The air in the chamber was dense, heavy enough that it felt like the walls themselves were leaning in. No one spoke. The Rank Seven's head, pale, lifeless, and robbed of all tension, rested awkwardly where it had fallen. The silence wasn't just grief; it was the weight of understanding, a shared recognition that what they had just witnessed was not some distant tragedy, but a possibility that hung over all of them.
Varik stood still for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. Then, with a deliberate motion, he slid his blade into its sheath. The quiet click of steel meeting scabbard rang sharper than a shout. Without glancing at the others, he gestured to the guards.
"Carry him out," Varik said, his tone low, almost solemn.
The soldiers moved without a sound, lifting the limp form with practiced efficiency. They did not meet anyone's eyes as they left, boots making the faintest thuds on the worn stone floor.
"I apologize for killing him," Varik said after they were gone, his voice steady but carrying a note that wasn't quite regret and wasn't quite relief. "His strain stability was critically low. He would not have lasted another moment. The alternative… would have been far worse."
Lira's eyes flickered with unease. Her voice came soft, careful, as if testing the shape of the question. "What happens… if it reaches zero?"
Varik's gaze darkened, just enough to make Gray feel the shift. "When stability collapses, the strain consumes both body and soul. The soul implodes on itself, collapsing inward until it's nothing but an echo. The body remains, breathing, moving, but it is no longer human. The mind, the essence, everything that made them who they were… becomes host to the strain. What emerges is something else entirely. A monster."
The word landed like a stone in Gray's gut. His skin prickled, a cold shiver crawling along his spine. In the privacy of his own mind, he formed a thought he didn't dare speak aloud.
Have all the monsters we've fought… been people who lost control like this?
The idea was too heavy to hold for long. He forced himself to breathe evenly, but his thoughts turned inward.
'Strain stability… mine. I came back, yes—but did I die in the process? Was that… instability? Is that why my body feels different?'
The lingering ache in his core, the faint pull of exhaustion that never fully left, the almost imperceptible dark haze at the edges of his senses, it all seemed to point in one direction. And he didn't like where it led.
Varik spoke again, pulling him back to the moment. "Strain stability is not fixed. It shifts constantly. Near-death experiences, the moments before evolution, extreme overuse of Vyre… all of these push it toward collapse. However... above all this, is your soul. If your soul becomes too damaged, then you will definitely succumb to death.When stability holds, the strain and soul connect smoothly. When it falters… the strain begins to tear at the soul itself."
Gray let the words sink in, piece by piece. It made sense now, why some of the anomalies they'd fought had been so wildly unpredictable, and why others had seemed almost… familiar in their rage. How many had been human once, clinging to a fragment of themselves before finally breaking? He could only imagine.
After a pause, Varik inclined his head slightly. "You've done more than you realize today. That will be enough for now. Guards, escort them out."
The group began to move toward the doorway when Varik's voice cut through the air once more.
"Oh...and regarding the Pale Maw...
"I will personally kill it." his voice echoed in the hallway before the doors slammed shut. The noise ringing in their ears.
Gray stopped mid-step, turning to the already closed door ahead him. "Wait… what?! That's suicide."
A new voice entered the space, softer but carrying a measured authority. It was the translator, speaking from behind them. "The Pale Maw marks its prey. It plays with them, stalks them, drives them into exhaustion before striking. You are marked, but the mark is not permanent. It lingers on your soul, regenerating with time. For now, it can find you across great distances. Varik will need someone to draw it out."
Gray furrowed his eyebrows. "Still doesn't explain how he'll do it..."
The translator sighed loudly.
"Do not underestimate his strength, understand? He's much stronger than all of us. If anyone can kill the beast. It's him. Her voice carried reassurance.
Gray's expression hardened. "Then... I'll do it. I'll draw it out."
A hand landed firmly on his shoulder. Korr. His presence was solid, grounding. "You're not doing it alone. I'm coming."
His eyes carried a special emotion. What could only be described as determination.
Gray met his gaze and gave a short nod. No more needed to be said.
The translator led them out into the winding corriders back outside. The cold air was sharp, cutting away some of the heaviness, though not all. The village's narrow walkways seemed quieter than before, every step echoing faintly against the stone.
After a long stretch of silence, Orrin spoke. "Do any of you know why the Rank Seven lost it?"
Renn's voice was quiet, uneasy. "From what I gathered… strain stability is fragile. High-risk situations, constant fear, mental strain, stack that with being close to death more than once, and the mind just… cracks."
Gray's thoughts drifted back to the Rank Seven's twitching hands, his restless eyes, the way his breath always seemed too fast.
' If I had said something, anything, maybe he'd still be here...' The thought sat heavy in his chest, an accusation without a verdict.
Their path ended at a modest dwelling pressed into the cliff face, a thin column of smoke curling from the chimney into the gray sky. The translator opened the door without knocking.
Inside, the air was warmer, touched by the faint scent of herbs. Adel sat on a cot, propped up with a thin blanket around her shoulders.
Gray stepped forward. "Adel."
She lifted her gaze and smiled faintly. "You made it back. I wasn't sure you would."
Orrin crouched beside her, taking in the bruises along her jaw, the red marks on her wrists where the webbing had bound her. "You're hurt, but… you'll be fine. Right?"
"I'll live," she said with a dry chuckle, though pain ghosted across her expression.
Korr, who was sat down nearby looked at her for a moment before sighing quietly in relief.
Behind him, Lira leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. Her gaze was steady, assessing. Gray glanced back at her. "Why didn't you give your surname earlier?"
Lira's eyes narrowed slightly, but her tone stayed even. "That's not your concern."
Gray gave a small nod. "Fair enough. Didn't mean any harm." He could tell this subject was something she was protective about, and maybe that was for the best.
Renn lingered near Gray, his hands fidgeting at his sides, still unsettled by the talk of strain collapse.
The room settled into a quiet rhythm, the fire popping softly. Gray let his eyes drift toward the window. Beyond the glass, snow fell in slow, deliberate spirals, the wind carrying a thin edge of cold into the room. His thoughts lingered on Varik's words, on the image of the Pale Maw closing in.
'If I have to… I'll kill him myself, with my bare hands.' He had promised himself he wouldn't be weak again. He had settled his debt with the spider monster, and now had to settle another.
The warmth of the fire reached his hands, but the cold in his chest remained. He breathed out slowly, letting his shoulders ease just enough to feel the weight of the moment. They were alive. Battered, shaken, marked by what they'd seen, but alive.
He leaned back, resting his hands on his knees, and allowed himself the smallest of smiles. One battle at a time. One fight at a time.
The group stayed close to the fire, its glow soft against the walls. The wind howled across the cliffs, but inside, the only sound was the quiet crackle of flame and the steady rhythm of their breathing. Together, but each lost in their own thoughts, they sat as the snow gathered outside.