Elderpyre book two asp.., p.1
Elderpyre: Book Two - Aspirant, page 1
Elderpyre II
Book II - Aspirant
Chris Wilkins
Copyright © 2026 by Chris Wilkins
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Illustration by Vladimir Solnyshko
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Groups
Prologue
“Master, please,” the girl said. “I can’t feel my arms.”
“Then you need stronger arms.”
The man slapped the girl’s weapon out of her little hands with the flat of his blade, then swept her leg and shoved her off balance. There was no malice there, no cruelty; just a vague, detached sense of disappointment.
“On your feet,” he told her. “Again.”
The girl rose to her feet and picked up her blade from the ground. She wiped the sweat and dirt from her face, bit her already bloodied lip to prevent herself from bursting into tears, and assumed a fencing stance.
She was only eight or nine, small and slender. She’d proven to be a constant source of chagrin for Master Hight. The smidgen of áeld blood running in her veins was just enough to give her hair the color of pale silver, but not enough to make her a worthy successor to the Path of the Gloam Blade.
That’s what her master needed—a successor.
What she needed, though, was a father.
In the end, they would both be let down.
Later that day, when Master Hight finally allowed her to collapse on the little pile of straw she called a bed, she swore she’d treat her disciple differently, should she ever take one.
Over the course of her long life, she would come to break many oaths.
That one, though…
That one she’d do her damnedest to keep.
***
Fawkes tore through the dark corridors like a maenad, looking for more low-dwellers to take her fury out on.
It didn’t take her long to find her quarry. There they were, three or four stragglers looking for corpses to chew on. Fawkes didn’t even slow down. She already had her blade in her hand and violence in her eyes.
The first one fell before it even had a chance to register her presence. She stepped out of a side corridor right next to it and stabbed it through the eye, plunging her saber deep enough into its skull to skewer its malformed brain.
It took a little more than that to kill the second and third ones. Too stupid to stay surprised for long, they pounced on Fawkes just as the light left the first one’s eyes. They bit and clawed at her, keeping her on the back foot as the fourth one circled around, looking for an opening.
Fawkes pivoted away from the dead low-dweller and danced around the fiends, always staying just out of reach. Whenever one of them dared to come closer and claw at her, she punished it with a wicked slash across its gangly arms.
One of the two finally had enough. With half a dozen gashes on its limbs oozing black blood, it snarled at Fawkes and charged at her on all fours. She met it with a burst of sudden motion, sidestepping it and scoring a deep cut on the side of its thick neck as it barreled past her. It wasn’t a mortal wound, but it would be enough to slow the fiend down and let her deal with the other two.
The fourth one, the one that had been circling her, took its chance and jumped at her, its dirty, wicked claws reaching to tear her head from her body. It was a well-timed attack; she had to give the fiend that. She barely had enough time to raise her saber and block it.
Unfazed, the fiend reared for a second strike. The other two would probably be joining the fray any second now. That’s how low-dwellers fought: hunting as a pack, looking for opportunities to swarm their foes.
Even blinded by fury, Fawkes wasn’t reckless enough to take those odds if she could help it. Just as the low-dweller was about to pounce again, she drew her pistol and shot it almost point-blank in its ugly face.
The gunshot resounded throughout the dark Halls, probably drawing the attention of every low-dweller that still roamed the place.
Good.
As the now-headless corpse of the low-dweller spasmed at her feet, Fawkes turned to meet the two remaining fiends.
The one she’d slashed was already groggy and half-dead from the blood loss, so she put her pistol away and set out to finish the job. Moving fast like a predator, she darted over the bodies of the two dead fiends and went for the jugular.
Heartbeats later, the bodies at her feet were three.
She made the fourth low-dweller last, slashing a hundred tiny cuts into its stinking hide, toying with it like a cat would with a hapless mouse.
Normally, she’d never stoop to such meaningless cruelty. Clean kills were more to her liking.
Normally.
All pretenses of normality, however, had withered the moment she laid eyes upon the dead body of Reiner, decomposing and strung up on a spear like some grim trophy.
Up until then, she could pretend everything was alright, even though she knew it wasn’t. She could pretend Reiner was on another of his jaunts or benders or misadventures, sure to return with new tales to share and laugh about around the fire.
She could pretend there was no worry gnawing at her day and night, no tight feeling at the pit of her stomach. That was one of the reasons she’d initially had Hunter tag along with her, if she was to be honest with herself. She thought having him around would be a diversion that might keep her mind off her worrying.
