The shadow loomed across the ridge, vast enough to swallow the dawn.
At first, it seemed shapeless — a silhouette against the fissure-light, limbs dragging chains that screamed against stone. But as it drew nearer, the form sharpened.
A towering figure, half-flesh, half-thread. Its body was woven from lattice strands, glowing faintly, yet anchored by torn muscle and bone. Its face was a shifting veil, fire coiling beneath a mask of light.
It stopped at the fissure's edge, and for one terrible moment, it only watched them.
Then it moved.
The ground split beneath its step. Stones tumbled. Nalia screamed, clutching Jorn tight. Seris loosed an arrow that hissed harmlessly into the creature's veil. Marek charged, roaring, blade lifted high.
Elara's heart seized. "No—!"
The herald's arm swung, chains snapping like whips. Marek was hurled back, striking the ridge with a bone-cracking thud. His sword clattered into the fissure.
Elara's sun-eye flared without thought. She raised her hand, light searing outward. The herald staggered, veil rippling, but did not fall.
It raised its head.
And spoke.
The voice was not sound but vibration, rattling through their bones.
We are the Hour. We are silence given shape. You walk upon our lattice. You breathe upon our thread. Who will wear the crown?
Elara staggered, blood streaming from her nose. The light in her eye flickered dangerously.
Tomas caught her before she fell. His voice, raw but steady: "It sees us."
Kael stepped forward, trembling. His face was pale, yet his eyes gleamed with something the others could not read.
"It's not asking," he whispered. "It's choosing."
The herald's veil turned toward him.
The chains struck again. Seris barely rolled aside as the ridge split open. Nalia shrieked as debris rained around her, shielding Jorn with her body.
Elara forced her burning gaze upward. "We can't kill it," she gasped. "It's not here to die. It's here to mark us."
Her sun-eye blazed once more, slicing through the veil. For a heartbeat, the herald reeled, and Elara saw what lay beneath — not a face, but a hollow crown of fire, threads reaching outward, seeking, binding.
It wanted her.
And Kael.
Both of them.
The herald's chains lashed out again, this time tangling the ridge itself, pulling stone into its form. The ground lurched, threatening to send them all into the fissure's glow.
"Fall back!" Marek roared, blood staining his jaw. He stumbled to his feet, defiance burning in his eyes.
Seris grabbed Nalia and Jorn, dragging them toward higher ground.
But Kael did not move.
He stood at the fissure's edge, staring into the herald's veil, lips moving silently, as though answering.
Elara's chest clenched. She screamed his name.
But Kael did not look back.
The chains screamed as they lashed down again. The ridge cracked beneath the impact, stone splitting into jagged teeth.
Elara's vision blurred. Her sun-eye seared with unbearable heat, each flare cutting deeper into her skull. But she forced it open, unleashing another arc of light. The herald reeled, its veil flickering — not destroyed, not even wounded, but momentarily staggered.
"Tomas!" she gasped. "The fissure—block it!"
He slammed his staff into the earth. Flames erupted, sealing one jagged crack. The effort nearly dropped him to his knees, but it bought them seconds.
Seconds were all they had.
Seris fired arrow after arrow, each one bursting into sparks as it struck the herald's veil. Her curses filled the air, but her hands did not falter.
Marek lunged again, blood dripping down his temple. His sword, half-broken, glanced off the chains with a metallic shriek. The recoil nearly tore his arms from their sockets.
Still, he roared in defiance. "You'll not take us! Not while I stand!"
The herald's veil turned toward him. Chains lifted high, ready to crush him once and for all.
"NO!" Elara screamed, light bursting from her sun-eye in a desperate, blinding surge.
The chains faltered.
Marek stumbled back, alive by inches.
And Kael—
Kael stood unmoving at the fissure's edge, hands clenched, eyes locked with the herald's veil. His lips moved, whispering words only it could hear.
Elara's stomach twisted. The herald's chains shifted, not toward him, but around him, encircling him like a crown of iron.
Chosen, the voice thundered through their bones. Crown-bearer.
Elara staggered. "No! Not him!"
Her light flared again, but weaker now, ragged, tearing at her body.
The herald's veil turned toward her, fire shifting, golden threads unraveling.
Two flames. One must bind. One must break.
The fissure beneath their feet split wide. Nalia screamed as she clutched Jorn, Seris dragging them back from the collapsing edge.
The herald drew closer, each step shattering stone, each chain dragging the valley further into ruin.
Elara's vision dimmed. Blood poured from her nose, her strength nearly gone.
And then — Tomas roared.
He planted his staff into the fissure, fire exploding outward in a wall of searing heat. For one instant, the herald staggered, veil flickering, chains recoiling.
"RUN!" Tomas bellowed, voice breaking.
Marek grabbed Elara's arm. Seris dragged Nalia and Jorn. The group tore back from the fissure as it buckled and burned.
Kael remained.
The herald's veil bent low toward him, fire coiling in strange, silent patterns.
"Elara!" Marek roared, dragging her back. "We can't—"
Her scream tore from her chest. "Kael!"
But he did not answer.
The group stumbled across the ridge, battered, bleeding, gasping for breath. Behind them, the fissure blazed, the herald's form half-hidden in flame and shadow.
And in the last instant before the fire swallowed the view, Elara saw Kael standing there, framed in light and ash, chains coiled around him like a crown.
Then the ridge collapsed, cutting him from sight.
The ridge crumbled beneath their heels.
Marek dragged Elara forward, his wounded shoulder bleeding freely, while Seris half-carried Nalia and Jorn. Tomas staggered last, his staff burning low, every step costing him.
The roar of collapsing stone swallowed the valley. Fissure-light flared upward in blinding waves. For a moment, it seemed as though the whole world was falling into fire.
Elara fought against Marek's grip, twisting, clawing, trying to look back.
"Kael!" she screamed again, throat raw.
No answer. Only chains grinding, stone breaking, fire hissing.
Then the ridge gave way entirely, and Marek hauled her onto higher ground just as the chasm devoured the place where Kael had stood.
They collapsed together on a plateau, lungs burning, hearts hammering.
Seris cursed between ragged breaths, eyes wide with shock. "He's gone. Gods, he's gone."
Nalia sobbed into Jorn's hair, rocking him as though the motion could erase the vision of the herald's chains.
Marek slumped against a boulder, his great frame trembling. "He chose it," he spat bitterly. "The bastard chose it."
But Elara shook her head violently. "No. No, he didn't—he couldn't. It took him."
Her sun-eye throbbed, tears of blood streaming down her face. She could still feel it — the pull of the lattice, the weight of the herald's presence. And within it, Kael's thread, shining strangely bright.
Not extinguished. Not severed.
Claimed.
Far below, in the fissure's glow, Kael did not die.
He fell through fire and thread, his body battered, his lungs seared. He reached for his sword, but the weapon was gone. Chains coiled around him, not crushing, but holding.
The herald's veil loomed above him, its fire shifting into strange, incomprehensible symbols.
You are flame, the voice thundered. You are crown.
Kael's vision swam. He wanted to scream, to deny it — but the lattice surged into his veins, burning, binding.
And in the burning darkness, a figure formed beside him.
Not the herald. Not Elara.
A reflection. His own face, but crowned in fire, eyes blazing gold.
It smiled.
Kael's scream echoed into silence.
High above, Elara shuddered violently, clutching her chest.
Tomas caught her before she fell. "What did you see?"
She shook her head, trembling. "He's not gone. The lattice has him."
Her voice broke. "And it's not finished with us."