Elara did not sleep.
Her body begged for it, her sun-eye burned raw, but the fissures whispered louder with every hour. She could feel them now even in her bones, as though the earth itself had grown restless.
When dawn finally broke, pale and uncertain, she was already awake, pacing the ridge. Tomas stirred below, coughing softly. Marek grunted awake and stretched, while Seris was on her feet with a bow before her eyes even opened.
Kael sat in the shadows of the oak, sharpening his blade. He looked calm. Too calm.
Elara studied him, her golden eye narrowing. Something about him had shifted. It wasn't cowardice — she knew what fear looked like. This was something else. Something quieter, heavier.
She forced herself to look away before he noticed.
"We move east," Marek growled. "The fissures are splitting wider each night. Stay, and we're buried."
Seris spat into the dirt. "And walk straight into their jaws? No. We hold here. Higher ground, fewer angles."
Elara raised her hand before they could snarl at each other again. "We don't have a choice. The fissures are spreading. If we stay, the oak itself will split. We move."
Marek nodded. Seris cursed under her breath but said nothing more.
Nalia tightened her grip on Jorn's hand, pale with exhaustion. The boy clutched her side, eyes too old for his years.
And Kael — Kael said nothing. Only sheathed his blade and rose to follow.
The valley felt different that day. The air hummed, almost alive. Shadows shifted even without wind, and the fissure's glow pulsed in uneven rhythms.
As they descended, Tomas stumbled beside her, leaning heavily on his staff. His eyes were fever-bright, his face pale, but his voice steady.
"You feel it too," he murmured.
Elara glanced at him. "Feel what?"
"The silence breaking. Like something beneath the lattice is…listening."
Her heart tightened. She wanted to deny it, but the truth pressed too close.
"Yes," she whispered. "I feel it."
At midday, the fissure widened before them, splitting open with a sound like tearing cloth.
But no beast rose.
Instead, threads of light coiled upward like vines, weaving into shapes. Not flesh, not hollow faces — but patterns, shifting endlessly. Circles, crowns, chains, flames.
The group froze.
"What in all gods…" Marek whispered.
The patterns pulsed once, twice, then stilled. For a moment, they seemed almost like a message — a warning, or perhaps a summons.
And then they dissolved into ash.
Elara's breath caught. Her sun-eye burned, aching for release, but she dared not. Not yet.
She turned — and caught Kael staring at the place where the patterns had been. His face was carved stone, unreadable, but his hand clenched tight on his sword.
He noticed her gaze, and for the briefest moment, his mask cracked.
Fear. Or hunger.
Then it was gone.
Elara looked away quickly, heart pounding.
The fissures were changing. The beasts were only the beginning.
And Kael… Kael was not the same man who had once fought beside her.
The ash from the patterns drifted across the ground, falling like snow over the fissure's rim.
No one moved. No one breathed.
Even Seris, always the first to curse or spit, stood stiff, bow drawn but useless. Her eyes flicked to Elara, wide for the first time.
"What… was that?"
Elara shook her head slowly. "Not beasts. Not chains. The lattice is speaking."
Marek grunted. "Then what's it saying?"
She opened her mouth, then closed it again. For once, she had no answer.
That night, when camp was set beneath the skeletal remains of a broken ridge, Elara sat apart from the fire. The others whispered and argued in circles, but their words blurred into nothing against the hum in her bones.
She stared eastward. The fissures glowed faintly in the distance, like veins of molten blood across the valley.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the patterns return. Circles. Crowns. Chains.
When she opened them, Kael was already watching her.
Their eyes met. His expression was a mask again — cool, unreadable. But his silence pressed heavier than Marek's growls or Seris's sharp words.
She turned back to the horizon, unsettled.
Later, Tomas eased himself down beside her. His voice was quiet, strained. "You saw them too."
She hesitated. Then nodded. "The lattice isn't just opening. It's… aware. It wants to be understood."
He studied her, eyes shadowed. "And if we understand it, Elara? What then?"
She swallowed hard. The truth rose like bile. Then it owns us.
But she couldn't say it. Not yet.
"Then we survive," she whispered instead.
Sleep never came. The silence itself felt wrong, thick, alive.
When the first hint of dawn bled across the horizon, Elara rose, pacing the camp. Her sun-eye burned dully, a constant ache.
She paused when she reached the ridge. Something stirred there, low and distant — not beasts, not chains. A rhythm.
Her blood chilled.
It was footsteps.
Heavy, steady, echoing through the fissure-carved valley. Too far to see, but close enough that the earth quivered with each tread.
The lattice was no longer content to whisper.
Something was coming.
The ground quivered again. Another footfall, heavier than the last.
Elara froze. Her breath misted in the cold air. Around her, the others stirred awake, muttering, cursing, fumbling for weapons.
Marek rose first, sword already drawn. His jaw was set, but his knuckles whitened against the hilt. "Something's moving out there."
Seris hissed through her teeth, stringing her bow. "No beast makes that rhythm. It's… measured."
Nalia clutched Jorn tighter. The boy whimpered, his thin frame trembling against her.
Kael stood at the camp's edge, silent. His eyes were fixed eastward, where the fissures glowed faintly. His face betrayed nothing — but Elara saw his chest rise and fall too quickly. He felt it, as she did.
The Hour was waking.
The steps grew louder. Slow. Steady. Each one pressed into the marrow of their bones, rattling the loose stones at their feet.
Tomas leaned against his staff, his gaze distant, unfocused. "It's not walking toward us. Not yet. It circles."
Elara shivered. His words were true. She could feel the pattern in the earth, the vast shape moving along the fissure's rim, searching. Waiting.
Marek spat into the dirt. "Let it come. I'll split its skull like the rest."
But no one believed him. Not this time.
Hours passed in a haze of dread. No one slept. No one dared to speak above a whisper.
The footsteps would fade, then return, always closer. Always circling.
When Elara closed her eyes, her sun-eye flared. Visions poured through her skull — broken glimpses of a form too immense to name. Limbs like pillars. Chains coiling through its flesh. A face that wasn't hollow, but veiled in fire.
Her body shook with each vision, but she dared not scream. She would not let them see how deep the lattice clawed at her.
Dawn broke gray and thin.
The group huddled at the ridge, staring eastward. The fissures pulsed faintly, like veins beneath skin.
Then, at last, they saw it.
A shadow stretched across the glowing chasm, so vast it blotted out the fissure-light. Not a beast. Not a man. Something between.
The earth quaked as it moved, closer, closer.
Nalia buried Jorn's face in her shoulder. Marek gripped his sword with both hands, sweat running down his brow. Seris's bow trembled in her fingers.
And Kael — Kael's lips moved silently, whispering words Elara could not hear.
Elara's heart pounded, her sun-eye blazing with pain.
The lattice was no longer whispering.
It was sending its herald.