Chapter 3: CRAGMARR


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    In the days following the Crucible’s descent, the very earth birthed a new brood: clay-formed demigolems, stepping from the dust as though they had dwelled among us all along. They speak with gentle voices and offer aid freely, claiming they have awakened to serve. But their eyes hold an unwavering devotion, not to our people but to the hand that shaped them. In my heart, I question who truly guides these docile creatures—and to what end.


    ***


    Cragmarr burst through the water''s surface, his four arms cradling Ember''s limp form. Her red hair clung to her face in dark strands as he waded to the pebbled shore. The orange swirls in his marble eyes spun faster as he carefully laid her down.


    With a flick of his wrist, a card marked with ancient symbols appeared between his large clay fingers. The card hummed with energy as he touched it to Ember''s chest.


    Ember convulsed, water gushing from her mouth. Her eyes remained closed.


    "We must move." Cragmarr scooped her up, rocks shifting across his clay form as he carried her into the dense forest. The rain had stopped, but nightfall approached, and the frigid northern winds would follow. With each urgent step, his feet left deep impressions in the soil.


    A small clearing opened between the trees. Cragmarr set Ember down on a bed of leaves, then used his multiple arms to gather fallen branches with efficient speed. After forming the pile, another magical card ignited the fire, lighting the encroaching darkness around them.


    The firelight caught Ember''s hair, transforming it into liquid copper. Cragmarr settled his bulk beside her unconscious form, the orange-beige clay of his face reflecting the dancing flames.


    "Such a vibrant shade," he murmured, one hand hovering over but not touching the red strands. "Like the heart of the forge."


    His marble eyes dimmed as he watched her shallow breathing. The burden of knowledge weighed heavy in his chest—the truth of why she had been brought here. His clay shoulders slumped.


    "I am sorry, little Ember. The path before you burns bright but will not be gentle."


    ***


    Cragmarr shifted his weight, rocks grinding against each other beneath his clay skin. His orange marble eyes fixed on Ember''s still form. Her breathing had steadied, but hours had passed without movement.


    A twig snapped in the darkness beyond their fire. Cragmarr rose to his full height, his four arms spread wide.


    "Show yourself, watcher. I know you are there."


    A figure emerged from between two ancient oaks. Moonlight filtered through her form—a delicate weave of branches and vines shaped into feminine curves. Leaves rustled in her hair with each silent step. Her hollow eyes bore into him.


    Her voice whispered directly into his mind.


    Cragmarr''s clay features hardened.


    "You misunderstand. This is not a betrayal of our faction. It is survival." He gestured at Ember with one of his lower hands. "Have the Jingozi''s rewards not filled our treasuries? Protected our territories? Would you prefer servitude to the Amazons? Breaking our backs in Samurai forges?"


    More silent words pressed against his thoughts.


    "This one is different." Cragmarr''s voice softened as he looked down at Ember. "I have guided many, but she..." He straightened. "Go, now. The Jingozi approach, and you must not be seen here."


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    The tree fairy''s form seemed to dissolve into the forest shadows, leaving only falling leaves in her wake.


    ***


    Cragmarr paced around the fire, his four hands clenching and unclenching with nervous energy. The blaze needed to burn brighter to ward off the night''s chill, especially for Ember''s sake. He grabbed another fallen branch and tossed it in, watching the sparks spiral up into the darkness.


    The crack of hooves on dead branches made him freeze. Two riders in purple armor emerged from the trees, their horses'' breath steaming in the cold air.


    "You trespass on Emperor land, creature," the first rider called out.


    "I mean no ill intent," Cragmarr raised his hands. "This matter lies beyond your duty. Turn back."


    The second rider spotted Ember''s form by the fire. Steel rasped as both men drew their blades.


    "A captive? Release her and surrender," the first rider commanded.


    "Please." Cragmarr''s clay features twisted with regret. "I do not wish to harm you."


    Magic tingled in his palms as he prepared to summon his cards, but darkness erupted behind the riders. Black tentacles shot through the night air like arrows, their oily surfaces gleaming in the firelight as they struck with lethal force. Cragmarr watched in horror as the writhing appendages impaled both horses and men through their armor before they could cry out or raise their weapons. The bodies slumped to the ground with wet thuds.


