Vortex Origins

A green meadow stretched across the land, wide and deceivingly calm. Trees stood sparse, dwarfed by the towering black thorns that dominated the horizon. From afar, someone might mistake them for a forest until they noticed how the thorns reached upward like twisted spears, blotting out the sky in some directions. They covered everything. No matter which way a person turns their head, the black growths stood waiting.

A narrow river curved along the far side, its stream breaking into a cliffside waterfall. It should have made the scene perfect for camping—peaceful even. But the stillness clung too tightly. No laughter, no crackling fire, not even the whisper of birds overhead. The sky held only a few winged shapes, distant and faint, they weren't even at the top of the area, they avoided it as if they wanted nothing to do with this place.

Wind dragged dust across the meadow in small bursts. It didn't howl. It just moved.

Ash stood with one hand on his leg, bent over, panting. His body trembled. His sweat soaked into the earth. Six days of running. Nonstop. For everyone else, it had passed in a blink, barely half an hour. For him, it was an endless grind through pain and silence. He never wanted to feel that again.

His eyes dropped to the band on his wrist. The screen glowed faintly.

[Destination Reached]

Ash barely had the strength to nod. He raised his head once, catching a glimpse of the endless black thorns again. Then his legs gave out beneath him. His soul pool was dry, emptied from the cursed skill that dragged him across days of torment. He collapsed into the meadow.

The ground caught him gently. Without a single beast to roam or creature to stir, nothing disturbed him. He drifted off in quiet exhaustion, the emptiness within him slowly filling again.

Hours passed. The sun dimmed until the gold in the sky turned pale. The shadows grew longer.

Ash opened his eyes. The ceiling of thorn-covered sky stared back.

He sat up in a rush.

His mind reeled, flickers of memory clawing their way back. The skill—Phantom's Stride. The toll it took. The desperate run to this place called Thornrest.

He breathed deeply and looked around. The sky had shifted, it had to be evening now. If the ship max was suppose to send was on time, it would arrive soon.

Ash forced himself to his feet, limbs still sluggish. He wandered through the field, taking in the sight. Beneath the thorns, vibrant flowers bloomed unnaturally. They moved as if breathing. The scent in the air was sweet, unnerving, unnatural. like something alive watching from behind the petals.

The beauty of the place clawed at the mind. It tried to soothe, to comfort. But Ash felt none of it.

His face stayed blank.

His soul remembered too much.

This wasn't just a strange patch of life in a dead world. There was a reason no birds flew above. A reason no scouts crossed here. A reason soldiers never marched through. No one claimed Thornrest.

It had already been claimed by something unknown.

The sanctuary of black thorns. Also called Thornrest.

The only living land that had survived Ash father's wrath—the blast that turned a one bueatiful region into ash and sand. A Place now called Cinderholt.

Thornrest is a green garden surrounded by cracked red earth and dry bones. The only place in the Valley of Sand that still bloomed. Even after all this time, no one could explain why.

And still, no one came here willingly.

Yes. Thornrest was safe. So safe, in fact, it had been granted the title of Sanctuary.

A place like that didn't get its name for nothing. Sanctuary zones were rare, granted only to regions that creatures refused to step into. No danger zone markers, no scouting patrols, no alarms. Just calm. Peaceful and Untouched by creatures.

And yet, no one lived here.

Not a single settlement. Not even old ruins of the past can get found.

Ash stood at the edge of the clearing, the wind brushing against his skin. Something was wrong, and the wrongness wasn't new. It was old, deep-rooted, and he could feel it in his bones.

A pressure. Subtle but unrelenting. Like something watching with hollow eyes. Since the moment he'd stepped into Thornrest, it had settled over him like a second skin.

Dread Mark.

He knew the feeling. Recognized it. Few in the world would. Even fewer had felt it and lived.

But for him? Because of his tier 5 body, this was the only place where the Dread Mark ever reached this deep. And this was also the only place he left one without any visible source.

He remembered his mother used to bring him here to train under the pressure. Days would pass in silence as they honed their skills beneath the grey-barked trees. Sometimes they didn't even train, they just sat together, letting time crawl.

There'd been an excursion once when his entire class came.

The place looked the same now as it did back then. That pressure… it was never gone.

Ash shifted his weight, arms folded, eyes scanning the treetops. The wind whistled between the branches, carrying no sound or life. Just Nothing.

Ironhold was the only other place he remembered to receive a pressure from dread mark. During the siege, when the Tier 7 Ascended tore open reality and stepped out of that spiraling rip. Ash remembered the thing's eyes. He remembered how he looked at him. As if he knew him. As if he had been waiting for a chance just to kill him.

He still didn't understand what happened that day.

The pressure here at Thornrest wasn't nearly as crushing as what he felt from the Ascended that day. That one had tried to kill him. Whatever lived beneath this place… hadn't moved at all.

