The forest was not kind.
Edrin had wandered for hours, though time meant little beneath a sky that refused to change. The stars never shifted into dawn; their cold glow followed him, an eternal night stitched across the heavens.
Every step cracked leaves that glimmered faintly with starlit veins. The air tasted metallic, sharp, like breathing broken glass. His legs burned, his lips were cracked, but he forced himself onward. Stopping meant thinking. Thinking meant breaking.
Survive. Learn. Defy.
The words of the phantom clung to him like chains.
At last, he stumbled upon a stream. The water shimmered faintly, its surface reflecting not his face but shifting constellations that didn't match the sky. Still, he drank greedily, letting the cold liquid soothe his throat.
As he wiped his mouth, he froze.
A mark—faint but visible—burned against his wrist. A glowing sigil, woven of lines and curves he didn't understand, pulsed softly beneath his skin.
He staggered back, heart racing.
The Harvester's brand? No… something else.
It pulsed once, and he heard it.
Whispers. Countless voices, overlapping, crying out in languages he could almost understand. A thousand fragments of souls, pressing against his mind.
Edrin fell to his knees, clutching his head. "Stop—stop!"
The voices receded, leaving only silence. His wrist still glowed faintly, like an ember refusing to die.
He stared at it with shaking hands.
Not a wound. Not a scar.
A soulbrand.
Before he could process it, branches cracked in the distance. Heavy steps. Edrin scrambled to his feet, wiping his wrist against his sleeve to hide the glow.
From between the trees emerged… not a Harvester, but a girl.
She couldn't have been much older than him. Her clothes were travel-worn, patched in places, but her posture was alert, wary. A short blade hung at her hip, its metal faintly humming with an inner resonance.
Her eyes—sharp, green like fractured glass—narrowed as they landed on him.
"…You're alive," she said flatly.
Edrin blinked. "…Yes?"
She studied him for a long, tense moment. Then she sheathed her blade, though her hand lingered near the hilt. "Strange. I felt a soul rupture here. Villages don't survive those."
Edrin's chest tightened. "They didn't."
Something flickered across her expression—pity, maybe, or recognition. She stepped closer, but not too close. "Name?"
"…Edrin. Edrin Kael."
"Lyra Vey." She tilted her head, gaze flicking toward his sleeve. "You're branded."
Edrin's blood froze. He pulled his sleeve lower. "I don't know what you're talking about."
She almost smirked, but it was bitter, humorless. "You'll learn fast. The Astral Council doesn't leave survivors. If you've still got breath, it's because you've got something they want. Or something they fear."
The word fear struck him harder than a blade.
Before he could ask more, the forest trembled. Leaves rattled. The air grew colder.
Lyra's blade was in her hand instantly. "They're here."
Lantern-light flickered in the distance. Pale, hungry.
Edrin's pulse spiked. "Harvesters."
Lyra grabbed his arm without hesitation. "Run."
They tore through the forest, branches whipping at their faces. Behind them, the lanterns burned brighter, voices chanting in hollow unison.
Edrin's legs screamed for rest, but Lyra didn't slow. She seemed to know the forest, weaving through roots and ravines with practiced ease.
Still, the Harvesters closed in.
One appeared ahead, stepping from the shadows, lantern blazing. Its mask was blank bone, its scythe humming with soullight.
Lyra didn't hesitate. She darted forward, her blade flashing. Metal met bone with a shower of sparks. The Harvester staggered back, lantern flickering.
"Go!" she shouted.
Edrin ran—but the ground beneath him split. Tendrils of pale light lashed upward, wrapping around his limbs. The lantern pulsed, dragging at his chest. His breath tore from his lungs as his soul itself began to rip free.
"No—!" His scream echoed, but then—
The mark on his wrist burned.
Power surged outward, invisible yet undeniable. The tendrils snapped like brittle glass. The lantern cracked, shards of soul-fire bursting into the air.
The Harvester recoiled, its mask tilting sharply toward him. For the first time, Edrin felt it hesitate.
Lyra's blade found its mark. She slashed upward, splitting the lantern in half. The Harvester dissolved into ash and whispers.
Panting, she turned to him. Her eyes widened at the sight of his glowing wrist. "You… You broke a lantern?"
Edrin's chest heaved. His hands shook. "…I don't know how."
Lyra stared at him for a heartbeat too long. Then she sheathed her blade and grabbed his shoulder. "Then we don't stay here. The moment the others realize what you did, they'll send more. Stronger."
Edrin swallowed hard, glancing at the ashes drifting where the Harvester had stood. The whispers clawed faintly at his mind again, but he forced them down.
For the first time, he wasn't just running.
For the first time, the Harvesters hadn't been untouchable.
He had struck back.
Hours later, they collapsed in a hollow beneath an ancient tree, its roots arching like ribs over their heads. Lyra sat cross-legged, sharpening her blade. Edrin sat opposite her, staring at his wrist. The soulbrand pulsed softly, as if in rhythm with his heartbeat.
Finally, he spoke. "…What am I?"
Lyra looked up. Her eyes weren't mocking, but they weren't gentle either. "A mistake. Or a weapon. Depending on who finds you first."
He swallowed. "…And you?"
Her gaze flicked away. "Someone who already lost too much to them."
Silence stretched. Only the faint whisper of the brand filled the air.
Edrin clenched his fists. "I won't let them take anyone else. Not again."
Lyra studied him quietly. Then, almost imperceptibly, she nodded. "Then you'd better learn fast, Edrin Kael. Because the Council doesn't forgive. And they never forget."
Above them, the stars shifted once more, gears grinding in the heavens.
Watching. Waiting.
The silence between them lingered, thick with unspoken fears. Edrin tilted his head back against the roots, staring at the endless night sky. It no longer looked beautiful; it looked endless, suffocating, as if it wanted to press him flat against the earth.
But beneath the weight of that cosmic gaze, a spark stirred in his chest. He wasn't the same boy who had run helplessly from a burning village. The Harvesters could bleed. Their lanterns could shatter.
And if they could break, then maybe—just maybe—he could break the cycle itself.
Edrin whispered to himself, almost a vow:
"They won't reap me. Not ever."