Forever afraid. That’s better than death, don’t you think?”
Fox’s jaw clenched. “You’re Unbound. You could stop it.”
Number Three leaned closer, his lisp curling around the words. “Stop it? Why would I stop perfection? Fear frozen in stone, terror preserved like art. The Queen admires such things. And so do I.”
Andrew muttered, “You’re insane.”
Fox’s voice was low, steady. “No. He’s worse than insane. He’s real.”
Number Three clapped again, loud and final. “And real things, Fox Smith, are the ones you should fear.”
Number Three’s grin widened. “Tell me, boys… have you found it yet?”
Nathan frowned. “Found what?”
“The City of Dreams,” Number Three whispered, savoring the words. “A box of metal, plain and cold, with a glass tower piercing the sky. The thing that birthed the multiverse itself.”
Andrew scoffed. “City of Dreams? Never heard of it.”
Michael shook his head. “We’ve seen villages, ruins, curses—but no city.”
Fox froze. His face tightened. “The Queen told me. She said we’d have to find it. That all of us—together—were meant to go looking.”
Andrew’s eyes widened. “Wait—you knew about this? And you didn’t say anything?”
Fox’s jaw clenched. “Because it’s not a place you want to find. It’s the root of everything. The Queen said it was where the multiverse began.”
Number Three laughed, high and sharp. “Oh, it’s real. And when you see it, you’ll know. Its tower shines across every world, every path, every nightmare. The Queen knows it well—she was born from its shadow.”
Fox’s voice was cold. “We’re not looking for it.”
Number Three bowed low, his motley shifting like smoke. “You don’t have to look. The City of Dreams is patient. It will find you.”
He clapped once more—sharp, final. But this time, the sound didn’t echo. It folded inward.
His form shimmered, colors bleeding into the wind. The grin stayed a moment longer than the body, suspended in air like a mask. Then it too dissolved.
The boys stood frozen. The road to Penryn stretched ahead, but now it felt watched.
Fox’s voice was barely audible. “We shouldn’t go to Penryn.”
But the road offered no other choice.