That thought clung to him, not as comfort, but as calculation.

Ash had studied how his father—being a powerful Ascended with the highest vessel tier known to man used his dread marks. He'd seen him unleash it in battle. When he meant to kill, the mark didn't just fall—it hunted. It wrapped around the target like death made flesh, pressing harder and harder until the victim either collapsed or retaliated.

And yet bystanders nearby were barely touched.

That's why this didn't make sense.

If it were just some lesser beast radiating fear, even though it was a tier 6 creature. The Ascended of Varagos would've destroyed it by now. The ones in charge weren't blind, and they weren't weak.

But this—whatever it was—was far from ordinary.

This dread mark had reached Kael. Even their father felt it. And both of them carried the highest Vessel tiers ever recorded in human history.

Tier Six was the beginning of true dread—strong enough to break Tier Fours and below with pressure alone.

Tier Seven could cripple Tier Fives without lifting a claw.

So what kind of monster sat buried here, deep in this place that time had forgotten? Tier Eight? That would mean no one alive had ever seen it. Or worse. Tier Nine—an apex entity from a time before records began.

Back at Vortex Base, that massive skull that sat on the dune above the base… it belonged to a Tier Seven.

That one creature had nearly ended everything.

Not even the tier 7 Ascended could stop it.

Flame—Ash's father nearly died killing it. A whole region was lost in that battle reshape to create another region.

That was enough to make every soul stay clear of this place. Not because it was forbidden, but because something worse than that skull might still be breathing down here.

And it hadn't woken up.

Not once.

The thought throbbed in the back of Ash's skull, a cold whisper trying to claw its way forward. He forced it down and stepped closer to the cliff's edge.

The waterfall loomed below, water crashing against unseen rocks. He didn't flinch.

He lowered himself to sit at the edge. Beside him, one of the black thorns curved out of the ground like a spine broken through flesh. It pulsed with a quiet, dark glow. sickly, but almost calm.

He didn't move away.

He'd seen them before to know that they wouldn't lash out.

Whatever these thorns were, they didn't seem like a threat. Maybe not now.

He reached into his bag, pulled out the last ration gel. He squeeze it allowing the thick paste slid into his mouth. Just like before it tasted like death that had been packaged and labeled for survival.

Still chewing, he kept staring at the crashing water far below. His gaze didn't wander.

Then he heard the voice.

"Ash, right?"

Ash rose to his feet fast. His hand moved before thought, drawing the blade in one smooth pull. He turned, ready for a fight.

But, there was no one.

That didn't make sense. His body—Tier 5—could feel heartbeats across walls, pick whispers out of wind. If someone had been walking through Thornrest, he would've heard them before they stepped near.

He scanned the sanctuary again. Still nothing.

He kept the blade raised.

Only one person had ever surprised him like this was Elder Mark of Dunehaven. And that was because of a soul skill that let him vanish into the earth itself, slipping past sound and movement. Without it, Ash would've caught him long before contact.

So maybe this was someone with the same skill. Or worse. a creature that could shut off everything. Noise. Heat. Presence.

No.

Even beasts knew better than to come near an active Dread Mark. They'd flee before their own instincts tore them apart. No creature could walk through that kind of pressure without ripping its mind open.

That left one option.

A Tier 7. Or higher creature.

But that made even less sense. Yes, even though it haven't been tested A tier 7 may not be affected by the pressure.

But something that powerful wouldn't need to hide. And no being that strong would waste effort cloaking itself just to approach him.

Ash tried to recall the voice again. The tone was wrong. It didn't match the place.

It sounded like a little boy.

Something cold slipped down his spine. His fingers adjusted slightly on the hilt, but the blade didn't lower.

Then the child like voice came again.

"Oh, what are you looking at? Is there something there?"

His eyes widened. The field were still empty. No figure, no flicker, not even a shift in shadow.

The thought came fast and sharp.

Whoever this was had to be invisible. That was the only way he could hear them and not see a trace. Nothing else explained it.

The voice spoke once more.

"Oh, I get it now. You're looking for me. Just put down your sword. I mean you no harm."

Ash didn't move.

The blade stayed raised. His eyes didn't shift from the air in front of him.

"Who are you? Why can I hear you? And where are you?"

A laugh followed—soft, like a child trying to sound older than he was.

"Well, for now... I don't know who I am. And you can hear me because I'm speaking in your head."

Ash blinked.

The words struck something. A memory—distant, jagged, and unwelcome.

He remembered.

The asteroid. During the explosion. That voice. A child's voice, whispering through his head, saying it had found him.

Then again, later, after Max was taken by the sandworm. Another voice—deeper that time. Like it had aged between disasters. Not the same tone, but the same presence.

This voice… it had to be the first one.

Then it spoke again.

"And for why you can't see me... that's because I'm in your soul."