The first sound was steel.
A katana lay on the floor of a darkened room, its edge catching a faint tremor of light. The blade held a reflection not fit for any mirror, a woman's face streaked with tears, eyes wide as if staring at something only she could see.
She sat upon the cold stone, training clothes torn at the seams, her hands tangled in her hair. Her breath came shallow, broken, as though the weight of silence pressed harder than any enemy could.
"Shut up!"
Her scream shattered against the walls, but the room gave nothing back. Only the void remained, and the voice inside her did not relent.
"No. I thought I got rid of you. I will not harm them. Do not ask again. Just leave me."
Her body bent forward, teeth cutting her lip until blood stained her mouth. Her fingers fell away from her hair, and she reached for the blade. Steel lifted, trembling in her grip. Its point pressed against her chest, sharp enough to promise an end.
She froze.
The moment stretched, time refusing to move. Then the weapon fell, clattering against stone. The sound rang out like a funeral bell, echoing long after the blade had stilled.
She wiped her face quickly, forced her hair into place, tugged at her ruined clothes. She stood as if nothing had happened. But when she turned her head toward the door, something stirred in her—warmth. Familiar. A piece of her still alive.
Her sigh carried the sound of surrender, not to despair, but to love.
The door slid open, spilling light into the chamber.
"Mom! Mom, I finally got it!"
A boy burst inside, no older than twelve. Thin frame, bare feet slapping against the stone, a plain grey shirt tucked neatly into dark trousers. His tablet shook in his hands as though the news within it burned. His hair was wild from running, but his eyes shone bright.
He did not see the weapon at her feet. He saw only her.
The woman smiled, and for a heartbeat her face was young again, untouched by grief.
"Ashley. I told you not to come in while I'm training."
"I know." His voice carried urgency, words stumbling over each other. "But I had to. It's important."
His gaze wandered. He noticed the walls scored by steel, the floor littered with shallow cuts, and then his eyes stopped.
"Mom… are you okay?"
He stepped closer, his small hand brushing against hers with the caution of someone who already understood that she was fragile.
Her palm rose and drifted through his hair, smoothing it back from his face. The touch carried love, but also desperation, as if she feared it might be the last time.
"I'm okay, Ash."
Her eyes lowered to the tablet in his hands.
"So, what's this great news of yours?"
A brow lifted. A hint of humour touched her mouth, faint but real.
"Don't tell me you've found a girlfriend online."
"What? No!"
His cheeks burned, and he pushed the tablet at her with both hands.
She read. The glow of the screen painted her face as her eyes moved, wider with each line.
"Three Soulcores?"
Ash crossed his arms, chin lifting in pride.
"I made it all the way to Tier Five. And I've got three Soulcores. The examiner said it's rare. Like… really rare. I think I'm a hybrid. Like you. But with three."
Her gaze stayed locked to the screen. Every word seemed to weigh more heavily on her, until it caught on one.
Her lips shaped it as though the sound itself might burn.
"Dark Soulcore."
Ash grinned, rocking on his heels, unable to stand still.
"Cool, right? Like you. And lightning too. And fire, like Dad."
He looked up, waiting for laughter, waiting for her arms to draw him in.
But her smile had already broken. What replaced it was silence, carved deep.
"Mom?"
He edged closer, his voice soft.
"You okay?"
She blinked, her eyes returning from somewhere far away.
"Yeah… I'm alright."
The words carried no weight.
"Just reminded me of something."
Ash frowned, his hand hovering uncertainly near hers. She forced another smile, the kind made only for him, never for herself.
"Don't worry about it. Tell me, have you heard the voice yet? Have you stepped into your soul space?"
Ash brightened, the fear in him hidden by excitement.
"Yeah. It sounded mysterious, like Max said it would. And my soul space is strange. Just dark. Too dark. My reflection is there, but it doesn't move. It just stares at me, like I stole something from it. Like I killed something it loved. I can feel that it hates me."
Her laugh came sharp and short, so brief it died before it could live.
Ash picked at the hem of his shirt. His words fell quieter, as though burdened with their own truth.
"Mom… what are Soulroots? The reflection spoke about them. It said things I didn't understand. It said I'll lose everyone I love."
Her head turned. She studied him with a stillness that felt ancient. Her breath left her slow, measured.
"The Soulroot is frightening. It shows the road you cannot leave. It reveals the truth of your end, the shape of what you are meant to become, even if you fight against it."
His eyes wavered. Fear bled into them, too visible for her to ignore. She pulled him against her chest, her arms closing around him like armour.
"But you are not alone. A Soulroot can cross with others. Until one reaches its end, nothing is certain. Our family carries a bright Soulroot, and yours is tied to it. That bond will hold. Until that time comes, we are safe. You don't need to fear."
Ash's lips curved. Relief softened his face.
"Thanks, Mom. It's good to know that. I couldn't bear losing you."
He leaned back, tilting his head to search her eyes.
