THE MARTIAL HEALER

Chapter Four – Echoes in the Blood

The woman didn’t look back as she moved through the twisting ravine paths of Grayvine Cradle.

Rashford followed, sword strapped tight to his back, shoulder throbbing beneath dried blood. The forge had cauterized the wound within seconds, but it hadn’t numbed the pressure building in his mind.

Questions swirled sharp as blades, Who was she? How did she know his name? Why did she carry his mother’s crest? And more pressing than all of them…

What was waiting for him at the end of this path? They moved in silence. The cliffs above towered like crumbling gods, jagged peaks blotting out the morning sun.

Cries echoed from deep fissures, monsters, or men who had become monsters. Grayvine was alive., And it watched.

They arrived at a hollowed-out rockface just past noon. Vines thick with thorns veiled the entrance, but the woman passed through them without hesitation, as if they recognized her. Rashford hesitated until the vines parted for him as well.

Inside was a cavern lit by a strange glowing moss. The walls were smooth and unnatural, carved by no hand he knew. A narrow bridge of stone spanned a subterranean gorge, leading to a raised platform where a forge-yes, a literal forge-rested, cold and waiting.

Beside it stood an old man, Thin, wiry, and bald, with eyes black as ink and veins pulsing faint gold, The woman removed her mask. Her face was young no older than Rashford but her eyes had seen lifetimes.

“Rashford Oakwood,” the man said, voice echoing like falling gravel. “You carry the fire of your father.”

Rashford’s body locked. “You… knew him?”

The man nodded slowly. “As I knew your mother. As I knew the last Soulforged… before they were hunted into extinction.”

Rashford stepped forward, heart racing. “Then tell me everything. Who am I? What is this forge inside me? What do they want from me?”

The old man didn’t answer right away, Instead, he turned to the forge on the platform and placed a hand upon it. “Your questions are rooted in blood. And blood remembers.”

He looked back. “To find your answers, you must awaken your first Echo.”

“Echo?”

The girl stepped forward. “Your Soulforge doesn’t grow like a normal Core. It doesn’t evolve through energy alone it absorbs memory. Pain. Conflict. Emotion. Each 'Echo' is a memory of a fight your ancestors survived or died in.”

Rashford stared. “I don’t understand.”

“You will,” the man said. He motioned toward the forge. “Bleed on the anvil.”

Rashford approached, each step weighed down by dread. He drew his blade, pricked his palm, and let the blood fall onto the cold black stone. It sizzled. The room vanished.

He stood in a burning field, Bodies lay in heaps, Ahead, a man in gray armor fought three warriors at once moving with impossible speed, each blow surgical and devastating.

He spun, struck, healed his own wound in the same motion, and launched a wave of force that flattened trees. Rashford felt it recognition. His blood, His ancestor.

The man turned, face singed, eyes smoldering with golden flame, And he charged Rashford. It was not a memory. It was a trial. They clashed, The first blow sent Rashford tumbling. The forge in his chest flared, knitting a fractured rib in an instant.

He rose, breath ragged, The second blow nearly severed his arm. But he spun, ducked, countered and the ancestor’s eyes widened in approval, The third clash was fire against fire, Sword met sword. Pain met purpose.

And Rashford screamed as a final blow split the sky, He collapsed on the cavern floor, gasping. The old man knelt beside him. “You passed.”

Rashford blinked. “What… what did I gain?”

The girl answered. “You’ve unlocked your first Soul Echo a martial technique your blood remembers.”

Rashford opened his palm. In his mind, he saw it clearly a stance called “Healer’s Wrath.” A technique that blended regeneration with burst power, allowing him to trade damage taken for explosive force.

He laughed, breathless. “That’s insane.”

“That’s only the first,” the old man said. “There are many more. But they come at a cost.”

Rashford stood, strength returning. “I don’t care.”

Suddenly, the cave trembled, A sigil on the far wall glowed red. The woman drew her bow. “They’ve found us.”