Boundless Evolution: The Summoning Beast
Chapter 86: The Murkfen Kin I

Chapter 86: The Murkfen Kin I

Light bled through the edges of Ash’s vision.

His eyes fluttered open, lashes crusted with dried blood. Above him, not sky, not stone- something in between. The ceiling swirled with bioluminescent mist, threads of green and violet pulsing through the arches. Roots curled along the surface like veins. Spores drifted lazily, glowing faintly in the dim.

Sound filtered in next- uneven, layered, like breath echoing through lungs far too large. There were voices too, murmured in tones too deep for human throats. The words slipped between languages, but something in his mind caught fragments.

"...still bearing the mark..."

"...the tyrant’s frost failed to breach the seal..."

"...survived the... remarkable..."

Pain returned like a tide.

It spread from his chest, starting from through his ribs, to the curled tips of his claws. His body was still numb in places- frozen nerves flickering awake- but everywhere else burned. His skin itched with dried blood and cold rot.

A low, shallow breath escaped him. Cold air rushed in, and he coughed. The sound cracked against the moss beneath his head, pain arcing through his side. His body jerked slightly before settling.

He was lying on something soft- moss-wrapped hide, fur, and bundled roots.

The texture was uneven but warm. The scent of wet, earth, sap, and a strange sweet fungal musk clung to the air.

Somewhere, a faint clicking sound echoed in rhythm- like bone against stone.

Ash blinked slowly. The shapes around him moved again.

Beasts.

At least half a dozen.

They were not all the same. One towered like a walking elk, long limbs coiled in braided moss with thin antlers that pulsed softly with green light.

Another sat crouched beside a crooked stone- an ape-like creature with crystal studs embedded in its knuckles and a mossy mane that shimmered like rain-soaked iron.

A third- lithe and serpentine- moved on three legs and bore a mask etched with hundreds of tiny runes, each glowing with a faint amber pulse that matched Ash’s breathing.;

Ash tried to catalog their features. Horns wrapped in fungal thread. Hide painted with ash and resin. Glowing veins along limbs like trails of starlight. He had never seen beings like these in Baltyr or any kingdom.

’What are you all...’ he spoke out.

But he was met with nothing but silence. They remained simply watching him as they stood in a loose circle around his resting place. Tall, silent, cloaked in woven garments of moss, bark, and bioluminescent thread.

"His breathing is steady," one murmured.

"The rune is holding," said another, voice strangely familiar to Ash.

"His injuries seem to have stabilised," came a third.

They then parted.

Something moved between them- not with strength, but gravity. Each step it took was met with a slight bow or shift of weight from the others.

A beast taller than the rest emerged. Antlers crowned its head, curved and scorched at the tips. Its body was draped in glowing furs and fungal tendrils that pulsed with blue-green life. Bone rings adorned its arms, and it leaned on a staff grown from root and crystal.

Its face was masked- half wood, half bleached skull.

It stopped beneath Ash and knelt.

"You wake beneath the Hollow that Watches," the figure said, its voice a layered echo.

Ash tried to speak. His throat rasped.

"You... saved me?"

The shaman tilted its masked head slightly, caught off guard. Its luminous eyes flickered once, the motion beneath the wood-skulled mask betraying a brief tension — surprise. The voice had not come from Ash’s mouth.

It had come from within.

The shaman hesitated, then slowly inclined its head, masking whatever deeper thoughts stirred beneath that ancient veneer.

"No," the shaman said, "You were foretold. We only did what was required by oath."

"Foretold?" Ash whispered.

The shaman’s voice deepened with something close to reverence, "There was a prophecy, passed from the First Pack — one that spoke of a child of dusk and hunger, a hyena cloaked in shadow, who would walk the line between beast and legend. They said he would bear the power to lift our kind beyond what was lost."

Hearing this, Ash was completely caught off guard, he had just been at death’s door and now he was hearing something about a prophecy?

He stared up at the swirling spores above him.

He mused, "The tyrant should’ve killed me."

"But it could not."

"Why?"

"Because your time has not yet come. And the person who made that prophecy, the Nest... remembers well."

Ash blinked, and the words echoed like a strange bell tolling inside his chest. Prophecy. Destiny. He’d never believed in either. Like how could his destiny be to be orphaned, used in a ritual, and then transformed into a beast? There was clearly something wrong.