"Mom, I get that the Soulroot comes from the Soulcore. But… where do Soulcores come from? Did the gods place them in us one day? Or were they born in us, like bones?"
Her mouth closed. Her gaze drifted upward, to the ceiling where cracked stone carried its own scars. Shadows stretched across it, and in them something seemed to stir.
For a long while she said nothing.
Then her voice came low, carrying more weight in its restraint than in its answer.
"Truth is… I don't know either."
Her eyes lowered, meeting his. The weight in them softened, though it never left.
"But I do know a story."
Ash dropped to the floor with a soft thump, folding his legs as though he were a child before a teacher.
His mother raised a brow.
"Ash? What are you doing?"
"You're about to tell a story."
He patted the stone beside him.
"So I'm getting ready."
She shook her head, but the edge of her mouth curved in spite of herself.
"Fine."
She lowered herself across from him, resting her hands on her knees. For a breath she said nothing, her gaze caught on the boy in front of her. Ash was smiling—wide, unguarded, a smile untouched by the world. It was sharp enough to pierce through the walls she had built.
She gave one back, softer, as if he had stolen it from her.
"I don't know everything. But when I was your age, my uncle told me a story. I remember his voice. He spoke as though every word were true."
Her voice wove through the dim room. She told of gods and the shaping of the world, of battles unseen and borders etched by divine hands. Time slipped. Hours passed in the telling, though neither marked them. Ash leaned forward, frowning when the tale grew heavy, laughing when it lightened, and she found herself laughing with him. For a while, the weight pressing her chest eased.
When at last her words fell silent, Ash breathed out.
"So that's how the Fog Wall was created. The gods made it."
She nodded.
"Yes. And even now, no one knows what lies beyond it. Or why the gods chose to build it."
Her head snapped toward the door. That same instinct as before flashed through her.
The door burst open. A boy stood there, cheeks flushed, eyes bright.
"Ash! Dad's back!"
Ash's face lit up, caught between the wonder of the story and the pull of family.
"Mom's telling me something cool. Tell Dad I'll come in a bit."
Her hand drifted to his hair, combing it back, grounding him.
"Go with Kael. You know your father. He'll want to see you."
Ash grinned.
"Yeah. You're right."
He pushed to his feet. But before he could run, her hand closed around his.
"Ashley…"
Her voice trembled. She held him there, and her eyes began to wet. Tears slid unbidden down her face.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know you would inherit it too. You're going to suffer because of me. I'm so, so sorry."
Ash froze, confusion written across his small features.
"Mom?"
She wiped her face quickly, pulling herself back into the mask.
"Forgive me. This is just how mothers get when their sons awaken their soul space. Now go. Go meet your father."
He lingered, searching her eyes for a truth she would not give. Then he smiled anyway, the way only a child could.
"Alright."
His steps rang down the hall as he chased after Kael, fading into the distance.
The woman rose slowly. Alone once more, she turned to the katana where it still lay. Her fingers closed around the hilt. The blade caught her reflection again—tearstained, weary, but alive.
"What was I thinking?"
She slid it into its sheath. The click was soft, but final.
"I cannot die. Not when I have them. I will protect him."
With the katana at her side, she stepped toward the door. The shadows of the room trailed behind her, but her eyes fixed forward, where light still waited.
***
Two years passed.
Rain hammered stone, carving the earth into rivers of mud.
A crowd clothed in black stood in silence, heads bowed, faces shadowed. Even the wind refused to stir, as though it too bent in mourning.
Beneath a young tree, the marker waited. Its letters seemed etched not by hands but by the disbelief of the world itself:
Here Lies
Lyra Flynn Burns
Mother. Wife. Friend. Master. Hero.
Ash stood at the front. His breath came shallow, broken. His eyes were wide, as if staring might undo the truth carved into stone.
When the last rites ended, the mourners drifted away. Boots dragged through wet gravel. Cloaks clung heavy with rain. One by one they vanished, leaving the grave behind.
Leaving him behind.
Ash did not move.
The storm pressed down. Rain ran over his face, mingling with what he would not let himself release. His teeth ground together, his body trembling against the weight of it.
"I swear…" His voice cracked against the storm. "I swear I won't let this happen again."
His knees buckled. He sank into the mud.
"I don't care what the Soulroots claim. I'll break them if I must. I'll train until nothing can stand before me. Max, Kael, Dad—I'll protect them all."
The words tore themselves out of him, raw, jagged. His chest heaved.
"And I'll kill every one of those monsters that took you from us."
Tears slipped through the storm. At first the rain hid them, but the sound in his throat betrayed what the water could not.
He pressed his forehead to the stone. His voice fell to a whisper, sinking into the earth itself, into the name carved deep into its face.
The storm raged. Branches whipped, earth churned, the world continued unshaken.
But a boy knelt in the mud, bowed before a grave, mourning, vowing, weeping for a promise only he could carry.