Ash fell like snow over the ruined plaza.
The fire had gone out of Tomas, leaving him pale and shaking, but alive. Seris crouched near the edge, bow drawn loosely, scanning the dark though nothing stirred. Nalia held Jorn close, rocking him gently as his sobs finally quieted. Marek stood over them all, grim, silent, his broken blade still gripped as if he expected the hollow ones to surge back at any moment.
Elara stirred.
She pushed herself up from the cracked stones, her body trembling, her vision blurred. Her sun-eye dimmed to a faint ember, but its echo still throbbed in her chest. She remembered the screams, the light, the way the hollow ones burned into nothing.
And she remembered Kael's face. For one breath, she had seen him clearer than ever.
Her voice was a rasp. "He's alive. He's close. The Citadel… it's waiting."
Marek's jaw tightened. "Then we should be running the other way."
"Running?" Seris shot back, her eyes red-rimmed with exhaustion. "After all that? After Tomas nearly burned himself to ash? After Elara—" She broke off, shaking her head. "We can't turn back. Not now."
Nalia whispered, "If Kael is still himself, we owe him."
"And if he's not?" Marek asked, voice low, dangerous. He shifted Jorn in his arms. "Then what we're chasing isn't a man. It's a crown with a heartbeat."
Elara met his gaze, her sun-eye glinting faintly. "Then I'll burn it myself."
Far below, Kael staggered through gates taller than mountains.
The Citadel's breath washed over him — not wind, not air, but silence given weight. It pressed into his bones, seeped into his blood.
The streets stretched in impossible geometry, spirals folding into themselves, bridges hanging without anchor. Towers bled light like molten veins. Windows stared without glass.
And everywhere, voices whispered without sound.
The reflection walked beside him, its crown gleaming brighter than ever. "Welcome home."
Kael shuddered. "This place isn't home. It's a grave."
"Every grave is a home," the reflection said softly. "And this one waits for its king."
Elara jolted awake in the night, though she hadn't meant to sleep. Her skin was slick with sweat, her heart racing. The fire was low. Seris kept watch nearby, eyes weary but sharp.
"Elara?"
"I saw it," Elara whispered. Her fingers dug into the dirt. "The Citadel… it's swallowing him. I could feel it. If I don't reach him soon, I'll lose him."
Seris looked at her for a long moment. Then she reached across, touched Elara's shoulder. "Then we'll get you there. Whatever it takes."
Elara closed her eyes, letting the whisper of the Citadel curl at the edge of her thoughts.
She wasn't sure if the voice she heard was Kael's… or the silence itself.
The silence after battle was the heaviest of all.
No hollow ones stirred. No chains lashed. Yet the survivors kept glancing over their shoulders, waiting for the ash to rise again into broken shapes. Every whisper of the wind made Seris's bow twitch.
Elara sat apart from the others, her arms wrapped around her knees. Her clothes were stiff with dried blood. She could feel the threads still crawling inside her, writhing at the edges of her thoughts. Every time she blinked, she saw the Citadel's towers burning against her eyelids.
She had glimpsed Kael — not just an echo, but truly him. His voice, his face, his suffering.
She could not let him go.
Marek paced along the cracked edge of the plaza, keeping his back to them. His broad shoulders were stiff, his broken blade gleaming faintly in the firelight. He didn't speak, but his silence was as loud as shouting.
Finally, Seris broke it. "You don't trust her."
Marek stopped, half-turning. His face was shadowed, eyes dark. "She's changing. Every time she uses that eye, she brings the silence closer."
"It saved us," Seris shot back.
"It killed us," Marek snarled. He jabbed the sword toward the ash-coated stones. "Look at this place. Tomas is half-dead, the girl's bleeding from her eyes, and we're still one step from the Citadel. How long until she burns us all to dust with the rest?"
Elara lifted her head, voice raw but steady. "I didn't burn you."
Marek's jaw tightened. "Not yet."
Nalia flinched. She clutched Jorn tighter, pressing her lips to his hair as if to shield him from the words. The boy stirred in her arms, muttering something in his sleep. She hummed softly, but her eyes glistened in the firelight.
Tomas groaned where he sat slumped against the obelisk's shattered base. His face was gray, breath shallow, but his eyes sparked faintly as he rasped, "Marek's fear isn't wrong. The silence has claws. It doesn't let go once it takes root. The girl fights it now, but…" His gaze slid to Elara, pity and warning mingled. "…what happens when she can't?"
Elara didn't answer. Because in her heart, she already knew.
Far below, Kael staggered through the Citadel's impossible streets.
Every step felt wrong. Bridges arched overhead with no supports. Walls curved inward and outward at once. Towers bled golden fire from their seams, yet the light gave no warmth. Shadows moved where there should be none.
And the silence pressed harder. It thickened with each breath, until Kael thought his ribs might crack.
The reflection moved effortlessly, chains trailing like a royal train. Its crown glimmered with a cruel beauty. "Do you feel it?" it whispered. "The order? The perfection? No more hunger, no more grief, no more blood wasted on meaningless wars. Only harmony."
Kael's fists clenched. His breath came ragged. "This isn't harmony. It's hollow. Empty. Dead."
"Isn't that what you longed for?" the reflection asked. "An end to loss? To see your people safe? To keep her safe?"
At Elara's thought, pain twisted through Kael's chest.
The chains coiled tighter around his arms. He stumbled, catching himself on a wall. The stone pulsed faintly under his palm, threads writhing beneath its surface like veins. He jerked back, bile rising in his throat.
Every building here was alive.
Every wall was watching.
Back on the surface, Elara's breath quickened. She had seen it through his eyes, just for a heartbeat. The walls, the fire-veins, the silence pressing down.
She whispered his name before she could stop herself. "Kael…"
Marek heard it. His head snapped around, his expression hardening. "You're speaking to it now?"
"I'm speaking to him," Elara snapped back, fire in her voice.
Marek stepped closer, looming over her. "You don't know the difference anymore."
Seris rose, bow half-drawn, her eyes blazing. "Back off, Marek."
For a tense moment, the air was thicker than the silence itself. Then Tomas coughed, a wet, rattling sound that drew every eye. Blood flecked his lips. He shook his head weakly. "Argue later. If the Citadel is so close, the night won't stay quiet long."
The fire guttered, sparks drifting into the ash-dark sky.
And in the distance, faint as a heartbeat, a low hum began to rise.
Not hollow ones.
Not chains.
Something else.
Something deeper.