The mist hung heavy, like ash refusing to settle.
The swarm was gone. Only silence remained—an eerie, suffocating silence broken only by the coughs of survivors. The air stank of charred stone and burnt ozone. Shadows clung stubbornly to the corners of the street, fading slower than they should.
And in the middle of it all, I stood. My body ached, my veins buzzed with EN, and the Corruption Gauge pulsed in the back of my skull like a second heartbeat.
The civilians didn't thank me. They huddled close to Daenerys and her squad, whispering, their voices cutting like glass shards carried on the wind.
"He doesn't fight like the others."
"Did you see his eyes? They're cracked."
"Fear Architect… it's true."
The name echoed, growing sharper with each repetition. Fear made it stick.
---
Daenerys pulled her shield free from the ground, obsidian surface glinting with faint silver veins. She looked at me across the street, cloak fluttering in the breeze, eyes calm but heavy with judgment.
"You fed on them," she said. Her tone wasn't sharp—just absolute.
I tilted my head, lips curling. "I used what was already there. You can't erase fear. You can only decide who gets to use it."
"You twisted it."
"And you tried to smother it. That makes you weak. Me?" I lifted my hand, watching shadows coil lazily around my fingers. "I make it my strength."
Her expression didn't change, but the faintest flicker crossed her eyes. Disgust? Pity? It was hard to tell.
Behind her, one of her squad members spat on the ground. "Commander, look at him. His eyes aren't human anymore."
Daenerys glanced. I knew what she saw—the violet cracks spiderwebbing across my irises, glowing faintly even in the dim.
She didn't deny it.
---
The civilians shifted uneasily, pulling children behind them, clinging to Daenerys as though her presence alone was a barricade.
For a moment, it felt like I was the enemy still standing after the swarm.
The whispers pressed harder in my ears.
"Not a Nocturne…"
"Closer to them than us…"
"Monster…"
I should've felt anger. Instead, all I felt was a thrill. Their fear fed me whether they wanted it to or not.
> [Fear Harvest +20 EN]
Corruption Gauge: 14%
The taste of it was bitter and sweet. Addictive.
---
Daenerys stepped forward, planting her shield beside her. "Listen to me, Veylen. Nocturnes are meant to carry fear away. To ease it. To protect people from it. That's our burden. Our duty."
I laughed. It came out sharper than I intended. "And how many of you break under the weight of that duty? How many Mourners drown because you mistake martyrdom for strength?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Better to drown than to drag everyone else down with you."
"Better to adapt than to pretend." I took a step closer, shadows trailing behind me like a cloak. "Fear is the only constant. You shield them from it, but it's still there, festering. I weaponize it, and suddenly, the nightmare belongs to me—not to the spirits."
Daenerys didn't move, but the pressure of her gaze pressed against me harder than any Wraith's scream. "And when the nightmare belongs to you, Veylen… what happens to everyone trapped inside?"
For once, I didn't have a ready answer.
---
The silence stretched until the civilians began drifting away, guided by her squad.
Most didn't look back. The few that did, their stares were wide-eyed and trembling, as though memorizing the shape of their newest monster.
Their terror lingered, clinging to me even as they left.
I breathed it in.
---
One figure didn't leave.
She stood at the edge of the street, half-hidden behind a broken lamppost. A woman with ink-stained fingers and a notebook clutched to her chest. Her coat was torn, her hair tied back in a messy knot.
She wasn't trembling. She wasn't whispering. She was writing.
Our eyes met once. Sharp. Calculating.
Clara Weissburg.
On the page in her notebook, I caught a glimpse of neat handwriting. Two words underlined twice.
Fear Architect.
The corner of my mouth twitched. Let her write. Let her spread it. Whether curse or crown, the world would remember the name.
---
Daenerys noticed her too. She gave no order to stop her. That silence was its own kind of permission.
Instead, she looked back at me, cloak shifting in the breeze. "You're dangerous," she said again.
I tilted my head. "Then tell them the truth. Tell them the only reason they're alive is because of that danger."
She didn't flinch. But her voice dropped lower, heavy with something close to pity. "The more you feed on it, the less of yourself you'll have left. Fear will take everything from you—even the memory of being human."
Her words lingered, sharp as a blade drawn slow.
And maybe it was the Corruption, or maybe it was honesty, but I didn't deny it.
---
When her squad finally moved out with the civilians, Daenerys stayed for one last moment. She studied me, violet cracks glowing in my eyes, shadows twitching like hungry worms at my feet.
"If you survive long enough," she murmured, "you'll realize shields don't shatter as easily as you think."
Then she turned, cloak sweeping the ash, shield strapped across her back like a gravestone she carried willingly.
---
The street fell quiet again.
The whispers returned, filling the void she left behind.
"…they'll never trust you…"
"…but they'll never forget you…"
"…more fear… more power…"
I closed my eyes, letting the static drown me.
And for the first time, I asked myself the question I'd been avoiding since I woke here:
Did I even care if I forgot what it meant to be human?
The shadows around me stirred, answering in kind.
No.