ONYXSPIRE: THE DESCENT OF CLIVE COLLINS

Chapter 02. The Poisomed Breath of Shadowfell Wilds

Lumeria vanished behind curtains of gray fog.

The moment Clive crossed beyond the outer walls of the northern sector, the world seemed to lose its color. Clean white snow gave way to black mud that reeked of sulfur and rot. Ahead of him stretched the Shadowfell Wilds, an ancient forest where the trees bore no leaves, only jagged branches like the fingers of corpses clawing toward the sky.

“WREN, you said my survival odds would improve after synchronization. So why do I feel like I’m dying right now?” Clive muttered, his voice muffled beneath the layers of cloth wrapped tightly around his face.

The air here felt heavy, acidic with every breath.

[Environmental Analysis: Nightshade fungal spore concentration increased by 40%. Subject’s lungs are beginning to experience mild irritation. If the subject continues complaining, respiratory efficiency will decrease by another 5%. Recommendation: Close your mouth and keep walking, Porter.]

“Jesus Christ, you seriously have zero empathy,” Clive grumbled as he adjusted the porter straps cutting into his shoulders.

Suddenly, a shadow emerged from behind a patch of dark purple thorn bushes.

Clive jolted, instinctively reaching for the rusted knife at his waist.

“Don’t pull that thing, kid. That knife’s better suited for slicing bread than surviving out here.”

A heavily built man with a rough beard streaked white stepped from the darkness. He wore a thick leather cloak covered in countless logistics pouches. On his back rested a porter pack nearly twice the size of Clive’s.

“Who are you?” Clive asked cautiously.

“Kael. Heard about some reckless brat trying to reach Onyxspire alone. Benedict Archibald really is a demon, sending a baby chick like you through this route.”

The man stepped closer, his sharp eyes lingering on Clive’s bag. Then he paused, nostrils flaring slightly.

“Silver smell... weird one too.”

[Warning: Individual identified as Senior Class-A Porter. Name: Kaelen Vance. Status: Neutral. Physical strength: 400% above subject. Recommendation: Do not provoke conflict unless the subject wishes to become organic fertilizer within three seconds.]

“I... I’m just delivering a package,” Clive replied defensively.

Kael chuckled, his laugh dry as snapping branches.

“Just delivering a package, huh? In Shadowfell, there are only two kinds of cargo: contraband or delayed corpses. Since we’re heading the same way, follow me. If you walk alone, you’ll end up as Gloom-Wolf chow within another mile or two.”

Clive had no choice.

Following Kael was his only hope of surviving the suffocating labyrinth of twisted trees.

Two days of travel passed in relentless physical torment.

Shadowfell was more than a forest. It was a breathing predator.

Sometimes the ground beneath their feet felt disturbingly soft, like flesh, while strange sounds echoed constantly through the distance, crying infants, whispering women, things that sounded almost human.

“Don’t listen to it,” Kael warned without looking back after noticing Clive beginning to drift into a daze. “Those are mimic plants. They feed on fear.”

On the second night, they camped beneath the roots of a colossal dead tree. Kael lit a small fire using foul-smelling animal oil. The silence felt oppressive. Only the crackling wood and the faint hum of WREN echoed in Clive’s ears.

Kael pulled a piece of hardened bread from one of his pouches, split it in half, and tossed one piece toward Clive.

“Eat. You’re pale as a corpse. If you collapse tomorrow, I’m not carrying you.”

Clive caught the bread with trembling hands.

“Thanks, Mister Kael.”

“Just Kael. There are no ‘misters’ out here.”

Kael leaned back against his pack, staring into the fire.

“So why are you doing this? You’re still young. Being a porter in Lumeria is slave labor, but being a porter in Shadowfell is a madman’s profession.”

Clive bit into the hard bread, struggling to chew it.

“My sister, Mina. She’s sick. Benedict promised to pay for her treatment if I deliver this to Sheldon Mallory.”

Kael fell silent for a long moment.

When he finally looked at Clive again, his expression carried something difficult to read, pity mixed with bitterness.

“Sheldon Mallory, huh? That man collects things better left buried. Do you even know what you’re carrying on your back, Clive?”

Clive glanced toward his pack.

“The Silver Box. Benedict told me never to open it.”

“Benedict’s smart. He knows people like you cling to promises for family.”

Kael exhaled heavily.

“I used to have a daughter. About your sister’s age, probably. I became a porter to buy medicine for her too. But in this world, loyalty usually gets repaid with spit and betrayal.”

“You didn’t make it?” Clive asked quietly.

Kael pulled back his sleeve, revealing a massive burn scar running along his right arm.

“I delivered the cargo. But when I got home, the people who hired me had already burned my house down. Said it was to ‘erase loose ends.’ Ever since then, I stopped trusting anyone wearing gold from Lumeria.”

Clive felt his throat tighten.

He remembered the guards spitting on Mina’s letter.

“Benedict’s different... he gave me gold upfront.”

“Gold is just a shinier kind of chain, kid.”

Kael closed his eyes, preparing to sleep.

“Get some rest. Tomorrow we enter Spirit Animal territory. Don’t let go of your bag, no matter what happens.”

[Emotional Capacity: 92% and Decreasing]

[WREN Recommendation: Avoid excessive emotional attachment to individual Kael. Statistics indicate that 80% of friendships formed in danger zones end with one party becoming a human shield.]

“Shut up, WREN,” Clive muttered internally.

That night, deep within the suffocating darkness, Clive awoke suddenly.

Something felt wrong.

The bag beside him was warm.

Slowly, he pressed his ear against the thick layers of fabric concealing the Silver Box.

Thump... Thump... Thump...

Clive’s heart nearly stopped.

It wasn’t his imagination.

From inside the Silver Box came the sound of a deep, heavy heartbeat. Something was sleeping in there, and its pulse was beginning to synchronize with Clive’s own heartbeat.

[Warning! External biological energy synchronization detected!]

[Silver Box Status: Active]

[Lycus detected performing ‘olfactory probing’ through metallic gaps.]

“WREN, what is that?” Clive whispered, cold sweat running down his face.

[That is the sound of hunger wrapped in metal, Clive. Go back to sleep. If ‘it’ wakes up now, we will not even have enough time to say goodbye.]

Clive hugged the bag tightly, trembling in fear.

Ahead of him, the campfire dimmed into glowing red embers that resembled monster eyes watching them from the depths of the forest.

Kael, who had never truly fallen asleep, slowly opened one eye.

He saw the terrified boy clutching the pulsing box.

Kael tightened his grip around the handle of his axe, his face hardening.

He already knew this journey would not end well for anyone.

“Sorry, kid,” Kael murmured so softly that only the winds of Shadowfell heard him. “I just hope you can run faster than your own fate.”