The fissure roared open like the earth's own scream.
From its depths poured the Eaters — jagged silhouettes stitched from absence, mouths without sound, eyes without light. They crawled up the stone, limbs bending at wrong angles, bodies swelling into grotesque imitations of men and beasts.
The survivors stood back-to-back beneath the spires, every instinct screaming to run — but there was nowhere to run.
"Hold the anchors!" Tomas cried, pressing his bloodied palm against the glyphs. "Without them, we're already dead!"
Seris's bow blazed with faint firelight as she drew another arrow, the shaft trembling in her fingers. Marek raised his blade, glowing faintly with memory-light. Nalia clutched Jorn tight, whispering prayers through sobs.
The first Eater lunged.
Marek met it with a roar, his sword cutting a burning arc through void-flesh. The creature shrieked, dissolving into shreds of shadow. For a heartbeat, hope flickered.
But three more took its place.
Elara staggered forward, her sun-eye blazing so fiercely it burned her brow. Threads lashed outward, tethering the survivors tighter to the spires. She felt every echo surge through her veins — the warmth of forgotten hearths, the laughter of children, the steady drum of harvest songs.
With each memory, she grew brighter.
The Eaters recoiled, shrieking soundlessly, their forms warping as if scorched.
But the more she channeled, the more it hurt. Her chest felt aflame, her skin splitting under golden fire.
"Don't—" Seris cried, seeing the blood run down Elara's cheek. "You'll burn yourself out!"
"I don't care!" Elara shouted, her voice raw. "Better me than all of us!"
Far below, Kael strained against the chains.
The spires' hum bled into the Citadel's marrow, shaking the ancient bonds. His body arched, muscles tearing as he pulled with everything he had.
The reflection shrieked, its crown cracking with wild arcs of stolen light. "Stop! If you break free, the Citadel unravels! You'll kill yourself!"
Kael grinned through broken teeth. "Maybe. But I'll take you with me."
With one final roar, the chain on his left wrist snapped.
The shockwave rattled the keepers. Their hymn collapsed into chaos, veils shredding into threads. The Citadel trembled like a dying beast.
Kael staggered, half-free, one arm still shackled — but for the first time, hope surged hot in his chest.
Above, the battle worsened.
The Eaters swarmed, clawing at the survivors. Marek carved a path with sheer fury, his blade dripping void-shadow. Seris's arrows blazed one after another, but for every creature that fell, two more rose.
Nalia cried out as one lunged for Jorn. She threw herself between them — and the glyph beneath her hand blazed brighter than any before.
The spire sang.
For the briefest instant, the battlefield froze. The Eaters writhed, clutching their faceless heads as the memory poured out: a lullaby, sung by countless mothers beneath golden skies.
The silence cracked.
And Nalia glowed.
She stood tall, eyes streaming light, her voice joining the song. It wasn't her own, but the voice of every mother the spires remembered.
The Eaters shrieked, driven back in waves.
Marek turned, eyes wide. "Nalia—"
But her skin was splitting, veins bursting gold.
She smiled through the agony, clutching Jorn close. "Don't let him forget," she whispered, before her body erupted into light.
The spire wailed.
When the radiance faded, Nalia was gone.
Only Jorn's sobs remained.
The radiance faded.
The battlefield was left in silence, pierced only by Jorn's cries. The boy beat his fists against the earth, screaming for a mother who was no longer there.
Marek dropped to his knees, sword clattering beside him. His broad shoulders shook, his face buried in his hands. Seris knelt, pulling Jorn against her chest, though she trembled as if holding a fragment of her own loss.
Elara swayed, her sun-eye dimming with exhaustion. She felt the hollow in the air where Nalia had been, like a note cut short mid-song.
"She's not gone," Tomas said hoarsely. His voice broke, but he forced the words out. "She's in the spire now. In all of them. That's what it means to give yourself to the memory."
"Tell that to him," Marek spat, pointing at Jorn. His voice was rough with fury. "He doesn't need a song — he needed her!"
The boy's wails grew louder. Each sound tore through the survivors' chests like claws.
The Eaters, though staggered by the spire's eruption, had not fled. They lingered at the edges of the circle, their forms flickering, hesitant yet ravenous. The lullaby burned them, but it had not destroyed them.
One stepped forward, dragging limbs of shadow across the earth. Its body warped, contorting into the vague outline of a woman — tall, graceful. A face without features.
"Elara…" it hissed, voice a whisper of stolen memory.
Elara's breath hitched. The shape bent low, crooning a mockery of a lullaby — her lullaby. The one she had sung to her sister in the years before silence.
Her knees weakened. The world spun.
Seris snarled and fired an arrow, piercing the void-shape through the chest. It screeched and unraveled, but two more crept forward to take its place.
"They're changing," Tomas gasped. "Learning from us… stealing from us."
Marek's fury returned in full flame. He seized his sword, rising to his feet with blood smeared across his mouth. "Then we burn them faster than they can learn!"
He charged, bellowing his grief like a weapon.
Deep below, Kael stumbled forward, one arm free, chains rattling from his other. The Citadel shook with every step of the Eaters above.
The reflection staggered beside him, its light cracking apart. "They'll consume everything. Even you. You cannot control them."
Kael spat blood, teeth bared. "I don't need control. I just need freedom."
He pulled at the second chain. It strained, groaned, screamed — but did not break.
Still, the resonance between him and the spires grew stronger. He could feel Elara through it — faint, desperate, burning.
Her voice echoed inside him. Not words, not sound. Just need.
And he roared against the chain once more.
Back at the spires, the battle raged.
Marek cleaved one Eater in half, glyph-light exploding from his blade. Seris loosed arrows faster than her breath. Tomas pressed both hands to the stone, chanting verses from memory, summoning every fragment of the spires' buried song.
Elara staggered to her feet, pushing past the agony of her burning sun-eye. She reached for Jorn, who still sobbed in Seris's arms. She cupped his face, her voice trembling.
"Jorn… listen to me. She's not gone. She's here. Feel her. The spire carries her now. She'll always sing for you."
The boy hiccuped through tears, staring at the glowing glyphs. Slowly, his small hand reached out, touching the stone.
The glyphs blazed brighter.
The spire sang again.
Not Nalia's voice alone — but Jorn's, joining hers. A child's wail turned to a melody, frail but piercing, threading through the night.
The Eaters shrieked, recoiling as if struck. Their forms tore apart, fragments scattering back into the fissure.
The survivors stood stunned, tears mingling with ash.
The boy had inherited his mother's song.
But the fissure didn't close.
Beneath the victory's fragile shell, the silence still boiled. The ground trembled, deeper, stronger.
And for the first time, the survivors realized — what had climbed free were only the first wave.
The flood was still coming.