The silence that followed was heavier than the battle itself.
Arin's chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath. The grass around them was still smoldering faintly where his strange burst of light had struck. The shadows were gone—erased as though they had never been there at all—but the echo of their shrieks clung to the back of his mind.
The girl lowered her blade, the glow along its edge fading until it looked like simple steel. She turned her gaze on him, and for the first time, Arin realized just how young she was. No older than him, perhaps even younger. And yet, her presence carried a weight, as if she had stepped out of a story no one dared to tell.
"Who are you?" Arin managed to whisper, his voice unsteady.
The girl tilted her head, silver hair catching the faint firelight from the distant festival. "That depends," she said softly. "Do you want the truth… or something easier to believe?"
Arin swallowed hard. His hands were still trembling, faint traces of light pulsing beneath his skin. He stared at them, then back at her. "After what just happened, I think the easy lies won't work anymore."
For a moment, she studied him in silence. Then, with a sigh, she sheathed her blade.
"My name is Lyra," she said. "And I've been searching for you."
Arin blinked. "Searching… for me?" He let out a shaky laugh. "You must be mistaken. I'm just a weaver's son. Nobody searches for me."
Lyra's eyes softened, but her voice was firm. "You heard the voices. You saw the sky."
Arin froze. The star. That fleeting shimmer of light. He hadn't imagined it.
"You're not the only one who's ever heard them," Lyra continued, stepping closer. Her boots pressed against the trampled grass where the shadows had dissolved. "But you are the only one who's answered."
Arin shook his head, backing up a step. "No. This isn't… this isn't real. Voices from the sky? Monsters made of smoke? And me—" He held up his hands, glaring at the faint glow. "Whatever this is… it's wrong. It's not supposed to happen."
Lyra's gaze hardened. "It's not wrong. It's awakening."
---
The word hung between them, sharp and final.
Awakening.
Arin wanted to laugh again, to push it all away. But the memory of that light, the way it had poured out of him unbidden, silenced the denial on his lips.
He sank to the ground, burying his face in his hands. "This can't be happening…"
Lyra crouched in front of him. "Arin Vale," she said quietly, almost gently. "The sky has chosen you. Whether you want it or not."
Her words made him flinch. "Chosen me for what?"
She hesitated. And in that pause, Arin caught something in her eyes—fear.
"To shatter the chains," she whispered.
---
Before Arin could ask what she meant, a sharp horn split the night air. It came from the village.
His blood ran cold.
The Harvest Festival. His mother. Joren. Everyone—
He scrambled to his feet. "The village—"
"They've come for you," Lyra cut in. Her hand gripped his arm like iron. "If you go back now, you'll lead them straight to the people you love."
Arin's heart lurched. "You mean those shadow things? They're after me?"
"Yes," she said grimly. "And they won't stop."
Arin's instincts screamed at him to run, to protect his mother, to stand between his village and those things. But Lyra's grip was unrelenting. Her eyes glowed faintly in the dark, a reminder that she was no ordinary stranger.
"If you go back," she said, each word sharp and deliberate, "you'll doom them all."
Arin's fists clenched. His mind was chaos—duty, fear, disbelief all twisting together. He thought of his mother, of her tired hands weaving cloth day after day just to keep him alive. He thought of the villagers laughing and dancing, unaware that creatures of darkness prowled just beyond the fields.
And then he thought of the light in his hands.
"What am I supposed to do?" he demanded, voice cracking. "I don't even know what's happening to me!"
Lyra's expression softened for the first time. She released his arm, her voice quiet but steady. "Then let me show you."
---
They moved quickly, slipping away from the fields and into the forest beyond. The horns from the village echoed in the distance, mixed now with faint, terrified screams. Arin's chest twisted at the sound, but Lyra kept him moving, her steps sure and silent.
The forest was a labyrinth of black trunks and whispering leaves. No moon guided them, but Lyra seemed to know the path as if she had walked it a hundred times.
Finally, they reached a clearing where the trees parted to reveal an ancient stone circle. Moss clung to the worn carvings, and faint patterns glowed along the ground—symbols that stirred something deep inside Arin's chest.
Lyra motioned for him to sit at the circle's center.
"What is this place?" he asked warily.
"A memory," she said. "Older than the silence itself. Sit."
Arin hesitated, but the exhaustion in his limbs left little room for argument. He sank onto the cold stone, his pulse still racing.
Lyra drew her blade again, planting it in the earth before him. The runes along its edge flickered faintly.
"Close your eyes," she instructed.
Arin frowned. "Why?"
"Because if you don't," she said simply, "the awakening will tear you apart."
The seriousness in her voice left no room for protest. Slowly, reluctantly, Arin closed his eyes.
---
At first, there was nothing.
Then came the whispers.
Thousands of them, layered atop one another, pouring into his ears, his mind, his very bones. He gasped, clutching his head, but Lyra's voice cut through the storm like an anchor.
"Breathe. Don't fight it. Listen."
The whispers grew louder, then clearer, until words formed.
Arin Vale… child of silence… bearer of the fracture…
Images flashed in his mind—vast skies filled with countless stars, chains of black iron stretching across the heavens, a great shattering that split light from darkness. He saw people—warriors with glowing eyes, wielding weapons of light. And then he saw them fall, swallowed by shadows.
A cold weight pressed into his chest.
"You are their echo," the voices intoned. "The last unbroken thread."
Arin gasped, eyes snapping open. He stumbled back, heart hammering as the visions dissolved. "What… what was that?"
Lyra's expression was unreadable. "The truth."
Arin shook his head violently. "No. I'm not… I can't be… whatever they think I am. I'm just—"
"The boy who shattered the sky," Lyra finished softly.
---
The clearing fell silent.
Arin stared at her, the weight of her words pressing down harder than the voices themselves.
He wanted to deny it. To laugh, to scream, to run. But deep inside, something pulsed—a memory not his own, a thread tying him to the voices in the sky.
And for the first time in his life, Arin realized he could no longer pretend he was ordinary.