The cold deepened. It wasn't the crisp chill of mountain air or the honest bite of winter—it was something heavier, older, that clung to the lungs and numbed thought. Every breath scraped like iron filings. The chamber's silence wasn't silent at all. Beneath it, Elian swore he could hear something: a low, dragging hum, like the memory of a voice lost to stone.
Kaelen lay unmoving on the slab, pale beneath streaks of blood and grime. His chest rose and fell faintly, a fragile rhythm against the cavern's oppressive stillness.
Elian sat close, knees drawn tight, his hands restless over the bandages he'd tied around Kaelen's side. He had checked the pulse a dozen times, each time fearing it would be gone. Every faint flutter reassured him, yet offered no comfort.
Lyra kept her back to the wall, bow balanced across her knees, eyes fixed on the dark corners of the chamber. Her shoulders were taut, though she'd been silent for longer than Elian liked.
Seren crouched a few paces away, dagger turning idly between her fingers, the blade catching what little moonlight filtered through the cracked ceiling. She watched them both as much as she watched the shadows, a fox weighing which hen was weakest.
The silence stretched until Kaelen broke it—not with waking, but with sound.
"…the sky burns…"
Elian startled, leaning over him. Kaelen's lips moved, dry and cracked, whispering words too faint for sense. His eyes rolled beneath closed lids, as if chasing something terrible across the dark of his mind.
Lyra's gaze flicked over. "What did he say?"
Elian shook his head, straining to catch the next thread.
"…don't let it fall…light…gone…"
Elian's heart hammered. He turned to Lyra, words spilling low and urgent. "He sees something. Maybe the Anchors. Maybe the Umbra itself."
Lyra's tone was flat, a blade without edge or warmth. "Or maybe it's just the delirium of a dying man."
Elian flinched at the bluntness, though he knew she didn't speak it to wound him. She spoke truth as she saw it, even when it cut.
Seren's smirk widened. "Harsh. But practical." She leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm. "Dreams don't make a man useful. He's weight. Dead weight. And the way this place shakes, every extra heartbeat we waste could be our last."
Lyra's eyes narrowed, the bowstring taut before she even realized she'd drawn it. "One more word like that and I'll silence you permanently."
Elian's voice cracked out, raw from the dust and the fear clawing at his chest. "Enough! Both of you." His hand pressed hard against his thigh to keep it from trembling. "Kaelen stays. He's not weight. He's—"
He stopped, realizing what he was about to admit. The truth of it frightened him as much as the Umbra did.
Lyra's gaze softened slightly, though her tone remained steady. "You'd risk us all for him. Even if it means walking into death."
Elian met her eyes, jaw set. "Yes."
A silence followed that answer. Heavy. Telling.
Kaelen stirred again, voice ragged and distant. "…the star falls…broken chains…blood on the horizon…"
Elian caught his hand, gripping it tightly. "Kaelen, listen. You're not alone. Stay with us."
But Kaelen's eyes did not open. His breathing hitched, and he turned his head slightly, as if listening to something none of them could hear.
Lyra rose abruptly, pacing to the chamber's far wall. Her boots ground softly on the dust and rubble. She needed space, distance from the vulnerability that had crept into Elian's voice.
Seren's eyes followed her, sharp and knowing. "You care for him too," she murmured. "But your care's colder. A soldier's loyalty. Not the boy's… attachment."
Lyra turned, arrow nocked in an instant. "Keep speaking, thief, and I'll pin you to the wall."
The rogue only smiled, leaning back against the pillar with feigned ease. Her amusement was a blade of its own—pressing, testing, looking for weakness.
Elian forced himself to breathe. The chamber seemed smaller by the second, the weight of stone above them heavier, the walls closer. He rubbed his temples, head pounding.
"Arguing won't get us out," he muttered. "If Seren knows another way through the ruins, we take it. But Kaelen comes with us. That's not up for debate."
Lyra lowered her bow, though her eyes never left Seren. "Then we'd best move soon. I don't like how quiet it is."
As if summoned by her words, the ruin answered.
A sound drifted through the broken passageways beyond—soft at first, like wind through stone. But it was not wind. The sound carried rhythm. Breathing. Heavy, wet, labored. Something alive moving in the dark.
Elian froze, every muscle locking. Lyra lifted her bow again. Seren's dagger stilled in her hand, lips curving in a grin that held no humor.
Kaelen stirred once more, whispering louder this time, as if he too heard the thing beyond the stone. "…it comes…"
The chamber held its breath. The sound grew closer. A scraping drag, then a pause. Another drag. The rhythm was wrong—too uneven, too heavy.
Elian's pulse thundered in his ears. His hand went to the aether sigils burned faintly into his skin, though they throbbed with pain even at his touch. He wasn't sure he could call on them without losing himself to the void again.
Lyra's arrowtip tracked the dark mouth of the corridor. She whispered, her voice sharp as drawn steel. "Whatever it is, it's hunting."
Seren tilted her head, grin widening, eyes gleaming in the dim light. "Then let's not keep it waiting."
The sound stopped.
Silence swallowed the chamber, absolute and suffocating.
And then—one deep inhale from the dark. A sound so close it seemed to scrape the walls themselves.
Kaelen's body arched violently, a cry tearing from his throat as his eyes flew open. Not with awareness, not with recognition, but blazing white—light flooding from them as if the stars themselves had been trapped in his skull.
The ruins shook. Dust fell in choking streams.
And in the dark beyond, something answered.