As the first light of day pierced through the silver ash covering the ground, the three continued their march. The wind howled across the barren land, carrying the dry scent of scorched grass and ancient dust.
Sir Cedric halted and pulled out an old, weathered map from beneath his cloak. He laid it across a flat stone, pinning the corners with a dagger.
"We're nearing the river," he said, voice calm but hopeful. "The River of Ash. Once we cross it, we'll be only one day away from the outskirts of Ash Hill."
Karl bent down to examine the map. The river curved in black ink across the wasteland. He touched the mark of their current location.
"Is there a bridge?" Molvar asked, munching on dry rations and glancing around.
"There is," Cedric replied. "An old one—made of dark stone. Still usable, unless someone destroyed it recently."
Karl nodded. "We should reach it before sunset. I'd rather not make camp near the riverbank."
As they moved forward, the signs of dwindling supplies became clear. The leather pouch holding their dry rations was nearly empty, and water was running low.
Sir Cedric let out a soft sigh and turned to the two younger men.
"We can't continue without something in our stomachs," he said. "There's a small forest near the river. Might find some wild fruits there. I'll take care of the fire and set up camp. Karl, you fetch water from the riverbank. Molvar, can you scout the forest and see if you can find anything edible?"
Molvar tightened his gloves and smirked. "Fruit hunting, huh? I thought I was a knight, not some berry picker."
Karl laughed and gave him a gentle shove. "Well, today you're the knight of... fruit."
Sir Cedric pointed toward a worn trail leading into the nearby woods. "Be careful. Even near the water, that area isn't safe."
Molvar tilted his head. "Don't worry. I'll be back before your stomachs start howling."
With that, Molvar slung his sword over his hip and strode toward the forest, the sun beginning its slow descent and casting long shadows over the ashen ground.
Molvar walked while mumbling sarcastically to himself.
"A noble knight, off to pick fruit… Glorious, truly glorious," he muttered, chuckling as he lazily swatted away branches with his sword.
The deeper he went, the quieter the forest became. Only the soft rustle of leaves in the wind remained. Dim sunlight filtered through the thick canopy above, casting pale golden patches across the forest floor.
Suddenly, a low, drawn-out howl echoed from the direction of the river. It was deep, guttural — more like the roar of a massive beast than any forest creature.
Molvar froze in place, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his sword. His eyes sharpened, and he turned toward the river — where Karl was fetching water.
"Something's not right," he thought, stepping cautiously backward. "That's not a normal forest animal…"
He stood still, listening more intently, but the forest had gone dead silent — as if the howl had torn through the air and left behind an ominous void.
Molvar couldn't resist the curiosity gnawing at him. Ignoring his initial caution, he crept closer to the riverbank — the source of that haunting howl.
His footsteps were quiet as a stalking cat, brushing aside dead twigs without a sound. As he approached the edge of the river, he froze.
Across the shimmering water, partially veiled by morning mist, stood a strange figure.
A tall man — or what looked like a man — draped in the tattered remnants of priestly robes, stained with dirt and age. But what made Molvar's blood run cold… was the creature's head.
It wasn't human — it was the head of a wolf. Its eyes were blank and milky-white, devoid of life. Its maw hung open as if mid-howl, though now the air had fallen completely silent.
Molvar took a step back, cold sweat forming down his spine. Without Karl beside him, the forest suddenly felt heavier, as if something unseen was watching — and waiting.
Molvar didn't dare stay another second. He turned on his heel and sprinted through the forest, branches lashing against his face and slippery roots threatening to trip him. The image of the wolf-headed priest burned into his thoughts.
When he reached the gathering point, he practically collided into Karl and Sir Cedric, gasping for breath like someone who had just escaped a nightmare.
— "There's… something across the river!" he panted. "A guy… wearing priest robes… with a wolf's head…"
Sir Cedric raised an eyebrow while Karl clenched his fists, sensing the tension in the air.
Sir Cedric let out a dry laugh.
— "Well, sounds like you're about to die, Molvar! Don't tell me the spirits of Ash Hill have started walking again?"
Molvar scowled.
— "I'm serious! That thing was not natural!"
Karl gazed toward the forest, his expression darkening.
— "If it's real… it might already be watching us…"
Before Molvar could even catch his breath, Sir Cedric erupted into laughter, as if he had just heard a crude joke in a tavern.
— "Ha! So you saw the Gatekeeper, did you?"
Molvar blinked in surprise.
— "Wait… you know what it is?"
Sir Cedric nodded, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.
— "A legendary creature of this region. They call him the Gatekeeper of Ash Hill. No one knows where he came from. But every soul who dares cross into Ash Hill must face him first."
Karl narrowed his eyes.
— "How dangerous is he?"
Sir Cedric shrugged.
— "No one knows for sure. Some say he's a harbinger of death. Others claim he'll guide you—if you know the right way to speak to him. But one thing's certain... if he's appeared, it means Ash Hill knows we're coming."
Sir Cedric's laughter faded, replaced by a grim expression.
— "Listen," he said as the sunset bled across the canopy, "to cross this river and reach Ash Hill… we'll need the Gatekeeper's permission."
Molvar frowned.
— "Permission? You mean… like asking him?"
Sir Cedric nodded.
— "Not in the usual way. You'll see. He only appears at midnight. And only when we're not trying to cross. So tonight… we make camp here. Brace yourselves—since the founding of Solmere, not many have passed that boundary and lived to tell the tale."
Karl remained silent, eyes fixed on the dark waters flowing quietly between the forested banks. The air seemed to grow heavier, as if the very land itself were watching them.