    A wraith-like figure materialized from the shadows, its tattered cloak writhing as if alive. Black smoke curled beneath its floating form.


    Cragmarr''s shoulders sagged as he looked at the fallen soldiers.


    "Why must you always choose death?" he sighed.


    ***


    Cragmarr dragged the bodies and buried them deep in the forest, his clay fingers leaving grooves in the frozen earth. The horses proved heavier, requiring all four of his arms to move them far from the camp. Blood stained the ground black in the moonlight.


    The wraith''s presence lingered at the edge of his awareness, a cold reminder of the Jingozi''s watchful eyes. But no harm would come to Ember. They were both there for her.


    His thoughts drifted to his awakening more than a century ago—the sensation of consciousness flooding through packed earth and stone, the raw connection to the land that birthed him. He remembered the surge of awareness, of becoming—yet already knowing who and what he was.


    Then the Jingozi came, and they offered him purpose. A choice that wasn''t a choice at all—to serve as a ward to their vessels, to guide and protect those drawn into their game. He refused at first, clinging to his independence. But as they revealed more of their design, the truth settled into his core like sediment in still water. This was his calling, written in the very clay that formed him.


    He accepted without anger or resistance. Something deeper than consciousness told him this was right and necessary.


    The last body settled into place beneath loose soil and fallen leaves. Cragmarr turned back toward camp, his long legs carrying him swiftly through the trees. The fire''s glow beckoned, warm against the night''s chill.


    ***


    Ember stirred restlessly on her bed of foliage, her face twitching and contorting in troubled sleep. Her red hair splayed across the green cushion like flames. Soon, she would wake to face what lay ahead—a burden he wished he could shoulder for her. His clay features creased with sorrow as he knelt beside her, two of his four hands clasped together while the others hung limply at his sides. His marble eyes dimmed slightly as he watched her.


    "I am sorry," he whispered, his voice rough as gravel.


    Cragmarr''s mind drifted to Marcus, his last charge. The boy''s smile lit up any room he entered, his gentle nature touching even the coldest hearts. But that kindness hadn''t saved him. The memory of Marcus''s final moments crashed through Cragmarr''s consciousness like a boulder through glass.


    His clay fingers traced the rough ground. Marcus hadn''t screamed at the end. Even as the darkness claimed him, he''d looked at Cragmarr with those trusting eyes.


    "I failed you," Cragmarr''s voice cracked. The words fell into the empty forest air.


    A shadow shifted beside him—the Jingozi.


    "She stirs," Cragmarr reported, pushing away the weight of old grief. "We may begin soon."


    His four hands moved in practiced motions as he removed the ritual cards from their compartment on his belt. The cards hummed with ancient power, and their edges glowed. He shuffled them and arranged them in the prescribed order.


    The cards pulsed in sequence, like a heartbeat. Marcus had worn the same peaceful expression before his ritual. Cragmarr''s hands trembled as he stacked the final card.


    Please, I pray this time will be different.


    "You were not chosen to question," the Jingozi''s voice slithered through the air. "You were chosen to serve."


    Cragmarr nodded grimly.


    He placed three coins on Ember''s major wounds—one on her bruised ribs, another over her shoulder, and the third on her left cheek. With a flick of his wrists, he held three cards in three hands and waved them over each coin.


    Cragmarr''s four hands worked in unison, channeling energy through the cards. Each one lit up in sequence, creating a circuit of power that flowed into Ember''s unconscious form. The forest around them grew still as if nature itself held its breath.


    The coins sank into her flesh, dissolving like candle wax. Orange light spread through her veins in delicate patterns, mending torn muscle and broken vessels.


    Her breathing steadied. The angry purple bruises faded to yellow, then vanished entirely. Even the dried blood crusted at the corner of her mouth disappeared. Cragmarr watched with satisfaction as her face relaxed, the lines of pain smoothing away.


    She would need her strength for what lay ahead.