Asher was dancing. The ballroom stretched wide and gold, lit with flickering chandeliers and slow-burning candles. Beth spun in his arms—hair pinned back, lips parted, eyes soft like she still believed in something. Then the ceiling cracked. Blood poured from the chandelier, drenching the candles, soaking her dress. Her smile didn't fade. It widened. Her eyes flickered black. Just for a blink. Just enough. He looked down. His hands were red. The wind had gone still. He jolted awake—not from sound, but from the absence of it. No fire. No footsteps. Just silence. The desert didn't mourn. It waited. Copper stung the air. Thorne lay face-down, throat opened clean. His hand twitched—maybe nerves, maybe not. Then still. A shadow passed. Gone. Beth screamed, rehearsed and sharp. Ryvak scrambled for his rifle. "Who was supposed to be on watch?" Asher asked. No one answered. Three weapons drawn. Beth moved first, blade already in hand. Calm. Ryvak looked like a cornered rat. "You were supposed to wake me," Asher said. "I... I fell asleep," Ryvak stammered. "You killed him!" Beth didn't turn. "Maybe the sniper wasn't alone." Ryvak snapped. "Better safe than sorry." "You smashed the transmitter," Beth cut in. "Both of them," Asher added. Ryvak froze. "I didn't mean—" "You were told to," Beth said. Ryvak blinked. "Wait. That's not what I meant to say." Asher felt a cold knot in his gut. That wasn't just fear. That was wrong. And then something growled from the ridge.
It shrieked like glass and flew like it hated gravity—a Void-twisted sandfly, bloated, veined in black light. Tier 1, but fast. Asher rolled. Beth cut upward. Ryvak fired—useless. The creature slammed into him, snapped his rifle in half. Pinned him down. Mirrored eyes studied him—not hunting. Observing. Then it grinned with its wings. Slashed Ryvak open, armor peeling like rotted bark. Beth dove in, blade behind the skull. Asher moved on instinct. Voidlight surged through his body. He drove his weapon straight into the back of the thing's head. It spasmed. Twitched. Died. But Asher didn't stop. He kept stabbing. Again. Again. Something inside cracked. When he stopped, it wasn't because the thing was dead. It was because the silence inside him broke. Then came the pulse. He touched the corpse. Something answered. Void threads pulled into his core like someone else was breathing through him. A face—his mother's, or maybe Beth's—screamed through a window. Gone. Then the message: You have absorbed Void Power. Tier 1 Sandfly — 1/100 to evolution. Ryvak lay shaking. Asher stood. A hum lingered in his spine. He felt stronger. Sharper. And just a little less human. "More will come," Beth muttered. "If we keep shouting." Ryvak rocked, whispering, "They hear. They hear..." "Then we burn Thorne," Asher said. No one argued. The pyre was built in silence. Beth didn't look back. Ryvak didn't speak. The flames rose. The wind shifted. Ash fell—not from fire. From something older. Ryvak lit the torch. Then dropped it. Asher didn't stop him. Some things burned easier when you didn't look them in the eye.
Asher stood still, face streaked in firelight. No grief. Not yet. Just adrenaline and questions. Beth had said too much. Ryvak had nearly shot him. If she hadn't spoken, he might've pulled the trigger. Ryvak had been looking for a reason to kill him. The Stone behind Asher's spine pulsed like it wanted to speak—but hadn't chosen to yet. It waited. Like a god with no interest in mercy. What did Beth mean by "told to"? Who gave Ryvak the order? Which transmitter? The first—maybe an accident. The second—sabotaged. Someone tried to frame him. Then the third—the one Ryvak found buried and shattered without blinking. Which one had Beth meant? Why did it feel like there were more? Asher said nothing. Just watched the fire. Blade still warm. The wind full of ashes that didn't belong to the flames. He wondered if the next corpse would be his—and whether anyone would hear him die.