The valley smelled of ash and blood. The fire had burned low, little more than embers glowing under the oak, but no one slept deeply. They lay in uneasy silence, flinching at every creak of the branches, every sigh of the wind.
Elara sat awake, knees drawn to her chest. She had wiped most of the blood from her face, but her sun-eye still throbbed, pulsing faintly with its own light. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the fissure-beast unraveling, its veins screaming in colors that weren't meant to be seen.
She wished she could forget. She wished the threads would leave her be. But the Hour never released its marks.
Beside her, Tomas slept restlessly, breath shallow. His ribs were bruised badly, maybe broken. Every time he shifted, a sharp sound of pain escaped his throat. Still, even in sleep, his hand sought hers, as though afraid she would vanish if he let go.
At dawn, Marek called them together.
They gathered in a ragged circle, faces pale and hollow. Nalia clutched Jorn close, her eyes rimmed red. Seris looked as if she hadn't slept at all, her bow clutched like a lifeline.
Marek's voice was steady, but his eyes carried the weight of command. "We can't stay blind. That thing was no accident. The fissures are feeding something — or summoning it. If more come, we'll be torn apart."
"Then we leave," Nalia said immediately, her voice sharp with fear. "We take the boy and go. Further north, anywhere but here."
"And be hunted in the open?" Seris snapped, her voice brittle. "We'd be dead before the week's end. At least here we have the oak. The ground holds."
"The ground won't hold forever," Nalia shot back.
Elara raised her head, her voice quieter but firm. "She's right. The fissures spread. But the beast wasn't just climbing out of them. It was sent."
All eyes turned to her.
"What do you mean?" Marek asked.
Elara hesitated. She hated the sound of her own voice, hated how frail her words felt against what she had seen. But she forced them out.
"When I opened my sun-eye… it wasn't just chains and light. It was threads. Pulling. Directing. The beast wasn't born here. It was called."
A heavy silence followed.
Seris's eyes narrowed. "Called by who?"
Elara's gaze drifted to the ridge. The memory of Kael's shadow lingered there, sharp as a wound.
"He wasn't with us."
The words came from Nalia, her voice shaking. "Kael. When we fought, when we bled — he wasn't there."
Seris's jaw tightened. "He should've been. He—"
Marek cut her off. "He was always restless. Always half a blade turned the wrong way. Maybe fear took him. Or maybe worse."
Elara swallowed. She wanted to defend him. She wanted to believe he had a reason. But the image of him standing still on the ridge burned too clearly in her mind. Watching. Choosing.
"He knew," she whispered. "He knew it was coming."
The circle erupted in argument. Nalia pleaded to flee, Marek argued to fortify, Seris demanded to hunt Kael down and drag him back.
Through it all, Tomas stirred weakly, his voice hoarse but cutting through the noise.
"Enough."
The word silenced them. He leaned heavily against the oak, blood at his lips, but his eyes blazed with fire. "It doesn't matter if Kael ran or if he called that thing himself. The fissures don't care. The Hour doesn't care. If we tear ourselves apart now, we've already lost."
Elara reached for his hand, steadying him, but she felt the truth in his words sink deep.
That night, as the fire burned low again, Elara stood alone at the ridge, staring at the faint glow of the fissures below.
The threads whispered at the edges of her vision, tugging, weaving, pulling her toward something vast.
And in the silence, she felt a presence. Not beast, not fissure — but thought. A hollow voice threading into her mind like a needle through cloth.
You see the lattice.You feel its hunger.Soon you will be part of it.
She staggered back, clutching her head.
But when she looked again, the ridge was empty.
Only the glow of the fissures remained — pulsing, patient, waiting.
The valley did not sleep.
Even as the fire dwindled, the survivors stirred in uneasy half-dreams. Whispers carried through the camp — fear, suspicion, the sound of hope unraveling thread by thread.
Elara walked among them, her limbs heavy with exhaustion, but she kept her face calm. They needed steadiness, even if it was only a mask.
Marek sat sharpening his blade by the fire, his shoulders hunched, jaw set like stone. Seris crouched opposite him, her bow across her knees, eyes narrowed against the darkness beyond the oak.
"They'll break if we keep sitting still," Seris muttered, not looking up.
"They'll break faster if we run blind," Marek said flatly. His voice had no patience left in it, only the dull weight of command.
Seris's lips pressed thin. "Then we need more than waiting. We need answers." Her eyes flicked toward Elara — sharp, questioning, almost accusing.
Elara felt the weight of it and turned away before she spoke. "Answers come at a cost."
"Then we'd better decide if we're willing to pay," Seris said.
Later, when the camp quieted, Elara returned to Tomas's side. He stirred, his breath ragged, but his eyes softened when he saw her.
"You're still standing," he whispered.
"Barely." She pressed her forehead against his, careful of his wounds. "You shouldn't have fought."
His laugh was a dry rasp. "And let you burn yourself alone? No. I'd rather break every bone than go back to chains."
Her chest tightened. She wanted to beg him to rest, to keep himself safe. But she knew the Hour's touch was in all of them now. Safety was already gone.
Instead, she kissed his brow, a promise without words.
Near the tree's edge, Seris and Marek spoke in hushed tones, unaware that Elara's sun-eye still glowed faintly.
"He'll tear us apart," Seris whispered. "Kael. We can't wait for him to decide whether we live or die."
"And what do you suggest?" Marek asked, voice taut.
"We find him. We end it before he brings more beasts down on us."
Marek was silent for a long moment. Then: "If Elara forbids it?"
"Then we do it anyway."
The words stung, sharp as a knife. Elara turned away, heart pounding. Even those closest to her did not trust her fully.
At dawn, a sound woke them all.
Not the roar of a beast. Not chains grinding.
It was the sound of earth splitting.
They scrambled to the ridge, breath fogging in the morning air. And there they saw it — the fissures had spread in the night. Long cracks ran like rivers of fire across the far slope, glowing faintly red and gold.
The valley's heart was breaking.
Elara's sun-eye burned, showing the truth beneath: the threads had spread into a vast lattice, stretching toward the horizon. And in the distance, faint but growing, she saw more shapes clawing their way upward.
Not one.Not two.Dozens.
The survivors gasped, some crying out, others whispering prayers.
Marek's face hardened. Seris's hand trembled on her bow. Nalia clutched Jorn so tightly he whimpered.
Elara felt her voice crack as she spoke the truth they all knew but hadn't dared to name.
"This valley… it won't hold."
And as the wind swept over them, carrying the faint metallic scent of blood and ash, they all understood:
The Silent Hour was not sending fragments anymore.
It was sending an army.