The wasteland stretched endless before them — cracked earth, jagged cliffs, ash drifting like snow. The air reeked of smoke and something fouler, like rot soaked into the stones themselves.
By dusk, the group was half-dead with thirst. Jorn stumbled with every step, his small face gray beneath streaks of dust. Nalia clutched him to her chest, whispering encouragements she no longer believed herself.
"We can't keep this pace," Tomas rasped. His lips were split, his eyes hollow.
"We stop, we die," Marek growled, pressing forward. His broken sword jutted from his back, a useless weight he refused to discard.
Elara walked in silence. Her sun-eye flared faintly with every step, as though warning her of something unseen. She tried to block it out, but the visions pressed harder: chains coiling through the earth, whispering, tugging.
At first, she thought it was only her grief.
But then she heard the sound.
A rasping, hollow breath.
They came at night.
Figures shambled out of the mist, twisted silhouettes with limbs too long, heads tilted at impossible angles. Their eyes glowed faintly gold — not bright, not living, but dull embers like dying stars.
Nalia's scream pierced the darkness as one lurched into the firelight. Its jaw hung slack, its chest split by glowing threads. The air reeked of ash and decay.
"The lattice," Elara whispered, horrified. "It's making puppets."
Seris's bow twanged, her arrow sinking into one's chest. The creature staggered but didn't fall. It reached for her with jerking, snapping motions, threads pulling it upright again.
Marek roared and swung his broken blade. It sheared through an arm, but the creature lunged still, clawing, snapping its teeth.
Tomas burned another down with a desperate burst of fire — but the effort dropped him to his knees, coughing blood.
"Elara!" he gasped.
She opened her sun-eye.
Light tore through the night. The creatures shrieked in chorus, threads unraveling as the golden blaze seared them. One by one they crumpled into ash.
But the light burned Elara too. Blood streamed from her nose, her legs buckling beneath her. Marek caught her before she collapsed.
The last hollow one fell. The night returned to silence.
And every survivor knew: this was only the beginning.
Far below, Kael saw them.
Through the lattice's chains, he watched Elara's blaze. He saw the hollow ones die in her light. For one fleeting heartbeat, hope surged in his chest.
But the reflection's voice coiled around him like smoke.
"Do you see how they wither without you? The world gnaws at them. The hollow ones rise. And still she bleeds for them."
Kael shook his head violently. "She's strong. Stronger than you know."
The reflection tilted its crowned head. "Stronger than you… or stronger because of you? The lattice chose you both. Two flames. One must bind. One must break. Do you truly think you can escape that law?"
Chains tightened around Kael's chest. He gasped, vision filling with fire. And in that fire, he glimpsed something vast:
A city suspended in silence, its towers bound in golden thread. A citadel without voices, only chains.
The origin. The lattice's heart.
Kael screamed — not in fear, but in defiance.
The reflection only smiled.
Above, Elara woke in the dead of night, her body aching, her sun-eye throbbing with residual pain.
And in the silence, she felt it again: Kael's thread. Pulling. Beckoning.
The citadel called them both.
The ashes of the hollow ones still clung to their skin. Each breath tasted like dust.
No one slept.
They sat around the faint, flickering fire, eyes darting at every shadow. Nalia cradled Jorn, rocking him though his small body trembled with sobs. Tomas sat hunched, blood staining his lips, one hand pressed to his ribs. Seris kept her bow drawn even while seated, arrows trembling in her grip.
Only Marek seemed restless, pacing the edge of the camp, scanning the darkness as though daring it to spit out more horrors.
Elara sat silent, staring at the streaks of blood on her hands. Her sun-eye ached like fire buried deep in her skull. The visions hadn't left her — threads crawling beneath the earth, whispering, waiting.
"They weren't just… creatures," Seris muttered finally. Her voice shook despite her best efforts to keep it hard. "They were people. Once."
Nalia's lips pressed tight, her face pale. "I recognized one. He was from the lower farmlands. I saw him a year ago at the market."
A silence heavier than ash settled over the camp.
"They're not people anymore," Marek snapped, his voice a growl. "They're lattice-fodder. You saw what they became."
"Easy for you to say," Seris shot back, her bowstring quivering. "You didn't see his eyes."
"They're gone," Marek said flatly. "All of them. And if Kael's still breathing down there, chained like that…" He spat into the dirt. "He's gone too."
Elara stood so suddenly the others flinched. Her sun-eye blazed faintly in the firelight. "Don't you dare say that again."
Marek squared to her, his bulk casting long shadows. "You need to hear it, girl. You keep clinging to him, but the longer you hope, the more dangerous he becomes. If he comes back wearing that crown—"
"Then I'll save him," Elara snapped, her voice sharp as breaking glass.
The fire sputtered between them.
No one else spoke.
Later, when the group finally settled into uneasy silence, Elara lay awake, eyes fixed on the dark sky. Every heartbeat echoed Kael's thread within her — distant, muffled, but alive.
And below, Kael's world bled deeper into the lattice.
The void had shape now. No longer endless chains, but something vast forming in the distance.
A city.
Its towers rose higher than mountains, woven from golden threads that pulsed like veins. Bridges of fire spanned black chasms. Windows stared like hollow eyes, thousands upon thousands.
Kael stumbled toward it, unwilling yet unable to turn away.
The reflection walked beside him, crown gleaming.
"The Citadel," it said softly. "The first silence. The lattice's heart. Here, the heralds were born."
Kael swallowed hard. "Born from what?"
The reflection's smile widened. "From choice. Mortals like you. They bound themselves willingly, offering their voices to the silence in exchange for eternal order."
Kael's gut twisted. "Slaves. That's all they became."
"Slaves?" the reflection echoed. "Or kings? Do you not see the beauty? A city without hunger, without war, without grief. All threads woven, no will wasted."
Chains brushed Kael's shoulders as though in comfort. He shuddered, forcing them off.
"I won't kneel," he hissed.
The reflection tilted its head. "Then you will burn. And when you fall, Elara will kneel for you. Two flames. One must bind. One must break."
Kael clenched his fists, fury choking him. "She'll never kneel. Not for you. Not for anyone."
The reflection's smile dimmed, just slightly. "We'll see."
Back on the plateau, Elara jolted awake, heart racing. Her sun-eye blazed, vision flooded with chains and towers of fire.
She had seen it too.
The Citadel.
And it was waiting for them both.