The silence after the collapse was absolute, thick enough to smother breath. For a long moment there was nothing but the sound of settling stone, of dust cascading down in faint curtains through broken arches. The ruins seemed to exhale, a dying thing giving up its last sigh. Above, the sky loomed pale through jagged cracks in the collapsed ceiling, and the wind that slipped down carried a chill like the breath of a grave.
Elian staggered forward beneath Kaelen's weight. His arms shook with strain, his legs heavy as if every joint had been filled with lead. Kaelen's armor dragged him down, the edges biting into Elian's shoulder, but he refused to let the knight fall. Each step ground shards of marble beneath his boots. His lungs burned, his throat raw from dust, but he forced himself to keep moving until the walls no longer threatened to topple in on them.
Lyra was already ahead. She had not offered to help carry Kaelen, nor did she look back to gauge Elian's struggle. Her stride was steady, her cloak slashed and filthy from the fall yet still whipping like a banner in the cold draft that poured through the broken corridors. She moved with the detachment of a shadow untethered to the world of flesh and blood.
When she finally stopped, it was in the lee of a half-shattered wall. She leaned one gloved hand against the scorched stone, scanning the rubble-strewn path ahead. Dust clung to her hair and lashes, but she made no effort to brush it away. The wind hissed past, stirring her cloak, and when she spoke, her words cut sharper than the gale.
"You're slowing us down."
Elian gritted his teeth as he sank to one knee, lowering Kaelen with as much care as his shaking arms allowed. He eased the knight onto a slab of broken marble, adjusting until Kaelen's head rested against stone instead of rubble. His chest rose and fell shallowly, his face pale as death beneath the grime. Elian brushed a streak of dust from his cheek, his fingers lingering there.
"He saved us," Elian said hoarsely, his throat burning. "The least I can do is keep him alive until he can stand again."
Lyra turned, her expression unreadable, her eyes two shards of pale steel.
"You think noble sentiments will carry him through? The Umbra doesn't care about loyalty or sacrifice. It devours those first."
The ruins groaned as if in answer, a beam somewhere deep inside cracking under strain. Elian rubbed his sore hands together, grit grinding into the raw skin of his palms. He wanted to argue, to tell her that compassion was not weakness, but strength. Yet when he met her gaze, the words shriveled in his throat.
"He's still breathing," he said finally. "That's enough."
Lyra crouched beside Kaelen. She did not touch him, only hovered her hand near his throat, feeling the faint whisper of a pulse through the air. Her eyes narrowed.
"Barely," she murmured. She rose smoothly, brushing ash from her knees. "If he wakes, he'll drag us down. If he doesn't…" Her gaze flicked once toward Elian. "Then we're wasting time."
The words lashed him raw. Elian surged to his feet, anger and exhaustion twisting inside him until his voice trembled.
"Dead weight? He stood against that monster so we could escape. Without him—"
"Without him," she cut across, her voice honed to a blade's edge, "we'd be further along, stronger, not bleeding strength into these ruins while the Umbra spreads unchecked. Every moment we linger here, the stars dim a little more. You want to play healer, fine. But don't pretend it's anything other than selfish."
The accusation lodged in him like a splinter of ice. He stepped closer, fists clenched at his sides.
"Selfish? To keep him alive?"
"To cling to him because you're afraid," she said, her voice unflinching, "of what you'll see when you're left alone."
The words struck deeper than he expected. For a heartbeat the only sound was the whisper of grit falling from the broken ceiling. Elian turned his gaze aside, staring at Kaelen's gauntleted hand where it rested limply against the marble slab. His own breath shook.
"You don't understand," he whispered.
"No," Lyra said coldly, "I understand perfectly. Attachments are chains. And chains will drown you when the dark closes in."
Her cloak snapped in the wind, the sound like brittle ice breaking.
Elian knelt again, his fingers adjusting Kaelen's cloak around his chest, as though the small act might fend off death itself. The gesture steadied his trembling hands, gave him something to hold on to. His voice came low but firm, carrying just enough to cut against her words.
"Maybe chains keep us bound to something worth fighting for."
Her laugh was short, brittle, without a hint of warmth.
"Tell yourself that when those chains drag you screaming into the Umbra's maw."
Her words echoed through the hollow chamber, and for a long moment, only the moan of the wind answered. Dust sifted down like pale snow, settling in Kaelen's hair.
Elian forced himself to rise. He faced her, shoulders squared, though his insides churned.
"You act like cutting yourself free makes you stronger. But you're just—" He faltered, the words catching on his tongue. He wanted to call her empty, or broken, but the sharpness of her gaze stopped him cold.
"Just what?" she asked, tilting her head, her voice as smooth and merciless as glass.
Elian swallowed. "Alone."
For the first time, something flickered in her eyes. Not warmth, not guilt—something harder, more dangerous, like steel catching light.
"And better for it," she said.
The words rang final, but she did not turn away this time. Instead, she stepped closer, until the cold radiance of her eyes was all Elian could see. Dust clung to her lashes, streaked her cheek, but she stood unbowed, untouched by anything fragile.
"You want the truth?" she said softly, so soft it stung more than a shout. "When I look at you, Elian, I don't see the archivist clutching at old codes. I don't see the boy trying to save a knight who's already halfway gone. I see the shadow crouched behind your eyes. And one day, you will stop fighting it."
Elian's throat closed.
Her words pressed on, relentless. "When that happens, when you let it in, it won't matter how many knights you carry, how many noble vows you whisper. You'll still be nothing more than the Umbra's husk."
The silence that followed was crushing. Even the wind stilled, as though the ruins themselves recoiled.
Elian's lips parted, but no sound emerged. He stood frozen, hands trembling at his sides, staring at her as though she had ripped something vital from him with bare words. He wanted to shout, to deny, to tell her she was wrong. But the fear thrumming in his chest—the fear that maybe, just maybe, she was right—clamped down on every word.
He turned back to Kaelen, kneeling once more, his shoulders hunched as though trying to shield the knight from her cold judgment. His silence was answer enough.
Lyra did not wait. She pivoted sharply, boots crunching over debris, and walked into the drifting haze without looking back.
Elian sat in the ruins' half-light, Kaelen's faint breathing the only proof he wasn't utterly alone, and let the silence press against him until it smothered everything else.