The sky over Varneth had always been the color of dying fire—a sickly red-orange haze that never truly shifted. Wind carried the ash like whispers, and the ground remembered every death. Among the scorched ridges of the Dead Horn Valley, a boy stood with smoke in his lungs and a sword he could barely lift.
His name was Shakes Burnedead. He was ten.
The Past
They came in the night.
A den opened beneath the village of Lurkhearth without warning. One moment, his father—Gavren Burnedead, a Black Mantle-ranked Den Hunter—was teaching Shakes how to control his breath while holding a blade. The next, the air cracked open, and from beneath the earth, the soil split, a brood-heart erupted, and with it came the stink of the Deep.
Monsters crawled into the streets like worms through a corpse. Feral Dwellers—doglike things with too many eyes and bones like jagged armor—ripped through houses. Gavren roared fire into the sky, igniting the night with his Blazing Rift style, but there were too many. His sword moved like a serpent of fire, but Shakes watched in horror as his father was overwhelmed.
"Run. Find your flame. Then come back and burn them all."
Those were his last words.
Shakes didn't remember fleeing. Only the fire. Only the scream.
Three years later, Shakes' mother—Lina Burnedead, a healer who had once saved entire squads—was dragged from the outer city walls by a Shade-type Dweller. No one knew how it had breached the wards. Shakes screamed, drawn his father's old blade, and tried to ignite it. But the sword refused him. He hadn't yet earned its fire.
He cried after she died.
He trained.
He bled.
He hunted.
The Present – 22 Years Old
Shakes Burnedead was no longer a boy.
The man who walked through the volcanic gates of Emberwatch Fortress was cloaked in black and red, ash woven into the fabric. His sword—Severflame—floated beside him without a sheath, held aloft by pure will. Heat shimmered around its edge. Each of his steps left a faint burn mark in the ground.
He was a Fang-ranked(Hunters are ranked by their abilities) Den Hunter, but only in title. Many whispered he should already wear the Black Mantle.
He never argued. Shakes isn't much of a talker.
Mission Briefing – Den Classification: Class B
The war room inside Emberwatch glowed with emberlight crystals. Around the carved table stood five hunters.
Zera Wraithe – mage-type, Flame Sutra user, specializes in explosive glyphs.
Lucen Dray – a Gravity Crush brawler, shirtless, gauntlets made of infused stone.
Kell Rain – long-ranged Ink Arcanist; her tattoos shifted like water snakes.
Oric Vane – Beast Contractor with two shadow-hounds.
Shakes Burnedead – silent, leaning against the wall, sword beside him.
"Den spotted near Kradel's Spine," said Commander Vorn, a hulking Black Mantle. "Small village went silent three days ago. Scout confirmed Marrow-class brutes and possible Shade activity. No Crowned sighted yet. You're a five-man team. Kill the brood-heart. Burn the den. Bring back any cores."
No one spoke. They all glanced at Shakes.
Lucen broke the silence. "If we see anything smarter than usual, we don't play heroes. We regroup. Shakes?"
The swordsman nodded once.
They traveled by ember-skiff, a gliding metal sled powered by core-stones. Night blurred into day. Ash fell like snow.
Lucen kept making jokes about his gauntlets. "These babies once crushed a Marrow in half. Shakes saw it. Ain't that right, bro?"
Shakes didn't answer.
Zera shook her head. "Why do you even try?"
"I like the challenge."
Shakes, sitting alone, sharpened Severflame with a whetstone that never dulled. His mind wasn't on the team. It wasn't on the den.
It was on the first time he saw a brood-heart rupture.
He could still hear the wet tearing of flesh as the earth gave birth to monsters.
The village was gone. Not burned. Not broken. Just… absorbed. Houses warped into fleshy walls. Lamp posts twisted into bone spires. The den had merged with the land.
Kell swore under her breath. "It's matured fast. This was a Class C five days ago."
"Class B now," said Oric. His hounds growled low.
Zera placed a glyph on the ground. "Binding ward up. We go in five. Once the heart's located, I blast. Lucen punches through. Shakes—"
He was already moving.
He walked straight into the den without a word.
Inside, the walls pulsed. The air smelled like rot and burnt copper. Creatures hissed from the shadows—spine-walkers, skinless things, eyes glowing like cinders.
They came fast. But the team was faster.
Lucen crushed two with a single leap, his fists cratering flesh.
Kell flicked her ink ribbons like blades, severing limbs and melting skulls.
Oric's hounds tore into a Shade trying to possess a downed beast.
Zera's glyphs chained an entire hallway shut and incinerated it.
Shakes walked through the chaos.
He raised one hand.
Severflame spun into the air like a living thing. Its edge flared, and with a flick of his fingers, he directed it through six Dwellers at once. The sword danced.
Then they reached the core chamber.
The brood-heart pulsed like a beating organ, taller than a house.
Then it spoke.
"...Burnedead... child of Gavren... you have returned."
Zera froze. "That's not possible. Crowned don't speak unless—"
The heart cracked. And from it emerged something tall, robed in black muscle, with a jaw made of human hands.
It wasn't just a Dweller.
It was a Crowned.
Lucen growled. "I thought this wasn't Class A!"
"Plans change," Shakes said, his first words of the day.
He raised his hand.
Severflame blazed.
To be continued...