Reiner had been more than just a disciple. More than a friend, even.
Reiner had been family; her only true connection to, well, anything.
Reiner had been the only thing that had kept her vaguely interested in going on with her sad old life. That was the long and short of it.
And now he was gone.
What was she to do now?
Grimnir’s beard, she hadn’t the slightest idea.
The Lodge was scattered to the four winds and all but done for. She’d inherited her master’s dream of finding the guild’s ancient cradle, reviving it, recruiting, rebuilding. Without Reiner to pass it on to, however, what would be the point?
She felt old. She was old. Too old.
As for hanging up her blades and guns and living a quiet life… well, around civilized folk, she’d always been an outcast. She didn’t expect that to change now. She’d rather go out in a blaze than rot away in some hamlet. Lodge folk didn’t die in their beds. Never had, never would. That was the Creed.
She went on stalking the dark halls, looking for low-dwellers to put to the blade, though she knew it to be an exercise in futility. No matter how many of the fiends she slew, it wouldn’t even begin to numb the rage and despair that was drowning her.
It was all she could do not to murder the two pelt-wearing fools. The Brethren had straight-up lied to her, the bastards. They’d misled her, manipulated her into doing their dirty work, all while knowing that Reiner was dead. Sh e had every right to walk into the vault they were hiding in, licking their wounds, and tear them to bloody shreds.
It wasn’t her conscience that stopped her, either. Gods knew she’d killed out of pure vengeance before, and it hadn’t weighed on her one bit. No, it was the realization that their deaths would do no good to anyone. If anything, it would put an end to their own suffering.
There was another reason, too, one she’d been surprised to realize: Hunter. She didn’t want the lad to think ill of her. She didn’t want to set a bad example for him to follow, especially not after chastising him for his Transient nature. Despite being a strong and crafty lad, in certain ways, Hunter was still like a child.
Reiner had been like that too.
Maybe that was what had gotten him killed.
Maybe Fawkes had been too soft on him.
Maybe her own master had been right to push her as he had.
That thought caused a fresh wave of rage and despair to overtake her. She gripped the hilt of her saber tighter and pushed deeper into the Halls.
She had to find more fiends to kill.
Chapter 1
“Backgammon,” Bob announced. “That’s triple the points for me.”
“Again?” Humbug Hank put his milkshake down and laughed from the sidelines, animated as ever. “I told you, man! It’s like he’s the dice whisperer!”
Alex didn’t even have the strength to curse his luck anymore. After getting serially demolished at Go, they’d decided to switch things up a bit, but there was just no beating Bob at this game either. Bob was luckier with the dice and a better player. Playing him was an exercise in futility, but it wasn’t like there was anything better to do. After the last time he died in Elderpyre and the subsequent toll the shock took on his real-life body, the doc had told him to spend as little time as possible in-game for the next few days.
That was just as well. Fawkes was in mourning, after all, and she needed some time to process her loss. Alex—or, rather, Hunter—didn’t blame her. He didn’t know what Reiner had been to her, not exactly, although he suspected he was more than just a friend. A student, maybe? A partner? Whatever the case, she’d spent an awful lot of time looking for him and worrying about him.
In the end, all she’d found was his desiccated body; what remained of the man was skewered on the spear of a fleshwarped ogre down in the depths of an ancient dungeon, on display like some grisly trophy. As far as Hunter was concerned, Fawkes had every reason to be upset.
They’d gone on to defeat Mother and It That Whispers—the eldritch entity that had been pulling the strings all along. They’d silenced the unsettling whispering that had permeated everything in the Weald. Fawkes had recovered her friend’s effects and had put his body to rest.
Now both Hunter and Fawkes needed some time off to get their heads straight before heading back to… where? The Brennai village, he supposed.
Sister Peregrine and Brother Aurochs, the locals that Hunter and Fawkes had teamed up with to delve into the depths of the Halls of the Cor Ancestors, needed some breathing space too.
The two of them had been hanging around the Halls, licking their wounds and keeping an eye on Fawkes. Hunter had only known them for a few days; he knew practically nothing about their lives, but the hardships they had faced together in that short time had forged a sort of unspoken camaraderie between them.
Then, of course, there was his little menagerie—Fyodor, Biggs, and Wedge. Hunter had instructed his two raven familiars to keep an eye on the juvenile direwolf while he was away. Fyodor might be large and feral-looking, but in truth, he was nothing but an oversized pup. The doctor’s orders notwithstanding, Hunter made sure to log into Elderpyre a couple of times per day just to keep him company.
