The cavern was silent. Too silent.
Elara sat with her back against the cold wall, Aelric's head resting on her lap. His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths. The corrupted arm was still smoking faintly, black veins retreating just enough to keep him alive.
Elara's fingers brushed his hair back, sticky with blood and sweat. "You can't keep doing this," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You're not made of iron. You're… you're just a boy trying to hold back a storm."
But he didn't stir.
The faint glow of the hourglass shards scattered across the floor had dimmed, but they hadn't gone out completely. They pulsed softly, like dying embers refusing to fade. Every time Elara's eyes wandered to them, her gut twisted.
Something about them felt unfinished.
---
Aelric woke hours later with a strangled gasp. His hand shot out instinctively, grasping Elara's wrist hard enough to hurt. She flinched, then quickly caught his gaze.
"It's me," she said softly.
His wild eyes darted around the cavern, then back to her. Slowly, his grip loosened.
"You didn't leave," he muttered hoarsely.
She forced a weak smile. "I told you, didn't I? I'm not going anywhere."
For a long moment, he just stared at her, as though trying to decide whether to believe her. Then he leaned back against the stone, wincing. His arm—his cursed arm—twitched violently, tendrils curling and retracting like snakes struggling against a leash.
"It's worse," he admitted finally, voice low. "The shard's… louder now."
Elara's throat tightened. She remembered the way the fractured figure had called his corruption "inheritance." She hadn't dared to ask him then, but now the words slipped out.
"What does it mean?"
Aelric shook his head, sweat rolling down his temple. "I don't know. But when it spoke… it felt like I'd heard it before. Like part of me already knew the truth, and the rest of me's just too slow to catch up."
He laughed bitterly, though there was no humor in it. "Figures. Even my nightmares know me better than I do."
---
They rested in silence for a while.
Elara kept watch, every small sound in the cavern making her grip her dagger tighter. The walls hadn't shifted since the figure broke, but the oppressive weight of Night Five hadn't lifted completely either. It clung to the air like damp smoke, whispering that the reprieve was only temporary.
She glanced at Aelric again. His skin looked paler than before, the veins in his arm crawling higher toward his shoulder. Yet his jaw was clenched, his eyes sharp despite his exhaustion. He wasn't breaking—not yet.
"Do you think it's over?" she asked quietly.
He didn't look at her. "No. That thing wasn't the end. It was just… opening the door."
The words chilled her.
---
When they finally dragged themselves out of the cavern, dawn had broken. The air outside felt thin, fragile, as though the world itself had survived something it didn't quite understand.
But the village they stumbled into told a different story.
Houses were shattered. Streets cracked open. Clocks—dozens of them, too many for a small place like this—lay broken and scattered as though they had grown out of the ground overnight and then died.
Elara's hand covered her mouth. "Oh no…"
Aelric limped forward, leaning on his pipe like a crutch. His corrupted arm dragged slightly, tendrils scraping against the dirt. He didn't speak for a long time, only stared at the destruction.
Finally, he said, "It spread. Night Five wasn't just in the cavern. It reached out here too."
Elara's chest ached as she stepped closer to him. "Then we have to stop it before it reaches further."
He looked at her, something dark flickering in his eyes. "Stop it? Elara, we can't even stop me."
---
Far away, in the Council chamber, the atmosphere had shifted.
Kaelen stood at the window, watching the horizon darken though the sun was still climbing. The other councilors murmured nervously behind him, their voices a tangle of fear and anger.
One slammed a hand on the table. "We should have destroyed him when we had the chance. The boy carries the shard—he is the shard!"
Another's voice trembled. "And if we're wrong? If he is the only one holding it back?"
Kaelen turned, his cloak dragging across the stone floor. His face was unreadable.
"You're both right," he said flatly. "He is the shard. And he is holding it back. But for how long?"
The chamber fell silent.
Then Kaelen spoke again, his words slow and deliberate. "Prepare the hunters. If the boy loses control, we won't have the luxury of hesitation."
---
Back in the ruined village, Elara scavenged supplies from what remained. A half-burnt satchel. A flask that still held clean water. A map torn at the edges, its ink faded but legible enough.
When she returned, Aelric was sitting on a broken wall, staring at the horizon. His arm twitched in his lap, the tendrils curling and uncurling like restless creatures.
"You're quiet," she said carefully.
He didn't look at her. "If I lose it… if this thing inside me wins… I want you to kill me."
Elara froze, the words hitting her like a blade. "Don't say that."
"I'm serious." His eyes met hers finally, steady and unflinching. "You saw what it called me. Inheritance. If it takes me, I'll become worse than those hollows. And if that happens…" He swallowed hard. "You're the only one I trust to end it before I destroy everything else."
Her hands shook as she gripped the satchel. "Don't you dare put that on me."
"I'm not putting it on you," he said softly. "I'm giving you a choice. A way to survive if I don't."
She stepped forward, glaring at him through tears. "No, Aelric. You don't get to give up on yourself and make me carry it. If you fight, I fight. If you fall, I'll drag you back. That's how this works."
For the first time, his expression cracked. His lips twitched into something small and almost fragile. "…You really are stubborn."
She punched his shoulder lightly, though her hand lingered there. "Takes one to know one."
---
Night was coming again.
They left the ruined village behind, walking toward the mountains marked faintly on the map. Elara carried the supplies. Aelric carried the weight of the shard.
Neither spoke of what would happen when the next toll came.
But both knew it was coming.
And somewhere, in the Council's dark chamber, the hunters were already preparing to hunt the boy who carried the inheritance of Night.