A bitter laugh rose in his throat but died before it reached his lips. He turned his gaze toward the shaman, eyes narrowing with lingering doubt.

The shaman could immediately tell that Ash was not buying what she had just told him. Instead of explaining, she studied Ash in silence for a moment longer, then gave a slow bow.

"Your mind is not in a good state. Forgive me for telling you so much just after awakening," she said before turning around, "I will be waiting outside once you’re ready to hear more."

As she stepped away, the other figures- silent, reverent- began to move with her, fading into the mist one by one. No sound marked their departure, no farewell uttered. Just the whisper of moss and claw.

All except one.

The last to remain stood near the edge of the glow. Tall and lean, his wiry frame was coiled like a predator mid-step, wrapped in layered moss-threaded hide and wet-leaf cloaks that dulled both sound and aether. Ashen gray fur shimmered faintly with black streaks veined in violet — making him nearly invisible in the mist. A soft chill trailed the air around him.

His eyes—deep violet, slitted like a serpent’s—watched Ash not with judgment, but the cool analysis of a tracker. They did not blink. They read.

Carved bones and swamp crystals hung from his belt, faintly clinking as he shifted weight. Across his chest, faint glowing marks pulsed slowly, tribal and aetheric both.

Ash narrowed his eyes at the figure.

Something about him felt familiar — the way he stood, the calm weight in his presence. But Ash couldn’t place the face, not through the haze of exhaustion and pain. Not yet.

The figure stepped forward, stopping just shy of Ash’s reach.

"You don’t remember me," the figure said, his voice rough and quiet like gravel in water — trying to sound casual, but a little too stiff to pull it off. "Name’s Tholn. Uh... welcome back. I guess."

Ash blinked, surprised by the awkward attempt at hospitality. The tone struck a chord.

That voice — it was the one he’d heard just before slipping into unconsciousness. The one that had told him he was safe.

"You... you were the one," Ash muttered, realization dawning.

Tholn gave a faint nod, brushing a moss-threaded strap back into place across his shoulder. "Caught you before you hit the ground too hard. Thought you were done for. You drop heavy, y’know."

Ash let out a breath. The exhaustion weighed heavy, but something loosened in his chest.

"Thanks for saving my life," he said simply and then with a groan, attempted to stand up.

Ash turned slightly and planted his good leg against the ground. Every motion sent spikes of pain up his spine, but he gritted his teeth and pressed forward. His legs trembled as he slowly pushed himself to his knees.

He didn’t ask for assistance.

Tholn stood nearby. He didn’t smile- not quite- but there was a flicker of something behind his violent serpent eyes. Something almost like pride. Or maybe awe.

Ash then got one foot beneath him. Then another. His limbs shook. His balance wavered.

But he stood.

"Didn’t think I’d be the one saving our prophesied saviour. Weird times..."

Ash gave a tired exhale, eyes hardening as he looked forward. "I’m not your saviour."

Tholn tilted his head, a crooked half-smile barely curling one corner of his lips. "You sure?"

Ash didn’t respond.

Tholn straightened slightly. "You showed up in the fog, coming from the Lushwood Expanse entrance. Made it through the Spectral Maze. Even stumbled into the arena. You bled, you nearly died... and you survived." He paused, eyes narrowing with faint amusement. "I watched every step."

Ash stiffened, "You were following me?"

Tholn shrugged, "Watching, yes... well until you dropped into the Old Arena Shafts. Since the moment you crossed the veil. I kept to the edges, moved when you did. You did everything as spoken."

Ash’s thoughts began to race, "Why didn’t you say anything? Why not help?"

"To confirm that you were indeed the promised one," Tholn said firmly but he could see that Ash still had more questions, "Don’t ask me any more questions, that are for Elyrra to answer."

He turned then, gesturing toward a narrow passage that split through the woven roots and moss. "Come on. Time to see what you woke up in."

Ash followed, steps slow but steady.

"...Who are you people?" Ash asked quietly, still aching, his voice low and hoarse.

Tholn didn’t look back right away.

As they passed through the last drape of glowing lichen and stepped beyond the sanctuary’s hollow, light poured in like dawn breaking over mountains.

"We are the Murkfen Kin."

What Ash saw made him freeze.

His breath caught.

Eyes widened.

"...What is this place?"