The rest of his day he either slept, exercised, or sat around at the cafeteria. Bob had been consistently beating him at backgammon, Buggy had been consistently making fun of that fact, and Penny—Officer Carpenter—had been consistently rolling her eyes at the three of them at every chance she got.
Penny had proven to be quite a different person than what Alex had originally pegged her for. She had finally mellowed out to him, learned to drop the tough Officer Carpenter charade every now and then and be, well, just Penny.
She was a huge film buff, as it turned out, and also enjoyed a good old paperback. John le Carré, Louis L’Amour, that kind of thing. They’d spent a couple of evenings talking about their favorite books and movies, the two of them. Alex was actually growing quite fond of her, both of Penny and of her wannabe hard-ass Officer Carpenter persona.
They were slow, pleasantly sleepy days. They reminded Alex of the last days of summer break back when he was still in high school. On days like these, he forgot that he was still technically a prisoner.
“Would you like to play again?” Bob offered.
“No, I think I’ve had enough for today. Maybe Hank wants to try his luck next.”
“Nuh-huh,” Buggy said. “Hank most definitely does not.”
“Good, maybe we’ll finally have some peace and quiet around here,” said Carpenter. She’d been trying to do a crossword a couple of tables away. She took out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. “Some of us actually like it, imagine that.”
“Uh, officer,” said Buggy, suddenly looking curiously irked. “This is a non-smoking building.”
“What are you gonna do about it, Hank? Report me to the warden?” Carpenter blew him off. “It’s my one-a-day. I’m trying to quit.”
Buggy threw her a dirty look and got up.
“Well, I refuse to be in the presence of your second-hand smoke. Alex, care to join me for a walk around the premises?”
“I, uh…”
“Come on, join me. The air’s about to turn to poison in here!”
Humbug Hank wasn’t exactly the kind of person Alex would be friends with; not on the outside, at least. Still, he planned to go back to his room and check on Fyodor anyway. Getting some fresh air first wasn’t a bad idea.
The two of them headed out to the Happy Motel’s yard. Buggy waved at a bored guard at the gate and flashed him his huge smile.
“Hello, hello, what great weather we’re having, right?”
It was great weather. The sun shone bright, there was a pleasantly cool breeze, and the temperature was just right for a casual stroll. Alex tried to remind himself to enjoy it. Lately, he’d been spending the majority of his time in bed, logged into Elderpyre, and it was beginning to show.
“Let’s find some shade,” said Buggy, his pale bald head shining like a beacon under the midday sun. “Or I’ll turn into an air fryer sausage. Ever had an air fryer sausage? They’re delicious. We should ask for an air fryer for the cafeteria. I think Penny would love it too. And a gazebo for the courtyard. This sun is killing me!”
There was a big pine tree behind the cafeteria building, so that’s where they went. Buggy offered Alex an overturned bucket to use as a stool, squatted on his heels, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
“Smoke?” he offered one to Alex.
“I thought you didn’t smoke.”
“I don’t smoke indoors. I’m not an animal. So, hey, what’s the deal with you? You’ve been around a bit too much these days. Getting bored of Elderpyre?”
“I don’t think we should talk about that,” Alex said. “You know, non-disclosure agreement and all.”
That was only half the truth. Yes, he was wary of the NDA, but not so much that he’d never talk about Elderpyre with anyone. After all the trauma he’d been through playing the game, Grimm was lucky Alex didn’t plan to go to the tabloids with it all.
No, it was Buggy he was wary of. Penny had insisted the man was a maggot and had warned Alex to stay away. Alex didn’t have such a strong opinion of him, but he couldn’t deny the fact that the man was unpredictable.
Still, he’d been itching to talk about Elderpyre and all the things he’d seen and done on its world, Aernor, ever since day one. He often caught himself wishing Packman was there with him. They’d spoken on the phone a few times, but Penny had warned Alex that their calls were being recorded and monitored. If Packman were around, they’d never talk about anything but Elderpyre.
“If you don’t tell, I won’t tell,” Buggy said with an exaggerated wink. “You shouldn’t worry about things like that too much anyway, especially not now that you and Penny have gotten all buddy-buddy. If anything, it’s me who should be worried. You wouldn’t snitch on your old pal Buggy, would you? You know what they say.”
